Happy beer day to you …

The Belgian city of Bruges oozes charm with its protected heritage buildings, pedestrian-friendly streets, and easy-going ambassadors

Bruges wasn’t on my original itinerary for francophone Europe, but the name came up so often that I diverted there for my last two days in Belgium. My only regret was that the visit was so short!

As I disembarked at the train station, I was almost convinced I’d gotten off at the wrong stop. Most of the stations I’ve been to in my nine months travelling Europe and Morocco are smack in the middle of the urban jungle, surrounded by highrises and concrete. In Bruges, I walked straight out into a park. Following Google Map instructions on how to reach my hostel in the heart of the historic quarter, I saw that much of my walk would be along a greenbelt and canals that form a ring around central Bruges.

And while there was lots of traffic on the wide avenues around the heart of Bruges, it’s largely car-free in the central city. In fact, I was astounded to see that the huge underground parking lot for the concert hall near my hostel was for bikes, not cars!

Similar to Ghent, the bike/pedestrian-friendly city I had just come from, it was a pleasure to walk around without choking on exhaust fumes or looking over my shoulder for impatient drivers.

The streets of historic Bruges have little vehicle traffic, unless you count caleches and bikes.

I walked around on my own after settling in at the hostel, getting a feel for this 1,000-year-old city that is the capital of the primarily Dutch-speaking Flanders region. It was impressive, the tidy streets with well-preserved buildings, some dating back to Medieval times, others with a Gothic or neo-Gothic style that is distinctly Brugian, according to the UNESCO World Heritage Centre.

The streets were full of strolling tourists and residents checking out the multitude of small shops and restaurants, many offering the “best” of whatever it was they were selling, from beer to chocolate to nuts.

The next morning I set off for my usual free (tip-based) walking tour, this one offered by Ambassadors Tours, which promised an “untraditional” tour led by story-tellers who would regale us with tales of the city’s sometimes dark and sometimes amusing past, which included the kidnapping of the Holy Roman Emperor in 1487 as part of a fight for autonomy. Peacefully released after four months, Maximiliaan I held a grudge, however, giving the residents the nickname “Brugse zotten,” or the “Fools,” which is the name proudly given to one of the city’s popular beer.

Our guide, Pascal, lived up to the billing, his theatre background evident as he told the story of the kidnapping, his arms waving in the air. Or as he leaped onto the edge of the St. Bonifacius Bridge, where legend has it that the first person you see on the opposite side will become your spouse. A very popular spot for romantic photos, Pascal poured a little water on one of the stones and rubbed it to reveal that some of the materials used to construct the bridge in 1910 were, in fact, repurposed tombstones.

The tour, which lasted two hours, wrapped up at De Halve Maan brewery, where you can see what is surely the world’s only beer pipeline, an underground conduit conveying the equivalent of 12,000 bottles an hour to a bottling plant two miles away. The brewery sold the city on the idea by pointing out that it would eliminate the need for large beer tankers on the city’s narrow streets. It would also ensure that De Halve Maan, the only brewery still standing in the city core, wouldn’t need to follow the 30-or-so craft beer producers that have packed up or packed it in since the Second World War.

Retracing my steps later that afternoon, I made another discovery near the St. Bonifacius Bridge, walking into the Nuit Blanche guesthouse, which is the home and studio of artist David de Graef that he also runs as a B&B. At first I thought it was just a gallery in the restored medieval mansion at the foot of the bridge, but as I went room to room admiring the artist’s work, I was surprised to see him at work on his latest creation.

A young family was watching him as he worked on a large canvas. The mother had apparently just bought a coffee-table book of de Graef’s work and asked if he could sign it. He immediately took down the canvas, put it against the wall behind him, placed the book on his easel, then looked at the mother and asked if he should dedicate it to the young ballerina. (The girl was wearing a salmon-coloured bodice and tutu, I’m not sure what the occasion was.)

A simple signature was not good enough, de Graef began to paint a small image of a young ballerina on the opening page of the book as the family looked on. I watched for a few minutes, then began to discreetly make my way out. For some reason, I turned back to look once more at the family watching de Graef work, then snapped the picture you see at the top of this blog.

Looking at it later, I fell in love with the composition, no matter how haphazardly it had come together. The artist framed by the doorway to his garden, his current work at his back, partially framing the young girl looking with intense joy at the miniature painting of her being airbrushed onto the book. The mother and young son looking on, the partially obscured father looming, it all seemed to come together perfectly, almost like … a painting!

The photo became a bit of a metaphor for me of how my unexpected visit to Bruges turned out to be a pleasant discovery of a city imbued with charm and grace, with hidden surprises around every corner, from beer pipelines to bridges made from tombstones.

Market Square is where the city’s powerful guild houses directed the local economy.

Meanwhile, back at the hostel that evening, I was invited to come down to the lounge area for what I thought the concierge had said was to sing happy birthday. Turns out it was an invitation to a beer tasting. “It seems I need to get my hearing checked,” I laughed, explaining to the host that I don’t drink alcohol, but I’d be happy to offer my opinion on what their six varieties of craft beer smelled like.

Very early the next morning, I was walking back through the park to the train station, bidding adieu to Bruges, but leaving with the firm and fond intention of making it back again sometime soon.

Nicknamed Venice of the north, touring Bruges by boat is a popular choice.

Thanks for letting me share a little of that experience with you! Now we’re off on the road to the Normandy coast of France. Next stop: Le Havre.