There’s a magic portal on a narrow street that runs off a highway from Antwerp, many miles away… It was a grey and wet day, like all the others in Belgium that summer. As the car skated along the thin film of water, wading through the soft spray churned out by the wheels of a colossal 18 wheeler, I peered at fat drops of rain going pitter-patter on the pane. In the fields that lined the highway, I could see small herds of hornless cattle, marbled rumps and sirloin steaks on four legs, grazing in the haze. Further away, standing tall against horizon stood a row of wind turbines extending all along the highway. After driving west for nearly a 100 highway kilometres, I could see a little lane drifting away to my left . And that little lane tugs at every heart, promising seductive adventures and delicate delights, so I veer off the highway, ducking under a green sign and into that narrow lane that leads to a world from another time… incase you haven’t noticed, the sign says, ‘Welcome to Brugge!’ (that’s how the local Flemish folk spell it anyway… and the way they pronounce it is Broogah – the first bit like brew, as in tea, and the second syllable sounds like a man trying to cough up something he’s choking on...)
At that moment, as I was about to leave this dull grey lane and enter the portal to this magical and enchanting town, I was reminded of the words of a dark-haired damsel I’d met by a lake amidst the serene beauty of a paradise valley called Interlaken. She had been to “Bruges” (that’s how she and the rest of us pronounce it, rhyming with rouge, as in cosmetic) earlier and “it was simply the most beautiful and charming town in the world, preserved just the way it was in the medieval period… a living breathing city suspended in time between the middle ages and the 21st century”. That day I resolved to one day visit Bruges and see this town for myself…
And Bruges was definitely unique… The road along the lane transformed before our eyes into a cobbled path with clumps of grass growing on the fringes. The driver slowed down and parked by the kerb. Cars aren’t allowed in most parts of Bruges. We stepped out into the dull drizzle and walked round a corner and voila…! We’d left behind the rain and the gloom and entered a world where the sun, it would have you believe, always shone. Cobble-stone paths under our feet led us into a town square that looked like a movie set for a ‘King Arthur’ film. Medieval spires and towers shot up at the clear blue sky and in the centre was the town square with its assortment of true-blue Belgian stores, some selling chocolates in all shapes, flavours and sizes while others were devoted to displaying intricate patterns of Belgian lace… In any other setting, these stores would’ve smacked of kitschy commercialism, a fl y-trap for the bus loads of tourists that throng Bruges, come sun or snow, but here it only deepens the romance. Beyond the sloping roofs, stands the towering Belfort - Bruges’ bell tower, an 83 metre high structure that has stood there all alone for nearly a thousand years. I walked towards it, drawn by the whispers of stories that lie buried in its stony heart. What sights it must have seen as the years and heads rolled and kingdoms and the dust on them settled and swirled… But it’s not just the Belfort. All of Bruges is almost just as old… and to think that people live and go to work in these beautiful and ancient structures.
Suddenly I heard the clippity-clop of heavy iron shod feet. It was a horse-drawn carriage… I almost expected to see armoured knights with lances getting off the carriage but had to make do with the sight of an old German couple in the carriage, brandishing their Nikons as they hurtled along… Not perfect but beautiful nevertheless. Such horse-drawn carriages are a great way of moving about town. But the best things about Bruges are these beautiful winding canals that run across the lap of the city. In this Venice of the North, with its handsome willows, arched bridges and little boats reflected in the still green waters, you could spend days drifting from one picturesque corner to another. But a trip to Bruges is complete only with a visit to the magnificent spires of The Church of our Lady where hidden from the world behind ornate stained glass windows sits a gorgeous and ancient masterpiece, faithfully preserved and perfect, just like the town – Michelangelo’s magic in molten marble, the Madonna and Child…
Bruges seduces like no other city can for there is none that blends dramatic architecture with an all pervasive sense of history and an immediacy that allows you to touch the waters of the canal, the lace in the stores, the stones that speak and the history that lives in this town just as easily as the town touches your soul…
Here’s another one for your bucket list…
At that moment, as I was about to leave this dull grey lane and enter the portal to this magical and enchanting town, I was reminded of the words of a dark-haired damsel I’d met by a lake amidst the serene beauty of a paradise valley called Interlaken. She had been to “Bruges” (that’s how she and the rest of us pronounce it, rhyming with rouge, as in cosmetic) earlier and “it was simply the most beautiful and charming town in the world, preserved just the way it was in the medieval period… a living breathing city suspended in time between the middle ages and the 21st century”. That day I resolved to one day visit Bruges and see this town for myself…
And Bruges was definitely unique… The road along the lane transformed before our eyes into a cobbled path with clumps of grass growing on the fringes. The driver slowed down and parked by the kerb. Cars aren’t allowed in most parts of Bruges. We stepped out into the dull drizzle and walked round a corner and voila…! We’d left behind the rain and the gloom and entered a world where the sun, it would have you believe, always shone. Cobble-stone paths under our feet led us into a town square that looked like a movie set for a ‘King Arthur’ film. Medieval spires and towers shot up at the clear blue sky and in the centre was the town square with its assortment of true-blue Belgian stores, some selling chocolates in all shapes, flavours and sizes while others were devoted to displaying intricate patterns of Belgian lace… In any other setting, these stores would’ve smacked of kitschy commercialism, a fl y-trap for the bus loads of tourists that throng Bruges, come sun or snow, but here it only deepens the romance. Beyond the sloping roofs, stands the towering Belfort - Bruges’ bell tower, an 83 metre high structure that has stood there all alone for nearly a thousand years. I walked towards it, drawn by the whispers of stories that lie buried in its stony heart. What sights it must have seen as the years and heads rolled and kingdoms and the dust on them settled and swirled… But it’s not just the Belfort. All of Bruges is almost just as old… and to think that people live and go to work in these beautiful and ancient structures.
Suddenly I heard the clippity-clop of heavy iron shod feet. It was a horse-drawn carriage… I almost expected to see armoured knights with lances getting off the carriage but had to make do with the sight of an old German couple in the carriage, brandishing their Nikons as they hurtled along… Not perfect but beautiful nevertheless. Such horse-drawn carriages are a great way of moving about town. But the best things about Bruges are these beautiful winding canals that run across the lap of the city. In this Venice of the North, with its handsome willows, arched bridges and little boats reflected in the still green waters, you could spend days drifting from one picturesque corner to another. But a trip to Bruges is complete only with a visit to the magnificent spires of The Church of our Lady where hidden from the world behind ornate stained glass windows sits a gorgeous and ancient masterpiece, faithfully preserved and perfect, just like the town – Michelangelo’s magic in molten marble, the Madonna and Child…
Bruges seduces like no other city can for there is none that blends dramatic architecture with an all pervasive sense of history and an immediacy that allows you to touch the waters of the canal, the lace in the stores, the stones that speak and the history that lives in this town just as easily as the town touches your soul…
Here’s another one for your bucket list…
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