In Bruges – for a long weekend

Friday October 13 – To Bruges

There are things that by a certain age you should probably know. Like the fact that you can’t hum while pinching your nose. Or that Humphrey Bogart never actually said “Play it again Sam” in Casablanca. And that car headlights are asymmetrical.

A right-hand drive car aims the left light slightly higher and wider than the right to illuminate road signs. So when you drive a right-hand drive car on the right-hand side of the road, you will blind oncoming traffic with that strategically pointed light. But having never driven a UK car on the continent before this was something that had hitherto escaped me. Some nice new cars will automatically identify the car’s location and automatically switch the light position. On some you can manually adjust it through the onboard computer. And on others you have to put funky little stickers on your lights. Fascinating, eh?

It was only when we’d decided to go to Bruges for a long weekend, and the exorbitant last-minute Eurostar price made driving a preferable alternative, that this nugget of knowledge came to me. It’s a 2-hour drive from West London to Dover, a 1.5 hour ferry journey to Dunkirk, and just over an hour’s drive from Dunkirk to Bruges. At £99 for one car and two people, return, the ferry is a veritable bargain. And as luck – or my immeasurable skill behind the wheel – would have it, we made it to a hotel in Bruges without incident.

Hotel Bryghia, on Oosterlingenplein, is ten minutes’ walk north of the Grote Markt. And it is run by a Belgian who speaks better English than I do. The rooms at the rear overlook the Speelmansrei und Augustijnenrei canal. And it all seemed very quiet. As we shall discover, the streets north of the Grote Markt are a damned sight quieter than the streets to the south.

Bruges is a small city. You don’t have to wander far to find a landmark. A few minutes’ walk from the hotel is Jan Van Eyckplein, a square dedicated to the famous renaissance painter. It’s perhaps more familiar to many for its role in the film In Bruges. Brendan Gleeson’s and Colin Farrell’s hired assassins sat there and wondered whether or not they believed in hell.

From there we headed past the Frietmuseum (yup, a museum to chips), then on down Vlamingstraat. We largely ignored the Grote Markt and Stadhuis for the time being, and were heading loosely in the direction of Hoogstraat, where we had a reservation for dinner, and Langestraat, which I’d read had many cool, independent shops (including two record shops, although I hadn’t mentioned that to the Good Lady).

After a couple of hours happy wandering, some long-threatened rain began to fall. It seemed about time to find a bar. A feller sitting outside an antique/junk shop overheard us and said, “It’s good in here” and gestured inside. And there, in amongst that antiques and tat, were about a dozen or so people, sitting at various mismatched chairs and tables, drinking bottled beers that the shopkeeper was dispensing from the fridge.

So we squeezed in, found some seats that had been on sale half an hour ago, and in truth, probably still were, and ordered us some local brews. Being in Belgium, the Good Lady was keen to try a beer (which she usually hates). So I tried to find the least pungent and lowest strength beer that I could. The proprietor took great pride in the fact that almost all the beers were what I considered to be turbo-strength. And it cost €7 for two beers. You can pay more than that for one pint in London.

We had another beer in Charlie Rockets, a rather gaudy backpacker bar, where the beer of choice was served in a 33ml measure, given that it was 8% volume. After which it was time for dinner. I like to be spontaneous and eat wherever we can find a table, which usually means the less popular/empty places. Sue, sensibly, likes to book ahead. So while I’d taken care of all travel and accommodation arrangements, she’d had the prescience to actually book a table at a restaurant, Diligence. And very nice it was too.

Upon checking whether my moules marinieres came with fries, the waiter said with a smile “This is Belgium. Everything comes with fries.” For a nation that is frequently lampooned for having contributed little to the world stage, the Belgians are very proud of what they can lay claim to, i.e., strong beers, waffles and fries.

And it turned out incidentally, that this very restaurant was where the aforementioned assassins had a drink after Colin Farrell’s character’s date had gone tits up.

After which there was time to wander back up in the direction of the hotel and stop in Bar Des Amis for a well-earned Stella or three. I think I might have been a little wobbly on me feet by this time.

Saturday October 14 – In Bruges

Now the thing to do in Bruges, the Venice of the North, is a boat trip. And in a wonderfully egalitarian example of a municipal council working to good effect, there are five boat companies, who each have no more than five boats, and each have their own landing stage. They all ply the same route, and all charge the same €12 fee. There’s no haggling, no price-gouging, no one claiming to be the best. And no fear of choosing the wrong option. It is all so perfectly fair.

Our chosen carrier was Bruges River Cruises, on account of the carefully considered fact that it was the first one we came across. Somehow everything looks better from the water, doesn’t it? So even the backside of Hotel De Orangerie and the otherwise nondescript De Dijver Park and Garden seemed lovely. Over the next thirty minutes we’d then see numerous gorgeous bridges, including the landmark Boniface Bridge and Beguinage Bridge. And one rather low bridge which nearly took me head off cos I was looking the other way. We’d glide past the historic Saint John’s Hospital and down to Minnewater Park. Then back up again to Rosary Quay, one of Bruges number one sights. All the way up to Jan Van Eyck’s statue again, the boat captain’s old school, and so many other beautiful old buildings. I could happily have paid my €12 and gone round again.

