Our 2019 European Vacation — Belgium
Day 3
Brussels and Bruges
What’s up with the weather? Gray sky, no rain, but no sun in sight either. Nah, it’s still going to be hot. They said it was going to be hot. So, I put on my thinnest top and my shortest shorts. And the weather turned out to be exactly what it looked like. And stayed that way pretty much all day as we traveled through Netherlands and Belgium. Between the two of us we had one sweatshirt, the other one was buried deep in the belly of the bus. And I mean really deep — for some reason our suitcase was always among the last to come out. Miraculously, not only did I not get sicker in spite of being cold for much of the day, my sore throat actually went away. Thanks Universe. Or Zikam.
A short rest stop with a bathroom you have to pay for, but it gives you a receipt you can use as a voucher at the bakery and the store. Weird and logical at once.
Guess what, we are in Belgium. Just like that. JP treated all of us to some chocolates he bought at that store. Because — Belgium. Frankly, I was more impressed with the bulk chewable candy Lev made me buy there.
Brussels greeted us with road construction and traffic. A giant iron molecule. One of the spheres has a restaurant.
Some cathedrals, European parliament. People don’t do revolutions — the wealthy do. Brussels was a refuge from repressive regimes, so it attracted all kinds of people. Marx wrote his Manifesto in Brussels. 70 museums and more gourmet restaurants per capita than Paris. Greenhouses built for plants brought from Africa by King Leopold II, the one who decided to just take a country there for himself.
More road construction. More traffic. A small car in front of our bus stopped suddenly, our driver hit the breaks. And my mouth met the plastic handle on the seat in front of me. I felt my teeth hurt and tasted a little bit of blood in my mouth. I didn’t look in a mirror, so I could only tell by the expressions on the faces of people who saw me how bad my swollen lip looked. Maria hit her knee. Lorena, a woman who sat at our table at the introduction dinner — her nose and forehead. But I guess mine was the most “impressive”. When we finally got out of the bus near Grand Plaz, JP ran into a restaurant and got me ice. It worked wonders.
Grand Plaz was a large square surrounded by cool old buildings. One of them was city hall. Others used to house various guilds, one of which was still active. The guild buildings all had different decorations on their fronts. I only remember one with the face of a Spanish king who was born badly deformed due to generations of incest.
There was to be some kind of a concert at the plaza later. Bleachers. Someone checking sound by making weird noises.
A narrow, very touristy street led to the famous statue of a peeing boy. It turned out to be very small. What’s even worse, apparently people keep sending him clothes. And whoever is in charge of him thought it would be a good idea to dress him up. Wrong! It took all the charm away! When we were there, he was dressed as a shepherd, complete with toy sheep and fake green grass. He looked like a doll an a store display. Couldn’t even see him pee, except for the water on the green carpet. We were told that sometimes they make him pee beer. Honestly, the corkscrew of him sold everywhere was cooler than the actual thing.
Beggars. I didn’t recognize them as gypsies at first. Felt kind of bad. The old woman darting through the flow of tourists with her cup. A younger woman with a toddler on her hip, “Please give me some money to buy milk for my baby.” I knew the milk part was bs, still my hands started to reach to where my wallet was hidden. There was that look in her eyes, that smile, flashing gold teeth. Chill went down my spine as I remembered what happened last time I gave a gypsy woman a coin “to make a phone call” in Moscow 30 years ago.
JP warned us about them. He avoided saying exactly who they were out of fear he’d sound racist, I guess. He said the governments tried to send them back, but they come from an EU member country, so they would just return. He told us about their tricks, from primitive “You dropped a ring” to more sophisticated “Sign a petition” (where you really sign a pledge to give money). We saw those later in Paris by the Eiffel Tower. And I think JP was also talking about them when he told us that street vendors from Mali and Senegal, though illegal, are harmless and hardworking, unlike those who just sit and beg.
Mussels and fries — apparently the staple. Pricey and not particularly appealing to either of us. And again, just as I was about to cave, Lev saw an Asian restaurant. Mix of Chinese and Japanese — spring rolls, tempura shrimp, noodle soup. Did we come all this way to Belgium to eat that? But then, it’s not like those mussels are local. I did want to try fries sold in what looked like (but I am sure wasn’t) packets made of rolled newspaper, like in the old days, but Lev took so long to eat, we ran out of time. Hey, at least he ate.
