(Not) Things I Learnt In Brugge

My series of “Things I Learnt In…” posts about travels to (not so) far flung countries began when I went to Amsterdam last summer and returned with a bunch of random facts in my head and not a lot to say about what I did, and continued when I went to Paris in November.

Well, my latest escapade has had me in Brugge for three days, but this time, I’ve returned with the opposite dilemma: I’ve actually gone out and done stuff, instead of just wandering around the city picking up random facts about it.

So, what have I been up to? In no particular order:

• I explored old foundations of Sint-Donaas church where the Duke of Flanders was murdered in 1127.
• I visited the oldest bar in Bruges and drank possibly the best hot chocolate ever.
• I ate a kilo of pancakes in one sitting (with a little help from a few others!)
• I made chocolate truffles.
• I climbed to the top of the concert hall where I could see a panorama of the city. (I’d have climbed the belfry instead, for an even better view, but the prospect of 663 steps put me off!)
• I watched confectioners making sugar candy, then got to roll my own lollipop.
• I visited a museum about potatoes. Yes, potatoes. Fascinating. Did you know there are over 4000 kinds of potato, not including those growing in the wild? Or that people used to believe they were responsible for turning them into libidinous debaucherers? Mmm, potato.
• I ate stewed meat in chocolate and beer sauce, nyom.
• I took a boat tour of the city, without realising it was narrated in Flemish, and only caught on after ten minutes why I couldn’t understand most of it.

I spent the first night struggling to get to sleep for several hours thanks to the group I was sharing a dorm with; they clearly hadn’t been hostelling before and were quite distraught at the prospect of communal showers, one electrical socket to share between ten people and only having enough storage space to fit a large rucksack. As I walked in, one of them cried “How am I going to straighten my hair?!” – well, see, it’s a budget hostel for backpackers. It doesn’t usually accommodate people who take six pairs of heels and their entire make-up collection away for the weekend.

I did manage to get to sleep in the end though, and after getting up early on the second day and spending all day exploring the city, I was shattered by 11pm and as the rest of the group were on their way out to tour the bars again, I was climbing into bed. I promptly fell asleep, only to be woken up by one of the blokes banging on the door at 3.30am, having lost his keycard. I grumbled at him for waking me up, and he proceeded to launch into a torrent of “why the fuck were you asleep anyway?! You’re on holiday!” – er, yes. That’s why I was tired after making the most of my day, instead of lying bed nursing a hangover.

In other news, I never want to get on a coach again. We left Derby at 10pm on Thursday evening, and arrived in Brugge twelve hours later; we somehow managed to squeeze the same journey into eight hours today, but made up for it with a bit of drama after breaking down at Newport Pagnell services: we had to be pushed off to try and get the engine running, a la Little Miss Sunshine, and ended up rolling down the slip road towards the M1. When it became evident that the engine wasn’t going to start, the driver began swearing and begging the brakes to start working. It was… fun. Never again – the coach part, at least.

Originally written in February 2009.