Postcards From Bruges, A Slow Travel Guide
We got the train to Bruges, an affair infinitely more civilised than air travel. Although the Eurostar trains are sleek are modern, there is still a hint of the golden age of travel in the air as, laden with luggage, you saunter along the platform toward your cross-continental journey (this is not the ‘stick your elbows out to get a seat’ train travel we’re used to on the West Coast mainline). With only a minor panic about platforms in Brussels, we arrived in Bruges on a cold, damp afternoon.
The weather did not affect our taxi driver, who took off, pedal to the metal, with an excitable “let’s go!” I wasn’t sure how far the station was from the centre of the city, but in a comically short period of time (literally we just crossed one road) the taxi wheels were rumbling along the cobbles of the old town. Our driver was travelling a little faster than I would have on narrow, cobbled, pedestrian-heavy streets, and I was leaned forward in my seat, eyes flitting side to side and mouth agape as I drank in the buildings zooming by. This was my kinda place.
Our driver pointed out the main tourist attractions and shops as we got stuck behind the slow, lumbering groups of tourists, telling us which number they were on the city tourist map and why they were so important. As we turned this corner and then that, heading deeper into the city, it felt like we were in Disneyland – everything was too consistently ‘on-brand’ to possibly be authentic. The awnings over the shops, the aged brickwork, the perfectly wonky buildings were too good to be true. But they were.
We were only in the car for about ten minutes – “oh this is it!” I thought as I saw the landmark I knew was opposite our hotel. By the way, Bruges is really small. Like, really small. That evening we were sat in the lounge of our hotel listening to a guest speaking with the concierge. He asked how long it would take to walk the perimeter canal of the city and the concierge replied “about an hour and half”. “Oh, so the same time it takes to walk around my house” was the reply. So yeah – Bruges is the same size as that guys house, for some context.
We were staying at The Pand hotel, a small house in a quiet street opposite the Rozenhoedkaai. After checking in we went for a wander, map in hand, to find the Markt, Bruge’s main square…which was only five minutes away so not a big exploration. Hungry, we ate early, sitting outside a bistro under heaters that clicked like my nan’s old gas fire – moules for him, pate and the biggest plate of French fries I’ve ever seen for me. Two Brugges Zot, the local beer.
Breakfast at The Pand is advertised as being continental, with eggs cooked on Granny’s AGA. While the lounge of the hotel is cosily clad in wood, the breakfast room is bright with white furniture and pink rose wallpaper. At the heart of all the white is the black AGA and, also dressed in black, Granny herself, moving as easily between the tables as she does the languages of their guests. Our scrambled eggs came mixed with bacon in the pan they’d been cooked in, and with a glass of champagne which is part of the standard breakfast offering of The Pand.
Remember I said Bruges was small? We left the hotel at 10.30am, and had completed my planned itinerary for the day by lunchtime – I had wildly overestimated how long it would take to walk around. When we travel I always plan a bit of an itinerary, just a list of what we’ll visit on each day. I’m terrible of making decisions on the spot and when I don’t make an itinerary get overwhelmed by the choices and don’t commit to anything, so my plan keeps me calm and makes sure we see everything we want to.
On that first day we went to the Sint Jan hospital, the medieval hospital that was still operational until the 1970s. It’s now a museum, with medical artefacts, reliquaries and religious art on display – the main star, however, was the building itself. The layout is unchanged from its hospital days, while a staircase you’re not sure you’re allowed up takes you to an upstairs room with the most unbelievable wooden ceiling you’ve ever seen. Huge ancient beams criss-crossing each other in an impossibly complex way that makes you feel like you’re in the bowels of a great ship. Outside the main building, the apothecary is worth visiting – it’s small but packed with all the old jars and cupboards which made me squeal.
Next on the itinerary was the Begijnhof and Minnewater, places I’d marked as being ‘quite far out’ when I’d looked at a map but were actually only a five minute walk from the hospital. The Begijnhof is a former religious community for women, and consists of an enclosure of white cottages surrounding a green with tall beech trees all growing with a slight diagonal slant. The Begijnhof is supposed to be a hushed, contemplative place, but a restaurant outside was blasting a Spotfiy playlist through outdoor speakers, and Ed Sheeran kinda ruined the ambience.
