In Bruges (and Ghent)

Bruges had been on the bucket list for a while, ever since I watched the film with Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson. Because, despite Farrell’s character’s very clear reservations throughout, it really is a “f***ing fairytale town!” With its canals, beautiful medieval architecture and Flemish culture, it really did look like a number 1 European destination.

So, a couple of friends and I decided to join the presumably hundreds of other tourists who have flocked to the city purely because of the film, visit the locations from it, and say the quotes. Much to the annoyance, I assume, of the locals. The two friends I went with had also recently been to Brussels when Newcastle Untied played Union Saint-Gilloise in the Champions League. They didn’t actually go to the match, but they did drink “lots of delicious pints” and ate “so many chips.” I also looked forward to sampling these distinctly Belgian offerings on the trip.

We decided to get the Eurostar, which we all agreed is the greatest way to travel to Europe, and very accessible, given Belgium’s proximity to the channel. I’ve written in blogs before about my love of train travel above all other forms of transport, and we looked forward to sipping pints, watching the scenery go by, not having to worry about insane security protocols or uncomfortable seating, and then looked at the prices and booked our flights.

My friend who did all the organising surmised (correctly) that, due to the need to travel to Bruges from Brussels via public transport, the city of Ghent would be an appropriate place to stop off on the way. So, after the quietest flight I’ve ever been on (of course Ryanair still had us sitting no where near each other across the empty rows), we hopped on a bus, caught up on our lack of sleep from the early flight (apologies to the elderly Asian woman who doubled as my pillow), and arrived in Ghent. The first problem was navigating the traffic, always an issue for me when travelling – bikes alawa the shop and I’m always stressed enough by the fact that the cars are travelling in the opposite direction. Absolute Flanders ‘mare! However, we resorted to an Uber, taking the opportunity to ask the driver what the rules were for zebra crossings here (or crosswalks – US), as we’d noticed there wasn’t any cars stopping at them. He informed us that cars are supposed to stop for pedestrians, almost mowing down a woman about to cross one as he explained this. Recognising that his deeds were proving ironic in relation to his words, he informed us that pedestrians she should have been paying attention because, highway code (or whatever it’s called) or not, “they’d be in the hospital, not me!” Can’t argue with that, mate.

When we arrived in the centre, it was a beautiful day and bloody hell, what a beautiful city! I didn’t know much about Ghent, and was on my way to a f***ing fairytale, but we’d stumbled upon c*nting cloud nine!

Please see photos below for a taste of this Flemish beauty, as we walked along the river past the gorgeous churches, not to mention massive castle slap bang int he middle of it all. I love a castle, too, and always assumed that the British ones are superior for some reason, but this was a cracking one – Gravensteen – built by Philip of Alsace to, essentially, show everyone how f***ing class he was. Fair play Phil, I’m in awe 900 years on.

We then travelled past the famous Graffiti street, which included some Graffitists in action, and then travelled for a pint. Or so I thought. I really liked the bar we were in, Dulle Griet, one of the oldest bars in the region. The same mate who had brought us to the bar said he would get the round in. I’ve no idea what he ordered, but had to double back when the waiter requested “three shoes, please.” What kind of mad currency do they use here I thought, ‘cos I’ve only bought Euros. But no, he wanted my shoe. Apologies to the other patrons, as I’d done a lot of walking already that day.

Still bemused as to what this was for, it soon became apparent when the drinks arrived, three years of ale in a distinct glass – the shoe is insurance to ensure you don’t steal it. Of course the Belgian beer was delicious, too, and of course it was 7.5%. A warning sign of things to come.

After another beer in another pub, we stocked up on more beers and some train snacks to get the train to our final destination. Mind, Ghent was going to take some beating.

Mind you, Bruges certainly was more of the same when we arrived. And our AirB&B itself was down a lovely Medieval cobbled street. The host had kindly left out three more Belgian beers, too. Bliss. A power nap was required, however, prior to moving on.

We headed out into the town on the evening, which is a beautiful time to walk around the canals and old buildings. Could already make out the tower from the film (the Belfry, to be precise), and already remarked that it was indeed a fairytale. Another old pub was our destination, this one of the somewhat 150-250 locations that bills itself as the “oldest pub in the world,” with that trusty “probably” that always precedes allowing them to do so. We had more delicious beers and sought out some food, a nearby pub offered a famous set menu with a beer flight, and we enjoyed this before setting out to find some film-locations, drinking more pints, and collapsing from exhaustion, age (29), and pints.

The next morning, we headed back into town to enjoy some culture (not related of Brendan Gleeson’s character’s efforts to enjoy some culture of course). Firstly, to the church that houses a relic of Jesus’ blood, which is a nice church in itself. I don’t have any pictures of the blood because I’m not a heathen and, come on, it’s Jesus’ f***ing blood!

Next, a Belgian waffle of course. I’m not sure what makes it Belgian, to be honest. Something to do with the grooves (or the alcoves), but bloody hell it was absolute filth and I was all for it. Deliciously calorific.

We were conveniently located next to a pub that came highly recommended. I say conveniently located, but between the three of us and our maps app, we couldn’t find it anywhere. After doing about three laps of the same square, we concluded that it was itself an invention, a fairytale, if you will. And then found it down a narrow alley. Happily, it transpires, finding the pub itself is quite a common challenge for its visitors. The other challenge is navigating the narrow, never-ending staircases. At each floor a member of staff would shake his head and gesture upwards, the stairs getting narrower and wonkier until we ended up in what I can only describe as the attic. But I like that sort of thing. More beers followed. And some nice cheese. On our way out, the stairs quite literally flew off the handle, as did my mate as he was very nearly rendered deceased. Time for some more culture.

We went to the church that houses Michelangelo’s Madonna and child, but the cost to actually see the sculpture was going to eat into a bit too much beer money, so, after a look around, went for another beer. This time, the famous De Halve Maan brewery, home of the Brugse Zot, which was the beer the host had left out for us. This time, though, it was fresh from the tap. And delicious enough to cause some bladder agony on our subsequent boat trip around the canal. A lovely way to see the city, however – must do more boat trips.

In the next bar, Bruges’s Little Bear, named after the symbol of the city that we’d just passed on the boat, we splashed out on a beer that was basically wine, in a big bottle, and it was, you guessed it, delicious.

It was a fleeting trip, and this was our last evening. We did manage to squeeze in the Newcastle match, and finally sampled the delicious chips, with Samurai sauce I can confirm that, yes, chips for tea is all you’ll need; they are phenomenal. Buit this is French fry country…Belgium). Also the takeaways doing the chips did beers.

The next bar, our beer was served to us by a guy from Glasgow (actually the third Glaswegian we’d met that day), who appeared to speak little Dutch and had no interest in speaking anything but Glaswegian (which is almost a language in itself) to the patrons. We had a nice chat to him in English, though, and he served us up a beer he recommended in, well, horns. I can’t remember how many we had, but it was a fair few, before he revealed it was 10%.

The three of us awoke the next morning with no memory and twenty minutes after our bus to Brussels had left. The taxi was a few hundred, and yes, anyone who keeps up with my travel blogs will know this is not the first time this has happened. I think it was logical and fair, however, in such a situation, to have another big, strong, Belgian beer in the airport. Delicious.