A Last Glimpse of Ghent, An Afternoon Back in Brussels

Monday, 8 August, 2011 - Our last day in Belgium. As can likely be discerned by the fact that we opted to see a movie during our afternoon rather than explore more, I don't think either of us were wildly captivated by Ghent. Don't get me wrong, Ghent was charming and lovely and very Belgian, but I think after the magic of Brugge it just didn't quite compare. We discussed our options over breakfast and decided there really wasn't much else we would regret not seeing, so we might as well spend the day in Brussels. Besides, I still needed to return to the Shop to see about that Thing for that Person*.

We did stop off at St. Bavo's Cathedral and St. Nicholas' Church before we left, though.

St. Bavo's was primarily a wooden construction consecrated in 942, but over the years it was renovated in both the Romanesque and Gothic styles, considered complete as we know it now in 1569. There used to be an abbey associated with the cathedral, but it was long since dissolved.

Although a newer building in comparison, only begun in the 13th century, St. Nicholas' Church was built in the Scheldt Gothic style, one particular to this region, best identified by the slender turrets cornering each arm of the church. It was built of a blue-grey stone particular to this region. Its central tower also used to serve as an observation point until the belfry was completed in 1380.

Ghent Belfry

Once back in Brussels, I let Ian go wander at will while I returned to the Shop to try and convince the owner to help in my quest. Long story short: no. She said she would contact their newest maker for me, but I never did hear back from either of them.

I relaxed and people watched in the Grand Place for the most part to kill some time before Ian and I were supposed to meet up for lunch. I just love the details in this square!

We ended up eating lunch in the Grand Place, too, even though I knew it was a huge tourist trap. Still, there's just something so pleasant about being right at the heart of medieval Brussels. Ian was feeling rather toured out by that point, so we went to grab a drink at Delirium Bar which he had heard about from a friend. It's down a small ally a little north of the Grand Place, and I was a little skeptical when we descended into a low-lit basement, but the bar itself was actually really neat.

Apparently this was the bar for the world class Delirium beer, though they offered over 200 varieties from around the world. Maybe not quite Irish beer in my books, but Belgian beer is well-known for a reason. I tried the Floris Honey. Good, but definitely a taste you would have to be in the mood for. However after an hour I still wanted to get out and wander around the city since our flight wasn't until much later that night. Ian was enjoying the bar, so I said I'd be back in an hour. I found a bookshop and spent some time in there, then met up with Ian again. We wandered around for a while longer, bought some chocolate, had a final Belgian waffle, then headed to the airport even though we were going to be about two hours early. Better safe than sorry. We made it back to Vienna without anything else too noteworthy, I for one very glad to be back in my own bed.

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*The Shop, the Thing, and the Person can all now be disclosed as it's past Christmas and the person in question is in on the loop - in 2010 I had seen these wooden carvings that looked to be from the Black Forest in Dandoy, a biscuiterie, of all places. They looked very much like something my Mother would really like and I considered getting one for her then, but it was too big to fit in my duffle bag. I took a picture of the inside of the shop, though, and when flipping through pictures when I got home, my Mom stopped and pointed at those, remarking how much she liked them without any prompting from me. I really really wanted to get one for her. See top right corner of below picture.

Brugge + Ghent

Sunday, 7 August, 2011 - The six of us again woke up to an amazing breakfast spread. We ate and chatted merrily, then the Russians headed off while Ian and I packed up our stuff. We were going to wait for the other part of our North Carolinian contingent, but they said they were going to lounge around for a while, so Ian and I decided to make one last lap around Brugge, then head to Ghent. The fellow I had met at the hunting and antique store the previous day informed me that there was going to be a huge antique market at Zand Square (where we were on Saturday), so Ian and I decided to see if there were any treasures. Unfortunately it poured on us as we were walking over

(perhaps we shouldn't have been too surprised since this was our view as we walked out the front door of the B&B), but it was letting up again as we got there, so after about fifteen minutes vendors began pulling tarps off so people could continue browsing. This market was much more extensive than Saturday's, but neither of us found anything we couldn't live without.

