The “old city” of Brugge is in the center of a well-populated area, surrounded by the newer city. Entrance into the old section is by bridge—narrow, covered, brick. We learned later (of course!) that if we’d only known to park “out there” in the newer section we might have found a shuttle to take us easily into the older section.
Ah, hindsight is so wise.
Instead, we ventured beneath the Ghent Gate leading to the ancient town of Brugge, where narrow cobbled streets (even narrower than Brussels!) provided just enough room for one lane of traffic and a row of parked cars. And the homes and businesses? Brick, everywhere! With tidy little doorways, plenty of flower boxes and, as usual, no screens on their open windows. I’m not sure where the flies and bees hang out in Belgium, but they don’t seem to be a problem, even around so many flowers.
And so we were there, driving an admittedly small car but unable to find a parking spot even when we rather quickly found our next Crowne Plaza. We asked a police officer who was blocking off one of the streets if he could direct us to any available parking (and he even spoke English!) but he told us the Crowne Plaza didn’t have any underground parking (we later learned it did. Sigh.) So we started our trek around the town again, knowing it was growing late and we had no idea what to do with our car or, once parked, how we would get our luggage to our hotel that seemed to be ideally located near the center of town (yes, that would be the center of the center of Brugge…).
But before long, well before the sun set (and it doesn’t set in July until around 10 PM in Belgium) we found a spot. The only inconvenience? Lugging our luggage down the cobbled walkways several blocks to the hotel! And by now we’d been up and down so many streets looking for a parking spot we weren’t even entirely sure where our hotel was located from where we’d ended up parking. So I ducked into a pub to ask directions and once again found someone who spoke English. Brugge is such a popular tourist spot that we found everyone both friendly and, if not exactly fluent, at least able to help.
We found the hotel, checked in, dropped off our luggage and set out beneath the lowering sun to get our bearings. Our hotel was located on what seemed to be another market square—smaller than the one in Brussels, but lovely. It’s called appropriately enough “The Brug.” We learned some of the buildings in this square were relatively “new” – the seat of provincial administration and the Post Office, begun in 1887. There are literally nine centuries of architecture in this little square. The building below is the town hall, built in 1376. See the little archway to the left of the building? It’s actually an archway over a very narrow “street” called the Blinde Ezel or Blind Donkey. The name of the street was taken from an old inn.
But even as we investigated these old buildings and cafes, we saw through a walkway that something was definitely going on not far away.
We certainly didn’t expect them to go to any trouble just because we were coming to town . . .
But there it was, an even larger Market Square and a music festival in full swing, hundreds and hundreds of people singing along to folk songs, American songs, European songs old and new. The setting sun was reflected in the tall Belfry tower, first built around 1240, destroyed by fire and then rebuilt around 1300. Everything from selling market goods to the spectacle of prisoners meeting their end under the guillotine happened in this town square, but on that night it was home to a festival of happily singing Belgians.
Along the square today are countless street side cafés. We chose one and sat down to a something light, a cup of soup because it was so late in the day. And listened as everyone around us sang along—we even joined in on some of the Beatle tunes and other songs we knew.
No wonder everyone who goes to Belgium wants to go to Brugge.
Join Me!