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.
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