I stepped off of the train in Bruges and began the walk to my hotel. I had no sense of direction, but followed the crowds across the street from the train station, and my phone confirmed my routing. Here, the road bent gently to the left, and my path ahead was speckled with the brilliant colors of peak fall.
I could have taken a cab, but the golden leaves on the trees were hopeful, and the light was clear, even if the sky was a steely grey and the temperature was a bit chilly, with a high temperature in the 40’s. This was perfectly fine weather for a walk.
Far ahead, a tower tempted me.
I soon decided I was glad to have brought two jackets, however, and made sure to don the second.
My flight had arrived on time at the Brussels airport, and I followed the signs to the on-airport train station. The tickets were a bit confusing to me, and eventually after speaking to an agent it became clear that this was just an upsized metro system.
Belgium is a relatively small country, so that means things can operate differently than other places. In a certain sense, the railroad feels like it’s being operated a big subway.
And that’s OK once you get used to it.
The rep at the train station offered me one route to follow, and my phone gave me another, but once I read the timetable and understood what was happening, I found my own routing to Bruges.
In Bruges I walked into my Christmas- bedecked hotel several hours ahead of check in time and was happy to deposit my bags and begin to explore.
I headed first toward Markt square, and as I approached the streets opened to to the breathtaking view of the Provinical Hof, an over-the top neo-Gothic monument on the square.
The entire thing was extraordinarily beautiful, but also reminded me a bit of a Rankin Bass Christmas Special from my childhood.
With the jet lag, I honestly didn’t want anything too intense with my day — maybe some markets or shops, and something to nosh on. I expected a market at Markt Square, but it wasn’t there. Instead the square was surrounded by traditional stepped buildings that housed restaurants.
The food there was definitely not what I was looking for either, but a few blocks away I found a cafe to sit in while I planned the next few hours.
Mostly I settled on climbing the Belfry and having lunch.
Lunch took place first, a simple croque monsieur and local beer.
And the visit to the Belfry after involved a 366 step climb to well above the city, the trek mostly consisting of tiny-stepped runs of spiral staircases, with those visitors climbing periodically pausing to yield for those on their ways down.
There were a few stops along the way up. Mostly they weren’t so exciting, but the winner was this giant carillon wheel that drives the bells like they are part of a giant music box. Which I guess they are.
At the upper most level, the 47 bells dangle just over our heads, and are quite loud when they sound their music on their quarter hourly schedule.
Below me lies Bruges, a northern European medieval fantasy land, a place almost lost in time, with one foot firmly in the silt of centuries ago, and just a toe in the waters of the future.
With the gongs still ringing in my ears I found my way back down to my hotel to complete my check in.
I think I’m going to love it here.
butterblogger 