Two weekends ago was another Belgian adventure, this time it was just Isabel and I and we hit up both Bruxelles (Brussels) and Bruges. We left Wednesday and stayed with her grandmother for the weekend, returning Sunday evening. Brief summary (announcing my plan if you will…oh dear, this is evidence I’ve been in Langue class too long): Thursday, we explored Brussels; Friday, Bruges; Saturday and Sunday we spent with Isabel’s family.
Thursday, Brussels
Isabel’s grandmother gave us a map and a plan. She pointed out the major sights, explained why they were significant, and showed us the most efficient way to travel between them. Before I go any farther, I’d like to point out one of the secret qualities of Belgians that nobody ever talks about: they’re really efficient. I’ve noticed in all of the museums, train stations, sidewalks, and metros, there are always signs and arrows directing you exactly where to walk so that you can get somewhere in the shortest amount of time. They are placed at perfect distances; the minute you aren’t quite sure if you’re still going the right direction, there’s a sign with the distance to the sight listed, and often also a large map. What more, the design of everything in Brussels, both the public and private buildings, is sleek, efficient, and modern, but while maintaining a traditional European flair so that there’s a comfortable, hip uniformity. (I apologize, it didn't really occur to me to take a picture) Basically Belgium is a very nice country with its efficient design, its royalty, its waffles, its beer, its chocolate, and its fries. If only the constant threat of governmental collapse would subside, it would be rather idyllic.
Yes, while another lovely aspect to Belgium is its multiculturalism, the Flemish Belgians and the French Belgians aren’t exactly palsy, but they’re working on it… sort of. Let’s just say that Isabel’s grandmother advised that that since Bruges is in the Flemish part of Belgium, we would be better off speaking English than French. Not that we would be in danger speaking French in Bruges, but we would be treated much better as English speakers, go figure. However, Brussels is divided pretty evenly between the French and the Flemish and they get along well enough in Brussels, so we spoke French in Belgium, which worked out nicely because we were treated a little better than the tourists who didn’t speak French or Flemish, which is to say, shopkeepers and museum workers were chattier. However, in Belgium, one doesn’t find nearly as much hostility as in, say Paris, toward visitors who don’t make an effort to speak the native language. However, I would imagine this is at least partly due to the presence of the European Parliament, which conducts the bulk of its business in English and has taken pains to accommodate the native tongues of all member countries.
Anyway, back to Brussels. We only followed Isabel’s grandmother’s plan loosely, but we made it to the two biggest attractions in Belgium, Grand-Place (Grote Markt in Flemish) and Mannekin Pis. The former is the central market square of Brussels and home to beautiful, old Belgian architecture, museums, and guild houses, and Town Hall. The latter is the statue of a peeing boy.
Town Hall, Grand-Place
Grand-Place
Me and Mannekin Pis
Yes, one of the great sights to see in Belgium, one of its greatest draws is a tiny fountain that portrays a little boy relieving himself. They dress him up on holidays. I don’t pretend to understand, I just take pictures. No, but really, the statue was erected many years ago by a wealthy Belgian man who thought he had lost his son. He searched high and low for the missing boy to no avail. Just when he thought all hope was lost, someone found the boy one day, down a small street taking a leak against a wall. The father was so happy to have found his son that he commissioned a work of art to commemorate the occasion. And thus we have Mannekin Pis, or roughly, peeing model.
After Mannekin Pis, we headed back to Grand-Place for a quick tour of the Brewers’ House. A quick tour indeed, it was only three rooms. The first room was a very small bar that doubled as a ticket counter, the second room was a small, restored brasserie, or brewery, from the end of the 17th century, and the third room was a larger circular room with a few machines from a modern brewery on the outskirts with a screen at the head of the room showing a long film about the history of the beer, the gist of which was that monks are really good at making beer.
After that, we made our way to the Museum of Costume and Lace (Musée du Costume et de la Dentelle). It was much more satisfying than the Brewer’s House, which felt like paying money to watch a special that probably runs on public television. Plus it had another thing Belgium is secretly known for, lace. Granted, we didn’t see half so much lace as we did costume; the museum was exhibiting a retrospective of women’s fashion in Belgium from 1958. Essentially it was a series of rooms of pretty dresses, hats, and fans from the late 50s, and a whole lot of fun to walk through, especially since there was hardly anyone there to mind that I was singing American standards the whole time.
We rounded out the day with waffles and fries (ie lunch) and a walk though Parc du Bruxelles, one of the biggest park’s in Belgium, the edge of which took us past the royal residence. Then we headed back to Isabel’s grandmother’s where we ate a real meal and went to bed, tired from a long day.
Friday, Bruges
If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend the movie In Bruges. It definitely got me pumped for going to Bruges, although I would have been happy to go anyway. It’s a pretty little town with some of the oldest architecture in Belgium and an extensive canal system that yields (poor) comparisons to Venice (that is, people say Bruges is the Venice of Belgium… to that I say, the canals in Bruges are very nice, but they’ve got nothing on Venice). It’s a little touristy, yes, but it’s also quite beautiful.
One thing that the film In Bruges gave me was an unshakable, childlike excitement anytime I walked through Markt (Bruges’ equivalent of Grand-Place) and past the bell tower (if you haven’t seen the movie, I refuse to spoil it by explaining the significance of the bell tower). I probably giggled excessively, especially for someone who grew up in Studio City.
(“Mommy, mommy, it looks just like the one in the movie!”)