We decided that the other main thing that we wanted to see if we were in Brugge (and we were) was one of the windmills. There were originally 20 some lining the northern and eastern boarders of the city, but today only three remain. We traipsed through the city, me attempting to lead us in the most direct route possible, which took us by some (more) quaint buildings with stepped gable (or 'crow stepped gable') architectural features.

Old St. John's Hospital 

 St. Savior's Cathedral (12th - 15th century)

We also went back through the Market Square, much more bustling in the late morning.

It took about fifteen minutes to get from the Market Square to the last of the windmills, and literally we were walking along a street that just ended on a nice lawn with little hillocks peaked by said windmills. They were neat to see. And... that's about it.

Well, okay, to get to this one there was a romantic little tree-lined path that you got to walk along next to a canal. There was also this stellar towered building near where the street dead-ended which made me start composing little haunted stories and heroic knight-winning-the-maiden tales in my head.

But, feeling like we had seen much of Brugge and eager to get on to Ghent, Ian and I headed back to our B&B, collected our bags, and walked through Minnewater Park one last time to catch our train.

About half an hour later we pulled into Ghent. Unlike Brugge where everything is within walking distance, we had to catch a tram in Ghent to get to our B&B. It was admittedly not nearly as charming and hospitable as our last experience, but hey, it was nice, small, and pleasant. Ghent, on the other hand, was, well, I don't want to say it wasn't nice, small, and pleasant, but it very distinctly lacked the feel of Brugge. Perhaps it was just that it was bigger, more spread out, and was occasionally sullied by horrible American franchising.

But that aside, Ghent was nice. So, when you go to Ghent as an average tourist wanting to see the average touristy things, there are two things you'll note and probably want to check out more thoroughly. One. There is a castle:

Specifically Het Gravensteen, the ancient Castle of the Counts. Two: There are some pretty prominent spires in Ghent:

From left to right: St. Baafskathedral (St. Bavo's Cathedral), the Belfort, St. Niklaaskerk (St. Nicholas' Church), and a clock tower.

Ian and I were a hair past hungry at this point and considered seeking out one of the places listed in my guidebook, but why navigate yet unknown streets on an empty stomach when we could eat at the (likely ridiculously overpriced) Fish Market just across from the castle - the closest landmark to our B&B?

All of the restaurants on that little square looked identical, so we snagged an open table. Except we happened to choose the one restaurant where the chef had had to leave because of an emergency, and the sous-chef wasn't qualified to prepare either of the dishes Ian and I ordered (or something like that that made us raise our eyebrows), but the waiter helped us come to an agreeable second choice and we dug in. This was, of course, finished off with a delicious Belgian waffle with ice cream (seriously, those things are addictive; I can't eat enough of them!).

Thoroughly sated, we decided it was only logical that our first stop was the castle. It was your typical castle tour with information on the old goings-on and artifacts (including a few of the likely 'tamer' torture devices previously implemented), but I happen to like castles and picturing potential attempted sieges and such, so I thought it was great! Ian did, too.

The upper terrace also afforded some pretty spiffy views. Not to mention just wandering around looking over the parapets was neat.

 I think the illustration is self-explanatory.

But, let's be honest: For your average castle-viewer, it was an average castle. Maybe a little above average because I think they did a good job of presenting the information and allowing one to explore almost everywhere, but in my humble opinion it didn't hold a candle to Ashford or Menlough Castles (both in Ireland, both favorites for wholly different reasons).

Ian and I then began to wander in the direction of the towering places of worship, but were sort of waining on the desire to keep walking. We had joked about seeing a movie earlier, but the prospect was suddenly becoming more and more appealing. There was one that was definitely at the top of both of our lists, too: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part II. Yes, like 92% of our generation, we had been eagerly anticipating the release of the final Harry Potter movie (and heck, I don't even like the movies! The books are another story...) but neither of us had gotten around to seeing it in Vienna. And we called ourselves dedicated fans! So we bypassed the churches and belfry for the nonce in search of one of the English theaters that our waiter at lunch had told us about. We walked maybe a third of the way, still in the old historic part of the city, but as we neared the brink of true antiquity we decided to just take public transportation. I am glad that we walked the part we did, though.

