Belgium

I spent two days in Belgium, almost entirely in the small town of Bruges and only a few short hours in the capital Brussels. Bruges contains a large and extremely well preserved medieval centre, which is surrounded by water and exclusively populated by medieval buildings, cobbled streets, parks and canals. Not surprisingly it is a major tourist destination, although the winter weather was sufficient to keep the streets from overflowing with tourists, most of whom could be seen taking shelter in the many restaurants and bars. The town is pretty during the day, but it comes into its own at night, when the Christmas lights that adorn so many of the buildings sparkle against the night sky, and the abundant towers and grand buildings are beautifully illuminated by spotlights whose beams positively glow in the low-lying mist.

My first evening in town was spent exclusively at Willy’s well-hidden rum bar, which is only open on Saturdays and is a rather exclusive establishment (not to mention a well-kept secret, despite being advertised as such on the tourist maps freely available at all of the hostels in town). The building was once the home of the town mayor, and it is decorated with countless wooden statues of jolly men with black faces, big lips and huge smiles, and also many paintings of naked women. The drinks menu almost entirely consists of rum cocktails (including warm cocktails, served hot enough that the glasses were uncomfortable to hold!) which all cost five euros. The high prices prove little discomfort, as the cocktails are incredibly strong and only a very small number are required to successfully enjoy a long and late night. This night concluded with an inebriated ramble back to the hostel, during which I encountered several fellow Australians — drunken plans were made to meet again the following evening, and against all odds we actually did so.

I then spent an entire day roaming the streets and canals with Philippe, a Belgian from Antwerp whom I had met at the hostel. The medieval buildings are amazingly well preserved, and although the vast majority of shops and restaurants cater to the usual tourist hordes, the town itself doesn’t feel tacky or exploited. In fact, one of the more expensive hotels in town sits on top of ancient foundations, and the casual backpacker can wander into the foyer and head down a flight of stairs to look at some of the remains and walk down an old stone corridor. Outside the majestic town hall we encountered Sinterklaas and his black-faced helpers, who were busy dispensing lollies to the legions of children that filled the wide open square. Sinterklaas (aka Saint Nicholas) is a traditional holiday figure in the Netherlands and Belgium, and Saint Nicholas’ Eve (December 5) is the primary occasion for gift-giving, although Christmas is also becoming popular. As you may have guessed from the name, Sinterklaas is the basis for Santa Claus.

From the town hall, Philippe and I visited several bars over the course of the afternoon and into the evening, enjoying the wonderful atmosphere of the cozy and well-patronised bars in combination with absolutely delicious local beers. Philippe had to take a train back to Antwerp, and as our day progressed this kept being deferred from his original plan to leave at 1pm, until finally we arrived at the train station just in time for the 9pm train. The next morning I arose early for my last foray into the streets of Bruges before heading to Paris. The weather was much improved and I strolled through a long wedge of parkland that was home to several windmills and a replica of the original devices used to weigh witches (presumably before sending them to their deaths). It was wonderful to spend the weekend in Bruges, but the town is fairly small (it takes less than two hours to circle the entire town) and I was not disappointed to leave it behind after two nights and head to Paris.

The simplest method of arriving in Paris from Bruges involved a train to Brussels, from where I was able to ride the fast (but expensive) TGV train directly to Paris. I arrived in Brussels with several hours in hand and took to the streets with my now-patented random walk. Unlike my other random walks, I now had a firm deadline — the train to Paris was quite expensive and I was not interested in purchasing a second ticket for a later train — and I had no map to refer to should things turn pear-shaped. Disappointingly, I found Brussels easy to navigate.

Brussels is a busy, bustling city that is home to a vast number of palaces, in addition to the regulation churches and parks. It was never going to fare well in comparison to Bruges, but when viewed as a capital city it exudes a certain charm. The buildings exhibit a French influence, the street signs give both the French and Flemish names, and the streets are not often constrained to a grid system. The (extremely small) old town is quaint and charming, despite its small size, and the central square was positively stunning — a bride and groom were having their wedding photos taken in the square, and nobody disputed their choice of locale.

The streets of the old town were much narrower than in the rest of Brussels, and were lined by all manner of Christmas markets and restaurants. I discovered a beautiful arcade purely by chance, which was lined by beautiful stores selling all manner of classy and fashionable Christmas wares — strolling along and admiring the storefronts, I came to a stop and stared dumbfounded at the chocolate shop, whose windows were decorated with incredibly intricate chocolate figures and figurines. Of course, my wallet was just as dumbfounded at the prices which appeared to have been inspired by the nearby fashion boutiques.

In response to Lynn and Summer, who told me of their unsuccessful attempts to find Belgian waffles in Brussels, I am happy to report that within my first hour in Brussels I devoured such a waffle covered in a sickly-sweet chocolate sauce. I wish them better luck the next time they visit Belgium!

As I indicated earlier (and thus spoiling any potential suspense) I had no navigation issues in Brussels, and I was able to board my scheduled train to Paris with ease. I had the pleasure of sitting next to a professor of philosophy, who was travelling to Paris to give a talk in French (one of the four or five languages in which she was fluent). It transpired that she not only knew of our previous Prime Minister, John Howard, but also thought little of him, using language that would be best described as impolite! From that moment, I knew it would be an enjoyable train ride.