Alst u blieft.

"Ghent is like Bruges, except bigger and it doesn't survive primarily off tourism," we were told. It was also reputed to be Belgium's design and fashion capital. After a year and a half, we had managed to never get there. But our determination finally won out in the end and we went in mid-January.

It was a surprisingly long haul from the train station to the historical center, so by the time we got there (on foot, not wanting to miss any of the charm that the suckers on the tram wouldn't see, although it turns out there wasn't any in that area) we were already half-dead. We briefly oohed and aahed over the neat buildings in the main square and then decided we had to procure some food. We found a nice canal-side establishment called Chez Leontine that couldn't seat the group of eight ahead of us, but managed to find a spot for two next to a wall of tchotchkes that allowed me to take this cool photo of our neighbors. We got a couple of local brews that were produced for the bar next door (and our waiter had to go outside to retrieve them from there), including the closest thing to an IPA that I had tasted in Belgium: Gandavum Dry Hopping. Crisp, hoppy, refreshing. I ordered a passable vol-au-vent and Jack got a delicious seafood version of the traditional Belgian waterzooi.

Towards the end of the meal I went upstairs to use the restroom. Having conducted my business I went to find the flushing mechanism and...all I have to say it was a lucky thing I wasn't trying to snort cocaine.

Thus fortified, we did some more gawking and then went to the Gravensteen Castle, initially the home of a count, then used as a factory for spinning cotton, and at some other point a prison before being forgotten about and falling into disrepair. Since its initial restoration over 100 years ago it has become a popular tourist attraction. There were some lovely views from the top, but the interpretation of the site was limited and I didn't get much out of the visit.

There was no question that Ghent was an interesting town, and the little details one would encounter on random streets would bolster this impression of quirkiness. There's a museum of outsider art housed in a former psychiatric institute that we were hoping to get to, but sadly there just wasn't enough time for that and all the wandering and gawking we needed to do (the giant space that I can't seem to get rid of just heightens the excitement!):

by canals,

in shop windows,

up alleys,

down sidestreets,

through beguinages,

in churches*,

and so on.

Later we stopped for a beer in a little bar off the market square. The waiter didn't remember my order so had to ask me again, and chided me for not understanding his question in Dutch. He said he didn't go to London and attempt to speak Dutch there, so my identity as a stupid American was protected. I attempted to apologize in Dutch ("het spijt me"), but my pronunciation must have been so far off that he didn't recognize that I was speaking to him. Later he said he had been kidding, but I wished he was able to realize that I had given it a try.

*I finally discovered on Wikipedia why St. Nicholas is always shown with a washtub full of naked kids. Check it out--quite gruesome, and some say the inspiration for Sweeney Todd.