 Great Butchers' Hall on the left

 About the point where we decided to stop and wait for a tram...

...across the street from Gerard the Devil's castle. Unfortunately not open to the public.

We got off at the right stop, walked through a park, and found our massive cinema complex. We bought tickets for an early evening showing (you're assigned seats! This was my first movie theater experience in Europe, one movie in Ireland excluded, but apparently this is common practice), then went to a restaurant across the street for a light dinner. Another quirk when we got back to the theater - they kept the entrance to each screen roped off until the showtime. We all piled in when they finally came by (as if it had any influence on where we sat), and I was pleased to see that even though it had been out over a month, the theater was at least half-full. 

We laughed. We cried. We made friends with the guys sitting next to us during the intermission (I heard rumor that there was no intermission in the US?). Then we laughed and cried some more. Well, maybe a little less on the laughing side since just about everyone dies, not to give too much away. We were satisfied.

It was dark when we got out, so we took public transportation back to about where we got on earlier, then figured we could walk from there. It was a really nice night, and we didn't have any particular destination in mind as we strolled up the street, when suddenly we noticed particularly neon lights down one street. Hmmm. We should probably investigate. As we strolled past shop fronts, Woah! Did that mannequin just move?! We looked again. That wasn't a mannequin. We had (definitely unwittingly) found Ghent's red light district. Now, I'm not certain how these things normally work, but we were both a little surprised to see that in fact every 'shop front' was actually a window so you could, in every sense of the term, go window shopping. A tad bemused by the whole thing, we decided to just go back the way we had come. After a little later research, I learned that in fact Ghent is well-known for its red light district. Who would have thought?

Anyway, after that little detour we continued back towards the older part of town. As I said, it was a really nice night for walking around. We had in mind to find a laid-back pub to grab a drink and sit outside, maybe talk to some locals, but we ended up wandering around for almost an hour without coming across anywhere really that satisfactory.

However it was just as nice roaming around and chatting with Ian, so I didn't mind too much. We never really did determine, though, why we couldn't find anywhere. We heard music coming from a few places, but they were mostly clubs or louder bars where it would be harder to talk to anyone. Perhaps we were just in the wrong part of town. Or perhaps it being a Sunday had something to do with it. Nevertheless, it wasn't a bad evening, but we eventually called it quits and headed back to catch some shut eye.

Welcome to Brugge, Loveliest of Cities!

BE WARNED: This post is picture-heavy

Saturday, 6 August, 2011 - Ian and I woke up to the most delicious smells wafting up from the kitchen of our charming little B&B, Minnewaterpark. I believe they only had three rooms, and it was owned by a really nice, elderly couple, but unfortunately they are semi-retiring and thus trying to cut down on reservations. Although if you would like to buy the property, it is on the market! There's a lovely little garden in the back where you can pick fresh pears...

Anyway, where was I? Oh, right, delicious breakfast smells wafting up... The wife had asked for our requests when we arrived the previous evening, and not knowing what to expect we said we'd be content with eggs and ham. We quickly changed and followed our noses downstairs to one of the best breakfast layouts I had seen in a while: fresh bread with every spread you could imagine (homemade jams, butter, Nutella), a variety of French cheeses, and a fruit bowl. She called to us from the kitchen to go ahead and start, that she would be out shortly with the rest of our meal. Not long after, she brought over heaping portions of scrambled eggs with peppers and chunks of ham and tomatoes and onions, and a plate of Canadian bacon fresh off the skillet along with a smattering of other breakfast meats. She took our order of coffee, tea, hot chocolate, or orange juice, then sat down with us to breakfast. We knew that there was another couple (well, not 'another' as Ian and I weren't a 'couple') staying there, though we had yet to meet them. About this time they also ambled downstairs and we had the typical introductions. Ironically, of everywhere they could be from, the guy, Thomas, went to Guilford in Greensboro, NC, and the girl, Lauren, lived in Greensboro! They were about our age, too, so we had a jolly ol' conversation. After 'settling everything' with a cup of yogurt which the wife insisted on, we heartily thanked her, helped clean up, then the four of us set out together.