But there is more to Bruges than just delightful sights – there are waffles. Waffles dripping in rich, warm chocolate sauce. Like their beer, and their frites, the Belgians are proud of their waffles.

From the waffle shop near Rosary Quay, it was a short walk to the old Fish Market, now an uninspiring craft/flea market. Then along Rozenhoedkrai and past Saint John’s Hospital Museum (again). And onto the crowded Katelijnestraat, where horse-drawn carriages vie with chocolate-hunting tourists. A diversion down Wijngardstraat took us to back to the very photogenic Beguinage Bridge, and the Begijnhof. The thirty white painted houses built around a central courtyard date back to the late 16th century. They were built to house lay religious women who lived in community without taking vows or retiring from the world. Slightly off the beaten track – the Insta-tourists do their photo thing on the bridge but seem not to bother with the convent – it is very calm and peaceful.

After which, we wandered aimlessly taking in more sights as they appeared. The Belfort (Belfry) and Grote Markt (Market Square). Burg Square and Stadhuys (City Hall). The Basilica of the Holy Blood. Blinde Ezelstraat (Blind Donkey Street). It really is difficult to walk around the centre of Bruges without encountering one sight or another. And as we didn’t really know where we were going it is quite possible we saw many more without even knowing about it. Free guided walking tours, which are well worth an hour or two of your time, are apparently available.

Had we gone on such a tour we may have known that despite being invaded by the Germans during the Second World War, Bruges was not destroyed like so many other cities. Recognising its historical medieval beauty, the German Commander, Immo Hopman, refused to carry out orders from his superiors to bomb the city. So we have Herr Hopman to thank for Bruges being one of the best-preserved medieval towns in Europe, and the UNESCO World Heritage Site that we can enjoy today.

And it transpired that me own sister Barbara was in Bruges this weekend. Apparently, she had told me, but like so many things I am supposedly told, I forgot. So we trooped off to a swanky cocktail bar to meet her for some swanky cocktails. Again the Good Lady had booked somewhere for dinner, the oddly titled Mozart, More Than Just Ribs. And while the name doubtless tries to emphasise that they do more than ribs, there is barely a table which is not enjoying their very reasonably priced all-you-can-eat-ribs. The ribs, a jaw-dropping 14oz steak, sides (frites, obviously) and a bottle of the very-drinkable house red was less than €70. I feared I may never need to eat again.

Sunday October 15 – Leaving Bruges

The Bruges Marathon was taking place that morning. Our friendly hotelier had advised that we leave early to avoid the risk of being stuck in the city due to road closures. It all sounded rather siege-like…get out before they lock the city down.

Thankfully, we’d been planning an early start anyway. One hour’s drive southwest of Bruges is the town of Ypres. Despite its Cloth Hall, Cathedral and Market Square, Ypres is best known for its role in the First World War. It had the misfortune to stand in the path of Germany’s planned sweep across Belgium and into northern France. The area around Ypres was the site of three major battles between 1914 and 1917, which resulted in the death of a staggering 850,000 Allied and German soldiers.

A few miles from Ypres, near the village of Passendale, is the Tyne Cot Memorial. Or to give it its full name, Tyne Cot Commonwealth War Graves Cemetery and Memorial to the Missing. It is the largest cemetery for Commonwealth forces in the world. It is home to nearly 12,000 graves, of which over 8,000 are unnamed. Most just say “A Soldier of the Great War”. The stone wall surrounding the cemetery contains the names of 35,000 British and Commonwealth soldiers. The central monument bears the inscription “Their Name Liveth For Evermore”.

It is an overwhelmingly moving place. The headstones are beautifully simple – all equal irrespective of rank or class. The serried ranks of graves are orderly and militarily disciplined. The silence is dignified. But as reverential as it is, it is ultimately a place of profound sadness.

The name Tyne Cot, incidentally, is said to come from the Northumberland Fusiliers. They apparently saw a resemblance between the many German concrete pill boxes on this site and typical Tyneside workers’ cottages (Tyne cots). Doesn’t say much for Newcastle’s pre-war housing, does it?

From Tyne Cot we moved on to Ypres itself, admired the staggeringly large and beautifully restored Cloth Hall, and the equally large Cathedral of St Martin and St. Nicholas, then found a restaurant on the medieval Market Square in which to enjoy a lengthy lunch. With frites.

Ypres feels like a place that will be forever defined by its history, a history from which it is doubtless impossible to progress. Every single evening of the year at 8pm, the Last Post is played at the Menin Gate Memorial. And it still draws a crowd.

All that remained for us was to get back in the car and drive up to Calais. Then get on a ferry back to the White Cliffs of Dover.

Tot ziens Bruges

So that was us in Bruges for a long weekend. I had long heard of it as a beautiful city, but I don’t think I was prepared for just how beautiful it is. Yes, it gets a little crowded in places but nowhere near the likes of Venice. And just by taking a few steps away from Katelijnestraat you’ll find peace and quiet again. Being as small as it is, it may not keep you occupied for long. But for a long weekend, it is just about perfect. And I will maintain that the €12 spent on the boat trip must be one of the best €12 you could ever spend.