Part 3 - All the B's: Belgium, Brussels, Brugge, beer...bwaffles...

It is our final morning in Brugge and we are reluctant to return to Brussels and then hope again. Perhaps we can miss the plane and stay here forever?

Somehow, despite the sheer quantity of food consumed the day before, our bellies were rumbling and we were ready for breakfast. We packed up our belongings, said farewell to our dorm mates and the hostel and made our way in the direction of the train station. We tried a few places and each shunted us on, with limited english, so we were mildly desperate when we approached a little hotel and sat down inside. There was a little old lady taking orders, and I said (probably too loudly as I am wont to do), “I doubt she’ll speak any English, we’ll have to point.”

Naturally, she spoke perfect English and I felt like a fool! Our breakfast was quaint, with a little pot of coffee (it resulted in 3 coffees and I was somewhat bouncing as a result), a croissant, a bread roll and some cheese. We took our time, gazing out to the streets of Brugge and then began the gentle trek to the train station. Farewell, Brugge. You stole my heart!

On our train was a huge, beautiful German shepherd (I will point out here – there seemed to be no problem in Belgium about taking dogs into restaurants and bars! Often you’d see a puppy under the table, or in this case, an enormous German shepherd on the train). Aside from watching the giant puppy (because all dogs are puppies), the train journey was uneventful. Alighting in Brussels, we stored our luggage in a locker (£4 for a large one, and fit all our luggage! #winning) and jumped out in the streets. About the only thing we really wanted to do in Brussels was see the Mannekin Pis, and so we set off to find it.

Again, Cory with his navigational brain, led us directly to it. It was a day of me speaking too loudly, as I exclaimed, “Is that it?”. It was tiny. What is it? It’s a statue of a child…taking a leak. There are many legends and stories surrounding the little dude, but he has been standing there peeing for almost 400 years. We took our photos and moved on.

We saw some pretty cool spray paintings of cartoon and comic characters adorning the buildings in Brussels, but by now the only thought on our minds was lunch. Wow, all we did was eat, pretty much. We found a place called Waffle Factory and decided it had to be the go. Upon approaching, we discovered they did savoury waffles too. Double win. These waffles did me in. Completely and utterly. My salmon, cream cheese and dill waffle followed by my waffle with chocolate sauce left me wide-eyed and unable to comprehend simple concepts. It was pretty amazeballs. Unlikely to be traditional in any sense of the term, but amazing none-the-less.

Brussels was rather drizzly and we didn’t really have anything we wanted to do in particular here, so we made our way to a little cozy pub, up a couple of flights of stairs and watched the world go by. It was a lovely relaxing way to end our time in the gorgeous little country of Belgium.

***

I unfortunately encountered my passport problems returning through Heathrow, so I will have to get this sorted out. I don’t want to go into details because I don’t want it to negatively overshadow my trip – but I have called and called so many people and they’re all happy to tell me they can’t help but won’t actually tell me what I should do. I’ll figure something out.

***

A final thank you to Belgium for welcoming us with open arms, and sending us home a much heavier version of ourselves (I discovered on Tuesday that I had split my work pants: #fatlyfe forever and Nicole, gonna bust you here, had to wear trackies on our last day). And a big thank you to Cory and Nicole for inviting me and putting up with me – I had an absolute blast with you guys.

Ok, time to hit the gym and get rid of this Belgium Belly.

xx

Found a statue of Bela Bartok so I gave him a cuddle

That's it. The Mannekin Pis.

Manneken Peace, man.

WAFFLEWAFFLEWAFFLE

Part 2 - All the B's: Belgium, Brussels, Brugge, beer...bwaffles...