Arriving in Bruges Isabel and I first followed some signs and walked around, making our way to the Lovers Water where we were struck by the natural and overwhelming beauty of Bruges. We decided it was aptly named because it seems like a place that would be very conducive to that I’m-in-love-and-everything-is-wonderful sort of feeling, so much so that Isabel felt the need to point out several times that it was too bad that I was me and not a beautiful man friend. Tant pis, I’m perfectly happy being me thank you very much.
We also wandered into a béguinage, or Beguine convent, the grounds of which were open to the public. It was quiet and peaceful, that is, until the tour groups came through with their matching t-shirts, high flags, and chatty tour directors. That was odd.
Next we took a boat tour of Bruges via the canal system. Luckily, we just happened to catch the last open tour of the day, from there on out the tours were only reserved for the large tour groups we had encountered earlier. The boat tour was lovely; our driver explained everything four times, giving tour information in Flemish, then repeating himself in French, English, and Spanish. He was kind of a champ in that regard.
The champ
Another boat on the canal
A hotel and restaurant on the edge of a canal
After the boat, we were getting hungry for lunch. And we were in Belgium. The only logical solution? The fry museum! But why stop there?
If we buy them all together, we can get a discount for going to all three of the big museums in Bruges, the fry museum, the chocolate museum, and the lamp museum.
Our response? Pourquoi pas?
And so we started at the fry museum, or Frietmuseum: From potato to chip. Simultaneously inane and glorious, the fry museum engaged in a little false advertising because we had to pay for the fries at the end of our tour that we had hoped to get for free. And yes, that was Friday’s lunch. Unless you’re a potato enthusiast, you’re not missing a whole lot if you skip the fry museum, although each room had, among other panels of information, a story geared toward children that followed two potato characters from room to room. This was the glorious part of the museum, so glorious in fact, that words will not suffice, I will have to show you. However, it might take a few pictures, so I'll give it it's own post.
Next up, we hit up the chocolate museum and the lamp museum. They’re housed in the same building, so when we showed up at the ticket counter, we were given passes for both and could visit them in either order. The chocolate museum seemed busy so we tried the lamp museum first.
The lamp museum, or Lumina Domestica was… interesting. We first had to slip plastic passes into a slot and go through a turnstile which led us to a brief introduction/explanation of the museum and to a set of stairs to start the tour. The intro explained how the proprietor of the lamps housed in the museum started his (or her?) lamp collection at a young age upon receiving an exotic lamp as a souvenir from a father who traveled far and wide for business. The lamp collection subsequently became, shall we say, obsessive. The museum tour began up a flight of stairs where a glowing, color-changing genie spoke to us in French of the wonders of light. Next we were guided into a dark room that suddenly lit up to the sound of thunder. Isabel and I both jumped about a foot in the air and screamed the first time this happened because, to add to the tension that the exhibit sought to create, we were the only ones in the whole lamp museum. We were so shaken up that we stood there hugging each other for about a minute at which point the lights went out and it happened again.
We jumped the second time too.
Then we moved through the rest of the museum cautiously, but quickly. And while it was pretty cool to see all the ancient ways people harnessed fire and oil for light, the collection was actually obsessive, rooms and rooms and rooms of lamps that looked virtually identical and not another person in sight. I’m sure the proprietor was very well intentioned, but it came across as a little creepy. ESPECIALLY when I tried to take a picture to capture the fact that this person has SO MANY ROOMS FULL OF SO MANY LAMPS and I had accidentally left the flash on; when I went to take the picture the flash went off and INSTANTANEOUSLY all the lights went off and we were left in near darkness.
We left pretty quickly.
Then we made our way to the chocolate museum or Choco-Story which will forever and always remind me of Thomas Gerkin who insists on calling all things chocolatey “choco.” This museum was decidedly more conventional and full of people, hence little to no creep factor. It was much more about chocolate and its history than the chocolate museum in Barcelona had been, although this one also had displays of statues made of chocolate. Unfortunately, it was raining outside and everyone had decided that it was therefore a good idea to go this particular museum and it was pretty crowded. It was reasonably interesting, but at this point Isabel and I were both suffering from an acute case of museum fatigue and didn’t stay very long. After a bit of wandering in the rain, some window shopping, and nearly getting turned around several times we ran to the train station and just barely caught the 4pm train back to Brussels, which put us back at Isabel’s grandmother’s just in time for dinner.
Saturday, Sunday, Brussels
We spent the weekend with Isabel’s family. Saturday we went to the local market and ate more waffles (if you get them hot and fresh, mmm, so good). Then we went with Isabel’s grandmother and two of her cousins to a centennial celebration of the local neighborhood and culture. It was a small fair and a good bit of fun: old games, old costumes and dance, and restored trams. That evening we went to Isabel’s uncle’s home for dinner which was excellent. He makes his own apple juice, which is delicious, and he has a farm so we got to play with baby goats and chicks (cuuuuute). Then Sunday we visited Isabel’s aunt for coffee and cake. She has a new kitten so the weekend was full of adorable baby animals.
After that we went home, which would have been uneventful if I hadn’t left my wallet in Angers which had my Carte 12-25. The Carte 12-25 is the best thing about the SNCF, the organization that runs the French train system. The card gets you major discounts on train tickets if you are between the ages of 12 and 25. Unfortunately for me, you have to carry the card with you when you travel and present it, along with your ticket to the ticket checkers. I got a fine for not carrying my card, but I paid it and that was over with. Also, the train stopped once or twice on the tracks and we just sat there without explanation for some time, so we got back to Angers over an hour after we were scheduled to. But aside from my frustration with the SNCF (which will be explained in more detail soon), it was a very nice trip.
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