One of the first things we came across on our way to the Béguinage in Brugge was one of the 46 famed almshouses.

Godshuis de Vos, 1713

These charming little complexes were built throughout the city from the 13th century onwards to house old folks, widows, and people who could not afford their own houses. The catch? Anyone who lived there had to pray daily for whoever sponsored the building of the house, ensuring that the sponsoring person or family would get to Heaven. Not a bad trade-off, I'd say.

We continued on as planned to the Bénuinage, a small community for Beguines to live. Beguines, by the way, were sisterhoods from the 13th and 14th centuries that loosely followed the Roman Catholic Church and sought to serve God without being completely secluded from the surrounding community. This particular Béguinage was active until 1937 at which point it became a monastery for the Benedictine sisters (who still live there today).

We walked through there which was well worth it, but unless you wanted to linger in the park with a book or a good friend there wasn't much to do, so we continued on to the large Zand Square Saturday market on the western side of the city. It was an interesting mix of a flea and food market, selling such things as socks,  toys, really random odds and ends, fresh-cooked food of all sorts, and food to, uh, take home.

Something tells me these guys weren't meant to be pets... 

Although we were still pretty full from breakfast, we split ways and all came back with a little light lunch (I ended up with some surprisingly good chicken legs). We also split a bag of cookies which we assumed were really good because there was a very large crowd around the stand and they were being made fresh. They were just as good as we had hoped.

Lauren and Thomas really wanted to do one of the boat rides along the canals, so the four of us went through the Grote Markt (Market Square) to get to one of the boat-launching places they knew of. It turned out to be a really neat way to see the city, although it threatened rain the entire time.

I was surprised (though perhaps I shouldn't have been) to see how long the lines were to get onto the boats. We bought our tickets at a little stand in front of one of the docks, then waited for nearly half an hour despite boats cycling through every five to ten minutes.

Afterwards we (okay, I) saw that we were near another, much smaller market area. What caught my eye was that there were a few places selling paintings. I herded the group that direction just to "take a peek" which might have been the best decision of the trip.

We found ourselves in the Fisk Market. Although it's mostly a site for crafts and such now, it's still an active, well, fish market early every morning. Apparently Napoleon donated it to the city. I was immediately taken with a particular artist's work and slipped off that direction while the Tar Heels (yes, I am hesitant to call them that with the obvious WFU rivalry, but they are all from North Cackalacky) were still making the rounds. Johan Lootens was sitting cooly before an easel, paintbrush in hand, looking around for inspiration. I began looking through his work, back to him, when the Tar Heels arrived. Lauren was standing facing him, rather close, and I imagine looked to be the inspiration Johan was seeking, because when I turned around she was blushing, looking at the three of us, then sat down in front of him. Apparently he had asked if she would mind if he painted her. She, of course, said yes. I continued browsing through what he had for sale before settling on one he had done in a park in Ghent earlier in the summer, then turned to watch him work.

(also please note the guy spinning scarves in the background - another fascinating creation to watch)

It was fascinating to watch the loose way that he painted. This, like many of his other works (though this one perhaps a little less so), was a lot more suggestive than detailed, though that's one of the things I liked about his style. He had one really fantastic oil painting, but it was obvious that his specialty was watercolors. After he finished he gave the painting to Lauren, thanking her for sitting for so long (it took about 45 minutes), then turned to me and said he was in a portrait mood if I wouldn't mind sitting as well. Hmmm... not really a hard decision considering the entire time that he was painting Lauren I was secretly jealous that he wasn't painting me. Why oh why had I had my back to him while browsing through his stuff?! So heck, I wasn't about to say no to that! As thrilled as Lauren and Thomas were with the painting, I don't think they were so eager to hang around for the creation of another, so they went off with Ian to climb the infamous* Belfry of Brugge. Although I also wanted to do that, the only thing that could really have convinced me out of getting my portrait done was maybe, maybe, a chance to ride a really phenomenal horse. And I hadn't seen anyone riding horses around the town.
*if you've seen In Bruges.