Brussels said goodbye just as it greeted us in the morning — with more road construction and traffic. It took us forever to get out.
***
We must have brought the traffic with us from Brussels, like a contagion. Bruges is not supposed to have traffic. There’s not enough going on in there. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a really wondrous place. It used to be important. It was the capital of Flaunders. It had Europe’s first stock exchange. And it’s been stuck in time for some 400 years, after it fell out of favor with both whoever ruled the country back then (they jailed some high ranking officer, if I remember correctly) and the nature, which decided to separate it from the sea. So, like many old European cities it has roads meant for 2 carriages to pass. It also appears to have no way around those narrow streets. An accident that required an ambulance brought them to a standstill. Bruges is not supposed to have accidents. It’s not rushing anywhere. Been asleep for 400 years and in no hurry to catch up and milk the tourist Euros. All attractions closed at 5 or earlier, stores — just as bit later. And closed on weekends. At least that’s what JP told us. We weren’t going to any attractions that evening, but we were supposed to do a walking tour before our scheduled dinner. And there we were, stuck with no way out. JP considered having us abandon the bus and get on with the tour, but too many, like me, were in dire need of a sweater and long pants — it was much colder in Bruges than anywhere else.
Our feet finally on the ground, we couldn’t resist the temptation of trying to capture as much magic of the place onto our camera as possible. Lev insisted on taking all of the photos and producing perfect images, while I made sure we kept up, if barely, with the tour. In the end all those charming old buildings and cathedrals were spinning around me and I was completely confused about what where and why. Which is also why we had a hard time finding our hotel after dinner. And it was, like, right there.
Linden trees — I haven’t seen them in 30 years. My grandparents had one next to their house. We used to collect its bloom for medicinal tea.
Swans. They had a history in this town, but we missed most of JP telling it. Something to do with their long necks and people getting hanged. Lev’s encounters with water fowl became the running theme of this trip. And in Bruges in that one part of a canal there was a lot of them — swans, ducks, some others birds. He took a video, pictures, talked to them, didn’t want to leave until it started to get dark and my phone died.
Horse carriages for tourists. If there was ever a perfect place. All driven by very young women for some reason.
At dinner I ordered beer, the least bitter kind. Because — Belgium. They used to drink it instead of water. It was boiled in the process and thus was safer than water. I still don’t know what the traditional food is supposed to be.
Day 4
Bruges
When I think about that morning, I see sunlight. Spilling over the ancient rooftops. Pouring through the leaves of the linden trees blending with their yellow blossoms. Lighting up the cobblestones of still empty streets as we walked to see what we couldn’t see the night before.
Crusades led to shortage of men. Single women formed communities. They were not monasteries. The women were pious, but were allowed to marry and leave if they could. The communities provided protection. They even put a stone in front of the gate that signified that the place was off limits — even to the government.
A place where such community once dwelled was our first stop. It’s now an actual monastery — “Don’t make noise. Don’t step on the grass.” There was small church from something like 13th century. Going inside made me feel weird. Not necessarily in a bad way, just “there’s something here” kind of feeling. Maybe it was just a particular way light was mixing with darkness and dim colors.
The main cathedral, the one famous for Michelangelo’s Madonna statue, was full of light and air. Gorgeous in its own right with more beauty being uncovered under the layer of plaster on the walls.
And Madonna, sitting humbly amidst scaffolding. Indeed amazing — this solemn girl, her detachment from the playful child on her lap palpable. The explanation is that it’s because she knows what his fate is going to be. Is that what the master meant? Who comes up with those interpretations? I didn’t realize she was the one rescued by The Monument Men. Had to explain to Lev what Madonna was.
Tourists woke up and the streets were now bustling. Still not too crowded. Kids on a field trip all wearing high visibility vests. We saw more of that later in England. I guess that’s how they do it in Europe. Clever.
We forgot to buy a magnet. Come to think of it, I didn’t see them sold anywhere, definitely not in your face, like you would expect from a tourist trap. No. Just chocolate, lace, and waffles. I didn’t want to get chocolate and worry about it melting in the suitcase. We found other cool candy to bring home.
