This Trip, Part V: 25 March 2011

It began with one of those weird occurrences, that seem to happen most often when using public transportation in large cities, where you inadvertently find yourself following someone. There was the District Line to Earl's Court, then the transfer, then the Piccadilly train to St. Pancras, then the extremely long transfer to the Eurostar terminal. Opposite sides of a very large city, yet still remaining in the immediate vicinity of the exact same strangers all along. Do they realize what I realize? Are they concerned? Regardless, all of us made it to the Eurostar check-in and then trains would take us to various places, various countries.

And so it was, I boarded the train in London around 7:20am, along with all the others that weren't nearly as overdressed and/or giggly as those waiting for the trains for Paris. The Brussels crowd were a more subdued bunch, a little older and definitely less likely to be wearing sunglasses in a train station barely an hour after the sun had made its initial appearance for the day. Perhaps this string of relatively sunny days has Londoners excited about the concept of actually wearing their purchase whenever possible, given the possibility that a beam of light might actually shoot through a ceiling or window at any time.

The Eurostar was not exactly luxurious, but it was nice enough. Certainly nice enough considering it links three countries, goes underneath a somewhat major body of water, and does so at up to 186 mph. The beauty of internet research became apparent when I noticed my coach/car/whatever, number 5, was roughly half-full, despite being one of only two 2nd class cars with electrical outlets at every seat. This is customary in 1st class, but you have to figure this out for 2nd class. The seats alternate between the UK and Mainland outlet voltages, but thankfully I had a multi-function adapter anyway. Everything felt pretty great once I realized the seat next to me and in front of me were empty. The guy across the aisle was already asleep before the train moved, so it promised to be a nice trip. Then came this guy, talking in a very "entitled" voice to the train employee. It seems they weren't happy with their seats, possibly because the seats faced the opposite direction the train was moving. Mind you, when booking a ticket, this information is readily available to you. However, for whatever reason, this availability must not have applied here. The man, his wife and elderly mother ended up moving to the seats immediately in front of me on both sides of the aisle. Until I could subtly acquire my headphones from my bag (so as to not appear too obvious that my immediate response to their incessant babbling was to do anything I could to drown out their incessant babbling), I listened to some of the most inane and unnecessary chatter perhaps ever uttered, especially since they were unwelcome guests in our peaceful little slice of the universe known as car 5.

Brussels came quite quick, roughly 2 hours, but not too quick to enjoy a nice mix of Wolf Parade and Fruit Ninja on the iPhone. Oh yes, there was also that whole going-under-the-English-Channel-in-a-train thing. That was a unique experience, but only because of what it meant, not necessarily the actual physical experience. That part was basically nothing more than looking out a window into completely blackness for 20 minutes. Not unlike arriving in Brussels and realizing that most people probably speak English, but it isn't exactly advertised. All of the train station signs were in French and Dutch, which is somewhat discernible when you've had two years of French classes in school as recently as 1997, like me. As it turned out, once I stopped looking for the train going to Bruges, but instead for the train going through Bruges, I was set. The train to Oostente would deliver me to Bruges in roughly an hour, with a quick stop in Ghent.

So, just to get it out of the way, I was in fact In Bruges and yes, I did make a point of watching the movie again before this trip. Furthermore, yes, the town is just a nice and charming in that historical way as the movie makes it seem. A few things were slightly different, though. It wasn't snowing. In fact, it was quite mild, probably in the low 60s. Also, there's not really convenient way to jump from the top of the Belfort, as demonstrated by Brendan Gleeson in the movie. However, one thing is for sure, Colin Farrell's character was not unjust in expressing concern for the obese man attempting to climb to the Belfort's top. It is quite a draining experience, despite being less than 400 steps to the top. It gets quite tight and low in some spots too. Doing this in relatively warm weather with a backpack full of important items was quite a workout and produced quite a workout's amount of sweat and gasping for breath. Thankfully, there was lots of natural air conditioning and some very nice views at the top. Looking down on Bruges was sorta like looking down on a little fairy tale place, complete with cathedrals, canals, terracotta roofs and many tourists. Surprisingly (or not, maybe?), despite the movie tie-in and all the tourists, I did not see even a single reference to In Bruges whilst in Bruges.

Lunch was at Cambrinus and it was quite excellent. I can honestly say I'd never had Flemish Carbonades made with Gulden Draak and served with applesauce. I would definitely eat it again, though. I'll have to be on the lookout for that anywhere I am that serves traditional Belgian cuisine other than waffles. It would be nice to have this meal outside the presence of 8-10 extremely loud American fratboy-types that just so happened to be having a bachelor party in Bruges at the same time I was visiting. You go all the way to Bruges and end up in a place with loud Americans and a soundtrack consisting of American classics like Frank Sinatra and...Michael Bolton. Do Europeans actually love Americans that much, or maybe they just like to remind us that we gave the world Michael Bolton and it is our burden to listen to him forever.

The day in Bruges was spent trekking all over this small town, including a first-hand viewing of Michelangelo's Madonna and Childs sculpture, first-hand touching of a sacred relic supposedly containing the blood of Christ and, of course, climbing to the top of the bell tower, which I have only since found out leans about a meter off-center. The historical center of Bruges is so compact that it almost only needed an afternoon to see completely, but a chance conversation with an Englishman at t'Brugs Beertje ended up lasting well into the evening. It was nice to have one of those chance encounter experiences, especially in such a foreign place. It wouldn't have been as nice if it caused me to miss the train back to Brussels, where my points-earned hotel room awaited.

The quick train ride back to Bruxelles Nord deposited me only about 5 minutes from the hotel. It was almost midnight when I got checked in, but I was starving so I walked around a bit. Of course, I ended up on a very busy street in a very busy part of town, yet the best food option I could find was McDonalds. I had an NY Crispy even though I felt like a complete buffoon ordering it by that name. I quickly realized that most of the people around me, including the very many people in the very busy McDonalds, were annoying in the same way as drunken college students might be in the US at midnight on a Friday night. I walked around while I ate the NY Crispy, but never really got away from the noise and crowded streets.