Thus I settled into the chair and... it was a really uncomfortable experience! I had to look him directly in the eyes and he peered right back at me, silent, more or less lacking expression except a hint of concentration and a shadow of a frown. I'm pretty sure that he knows all of my secrets now. He was definitely the quiet, artistic type, so other than a few comments and questions I let him work in peace. He chose to do me in black and white, which I would have expected to not take as long, but I think I sat there near an hour. Afterwards he said that Lauren's hair had been such a beautiful shade that he wanted to capture that, but for me he was much more intent on my expression and emotion, especially from my eyes. I loved it! He wouldn't let me pay him, of course, so I asked if I could buy him a cup of coffee or something, and he sent me to a nearby café. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on perspective), his painting of me had attracted a lot of attention, and after he finished a woman came up and asked if Johan would paint her with her year-old baby. I could tell he wasn't exactly excited about this commission, probably because it was a very squirmy little girl, but he set to work.

About that time the Tar Heels returned, saying they were sort of tired and wanted to head back to the B&B for a little catnap. I still wanted to explore Brugge, though, so we went our separate ways. Unfortunately for me it began to pour about twenty minutes later, so I ducked into the nearest storefront I came across. Interesting selection indeed: it turned out to be a sort of hunting and antique store - hard to categorize, really - with a plethora of stuffed animals (and I don't mean the fluffy kind you give your kids to sleep with at night) and other worldly odds and ends. I got into a conversation with the son of the shop owner, chatting about everything from various meats and the differences between Belgian-raised beef and US-raised beef to the sinking of the Titanic. After a while I noticed that the rain was letting up enough for me to continue walking around, so I thanked him and headed out.

Alack, I don't really have any idea where this place was, other than that it was on a southern corner somewhere east of the Fish Market with a front door facing west. Oh, and it was a brick building (haha). I continued on in a more or less westerly direction, stopping into a bunch of churches (mostly when the rain picked up again) and wandering down streets completely at random. Eventually the rain picked up enough that I decided a little hot chocolate break would be good. I went into the first café I came across and am really sad I don't remember the name, because it may have been one of the best hot chocolates I've ever had. On the bright side, I do remember exactly where it was: if you're facing the statue of Jan van Eyck with your back to the Jeruzalemkerk, it's on the left (and starts with a 'D'). Possibly even more importantly: if you're standing in that exact same spot, to the right there's a Texas flag hanging out from one of the doorways.

I asked my waitress about it, certain I was mistaken, and she said that it was in fact a fellow from Texas who was actually a very well known calligrapher in Brugge. I regained feeling in my fingers and toes over my hot chocolate and post-card writing, then figured it was about time to head back and check on the Tar Heels, passing a few interesting gates along the way.

When I arrived they were up, all watching In Bruges. I actually really wanted to see it, but they had about 20 minutes left. I deliberated whether or not to watch the ending assuming that I'd want to see the movie later, but decided to watch anyway, even if it spoiled it. About the time we finished and were trying to figure out what to do next, a third couple arrived at the B&B. They were probably in their young thirties and from Russia. We let them get settled in, then asked if they wanted to join us for dinner. Somehow or another this must have taken a while, because before I knew it it was 8:00 and by the time we all got assembled and walked out the door it was 8:30.

Again, we had some difficulty finding a place where the kitchen was still open that would take six people, but eventually I poked my head into a little corner place and asked a waiter very very nicely if he would take us. He considered, then said yes. We were definitely the last people eating, but it was a delicious meal nonetheless. I had some venison which was not as good as my Dad's, but still extremely tasty.

Afterwards we explored the town a little more, again following our ears to a park with a huge stage set up and a large crowd chillin' to a reggae band. We bobbed along for a bit, but I don't think any of us were feeling their smooth grooves, because we left after about fifteen minutes. And, not really wanting to go to a bar, we decided to call it a night.