Outside the Begijnhof is the station for the horse and carriages whose cobble clopping is one of the soundtracks of Bruges. We had a coffee in a windowseat and watched the drivers feeding and washing the horses ready for the afternoon, taking water from an old horse head fountain that marked the traditional function of this place that still continues. Horse and carriage rides aren’t my bag, but it was comforting to see the care taken over the animals.
Last on the itinerary was Minnewater, or love lake, just round the corner. This is advertised as Bruges’ most beautiful, romantic spot, although I think it’s probably at it’s best in summer. The swans, rather than gliding across the placid water, were noisily obliterating any grass on the banks and it felt a bit cold and stark being January. For the rest of the afternoon, we wandered aimlessly for a few hours, pressing our noses against the windows of patisseries, and buying some new cotton napkins from Dille & Kamille. We ended our afternoon with a few hours at the bar 2be. From the inside it is all very shiny black and red plastic and a very sticky floor, but the beauty of this place is the outside terrace, right on the canal under the willow tree of the Rozenhoedkaai. You can sample small sizes of Belgian beers here (the cherry being my favourite).
On our second day we went first to the Basilica of the Holy Blood, a small cathedral elevated by it’s intricately painted interior, and coincidentally timed our visit with the veneration of the relic, a vial of Christ’s blood, so we quietly watched the ceremony before slipping out. To be honest, we were kind of running out of things to do so walked up to St Jan van Eyckplein, a square where historically the goods would come in and where the impressive merchant’s houses are, then wending our way back down to the Markt.
We went for lunch at House Of Waffles. I haven’t spoken much about the food in Bruges, and that’s sadly because there isn’t much to speak about. In very touristy places the restaurant market needs to cater to lots of different tastes as quickly as possible, and they don’t need to rely on repeat custom to make money. These two things mean that quality and originality are not high on the list of priorities, making it hard to find to find food that is not cheap and greasy. We did walk past a few (closed) places that looked like they might be good in side streets but my advice if you’re visiting Bruges is to look up and book some restaurants in advance – you’re not going to easily stumble upon a ‘nice’ place.
But you can add House Of Waffles to your list. We had two courses here, a savoury BLT with salad, cream cheese, bacon and egg sandwiched between two waffles that was just delicious (with Dan asking ‘why didn’t we have breakfast, lunch and dinner here everyday?’). There was then just about room for a cherry and cream waffle for me, and a chocolate crème patisserie one for him. They have a nice seating area in the back and the waffles are GOOD.
With the itinerary exhausted, we just walked that afternoon. We went through little side streets, following what was around the next corner and the next. Stopping every five seconds to take a photo of another house. This was my favourite part, actually, just wandering and drinking in the architecture. The average house in Bruges would be noteworthy anywhere else, so there’s nowhere you can go that’s not beautiful and atmospheric.
I’d spotted a cosy looking bar just off the Markt called Bar Des Amis, so we retreated there for another few hours. A dark interior in which only the floor isn’t covered in paintings, photos, enamel signs and, oddly, maritime paraphernalia – and a good selection of Belgian beers and a playlist of absolute bangers kept us occupied until we got hungry. (By the way, a surprisingly large amount of places in Bruges only take cash, and, given that fact, there is a surprisingly low amount of cash machines. Something to bear in mind when you’re visiting). On another side street we found Bar’n, a tiny chic bar with the wooden wall of dreams and a charcoal grey interior. They also had nachos, focaccia and ham with their cocktails which we scoffed. We closed our Bruges experience with a portion of French Fries from the shack outside the Belfry, slipping across the cobbles as the only rain of our trip fell in mists around the lampposts.
What, now, when I think about Bruges, do I think of? The sounds of tyres and hooves on cobbles, the locals on their bikes who weave impossibly through the groups of tourists as if led by magnets, the views down every side street. The odd stretch of canal that absolutely reeks, the blast of creamy cocoa when you walk past a chocolate shop, the smell of hops in every bar. The evenings sat out under heaters, bikes leant against windows and that feeling of remoteness. By which I mean, Bruges doesn’t feel like it’s a part of our world, more like it’s under the glass dome of a snow globe forever in stasis. It really is Disneyland – a place where you can go and forget the rest of the world and just wrap it’s cosy perfectness around you. And really, that’s exactly what we needed.
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