We jumped on a bus a headed for the city centre. Bruges is a city I have always wanted to visit. I have seen it so many times, immortalised in photographs, showing the gentle canals and beautiful architecture leering over the edge.
As the bus got closer to the centre, the buildings got narrower and the tarmac disappeared, leaving only smooth cobbled streets that had been worn down from hundreds of years of footsteps.
We pulled up to the centre of the city. In front of us, a line of richly coloured narrow buildings, with stripped awnings lining the front. To the right stood an imposing, half dark and half light building, the town hall. Encased in intricate stone work, the town hall was left in the shadow of the Belfry. Towering high above anything else, the Belfry is a Medieval Bell Tower that was constructed in 1240. After the majority of the tower burning down in 1280 (in which all of the city's records were destroyed), the Belfry was rebuilt, and that is the structure that still stands to this day.
The rain started to fall, so we ducked inside the Belfry itself to find some shelter.
Inside the space opened up into the traditional monastic court yard, with a vaulted edge. For a small amount you can climb the Belfry and take a look over the city. However much I would have liked to, and believe me, I would, I can't deal with heights. If someone was to place me at the top, and I would have been there. However, for me, it is the ascent, especially on small stair cases, and those metal stairs with spaces in between each step. As soon as I get to a height, I freeze, and just can't go any further. (It is for this reason that I have never even been up a ladder.) And so paying to go up the Belfry, however much I would have loved to see the views, was just a no go.
As the bus got closer to the centre, the buildings got narrower and the tarmac disappeared, leaving only smooth cobbled streets that had been worn down from hundreds of years of footsteps.
We pulled up to the centre of the city. In front of us, a line of richly coloured narrow buildings, with stripped awnings lining the front. To the right stood an imposing, half dark and half light building, the town hall. Encased in intricate stone work, the town hall was left in the shadow of the Belfry. Towering high above anything else, the Belfry is a Medieval Bell Tower that was constructed in 1240. After the majority of the tower burning down in 1280 (in which all of the city's records were destroyed), the Belfry was rebuilt, and that is the structure that still stands to this day.
The rain started to fall, so we ducked inside the Belfry itself to find some shelter.
Inside the space opened up into the traditional monastic court yard, with a vaulted edge. For a small amount you can climb the Belfry and take a look over the city. However much I would have liked to, and believe me, I would, I can't deal with heights. If someone was to place me at the top, and I would have been there. However, for me, it is the ascent, especially on small stair cases, and those metal stairs with spaces in between each step. As soon as I get to a height, I freeze, and just can't go any further. (It is for this reason that I have never even been up a ladder.) And so paying to go up the Belfry, however much I would have loved to see the views, was just a no go.
As we stepped through the archway on the other side of Belfry, we were surrounded by glowing shop windows. Displaying the finest lace and chocolates in the world, we stared into the windows, jumping from each awning to the next, sheltering from the rain.
It is no exaggeration to say these truffles were the best things I have ever tried in my life.
In the UK, you would often find that areas such as Bruges, with it's stunning squares and ancient architecture, would be pedestrianised and full of National Trust Shops and Coffee Shops. Of course, Bruges has these things in abundance. From the tacky beer shops, to the over-priced restaurants, because it is full of tourists. However, beside the flocks of visitors, dawdling through the streets with their oversized cameras hanging from their necks, were real people. Riding their bikes, popping into the bakery to collect their lunchtime bread. Real people, jogging along the cobbled pavements, concentrating on their pulse rather than the awe-inspiring architecture that lay around them. These were not tourists, or those that worked in the tourism industry. These were real people, office workers, architects, teachers, designers. They were people who called Bruges home.
As we made our way around the city, dropping into side roads and choosing our path based upon awnings wide enough to shelter us from the ever-heavying rain, we found ourselves in a courtyard. Low doors, and small windows, omitting golden glows.
We carried on walking through sheltered yard, and the street suddenly opened up. There, beside us, out of the blue, was the spot. That infamous spot in Bruges, where the buildings lean over and gently kiss the canal.
With spires rising in the background, and the trees dipping their branches into the gentle flow of the water, and the tours leaving from the dock tucked to one side, it's easy to see why this spot is so famous.
The crowds carried on pushing through and we decided it was a good time to find somewhere warm to dry off and grab something to eat. We walked back up to the small courtyard and started to look at the menus. In the far top corner, there was a small, dark doorway that lead through to a room of deep tapestries. I ducked inside, just to take a look at the building, and suddenlywe found ourselves hustled into a restaurant area by a waiter in a crisp black suit, and a judgmental look across his face. He asked where we would like to sit, and much to his dismay, I made a beeline for a cosy nook with big windows. As we sat down, we realised where we were. The little nook was overhanging the canal, and as the boats travelled past, they stared up to our small, waterside booth.
The food, quite honestly, was nothing to write home about. In fact it wasn't very good at all (so much so that I can't remember what I had), and was expensive for such poor, pre-packaged rubbish. However sitting over the canal, watching the boats pass by, and pissing off the waiter who was quite obviously disappointed in our rain-swept look and choice of the lunch menu, was completely worth the price tag.
We stepped outside into a downpour. Umbrellas filled the streets as we made our way through the winding lanes. After a quick stop in a chocolate shop to stock up on truffles for a sneaky midnight snack, we started on the hunt for the Basilica of the Holy Blood.
Coming through the courtyard, past the old fish market, we stepped under a golden arch. Striking against the surrounding red brick, the arch led the way to a beautiful square, where tucked away in the corner, was the Basilica of the Holy Blood.
Built in the 12th century, originally as the chapel for the Count of Flanders, the Basilica claims to be the residing place of the blood of Christ, collected by Joseph of Arimathea. It's rumoured that the vial containing the blood was taken to Bruges during the Second Crusade. However, it seems more likely that rather than being a gift, the vial containing the holy blood, was actually a relic taken in during the sacking of Constantinople in the Fourth Crusade.
The Basilica itself is free to enter, and is well worth a look. The building itself is utterly beautiful, and is the definition of superfluous.
As we stepped out of the Basilica, the rain had settled into a drizzle, and the sky had dulled into a dark grey, as the whatever sun they may have been behind the clouds, started to set.
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