After a mostly decent nights sleep (thanks to my sexy eye mask and ear plugs to drown out the snorers), we made a reasonably early start to find some breakfast and continue exploring Brugge. We rushed to the showers before they were taken by groggy late-rising-tourists (sidenote: got locked in the shower, actually. That was fun. Needed the assistance of a random stranger on the outside to push on the door so I could move the latch. Mildly distressing) and then set out in into the sunshine. Returning to the square, we inspected every place that did breakfast before returning to the first one we looked at (naturally). €8 for coffee, OJ, eggs and bacon, bread, croissant and a chocolate roll. I think yes. While consuming our breakfast, I looked at the large building next to us and said, “We’ve taken about a hundred photos of it, but what actually is it?” We decided to inspect once our breakfast was completed.

Turned out it was the belfry (which we had been wanting to find anyway) and that you could climb right to the top. We joined the queue like good little sheeple, and it started to get cold. Very cold. We inched along. We just got ourselves under cover when the rains came. And still we inched further along. Only 70 people were allowed up the tower at any one time and, as we discovered when we got closer, there was a turnstile letting people in as a batch of people came out. Very slow going. As we approached the front, there were moving boards describing the history of the place, with drawings of the belfry from as far back as the 14C. It was fascinating. We finally made it to the front of the line and I toyed with the idea of pretending to be under 26 to get a cheaper ticket (which has already inadvertedly worked previously) but the lady was checking ID’s and so my hopes of saving €2 were dashed.

When it came our turn, we powered through the turnstile and began our ascent up the 366 stairs. At first, easy. Every so often there was a room to stop, pause, have a look. Peek out the window. But as we got higher, the steps became thinner, the space became smaller, and the handrail became a rope by which to hold. If people were descending past you, it was a game of logic and tactics – who would let go? Maybe easier to rise a few steps to the landing and..ok, you can go past now. We continued up the steps, past the giant playlist (like a pianola, to play the tunes of the belfry), past the bell room, on and up. We finally made it to the top, and it was rather bitterly cold. We stood beneath the giant bells when suddenly – it must have been on the hour – they began to play. Booming, it was magical and very very loud.

The view was spectacular, if shrouded by wire to stop people from…falling out, I presume. We took photo after photo, squished up against the wire, lenses pointing through as we saw all of Brugge from up here. The little canals, the cathedrals, the green parks, the square below. By this stage the rain had passed and we were presented with a dramatic clouds and patches of bright blue sky. We took our Belfry Selfies (HASHTAG #belfryselfie) and began the descent. Here I ran into a slight dilemma with my fear of heights, as going up I had no problem – but descending the skinny, slippery steps, with only the rope to hold onto (and of course my shitty knees weren’t helping), I had to take it slow while Nicole and Cory powered ahead of me. We reached the bottom at last, and it was basically time for lunch.

The previous day, we had bought a ticket for the Brugge Friet Museum. Of course. Why not? Fries are delicious. So we made our way to the museum and wandered around, discovering the history of the humble chip. I learnt things such as “Eat as many potatoes as you want”, which is fantastic news seeing as that’s basically what I’ve existed on since arriving in London, and that potatoes are “definitely not fattening, considering they comprise 80% water, 0% fats and very few calories”. Thank you, Friet Museum, you have made me a very happy woman. We found our way to a children’s area that had a play kitchen, upon which Cory looked on (and photographed) in bemusement while Nicole and I wreaked havoc throwing fake plastic chips around and being deliciously puerile.

Chip Museum complete, we redeemed our fry voucher and thus lunch was sorted: for me, I went with the traditional mayo (although I stole some of Cory’s tomato sauce) for my frites. Of course I got a beer too, an interesting fruity concoction. What to do now? We would find the brewery, but first: Chocolate. We left the delicious smell of fries behind and thrust ourselves into that of chocolate. I want to point out here that Cory was the bringer of evil when it came to chocolate – he would disappear into a shop, upon which Nicole and I would follow, and then I would lose all sense of self due to the incredible smell that I wandered around, looking pained, wanting to spend all of my money. We found one store where the prices were very reasonable, and decided to start making our purchases. I could have spent a lot of money.

On our wander to the next port of call, with tour guide Nicole leading the way, we found ourselves walking through a cute market on the side of a canal. Here, Cory bought a packet of waffles and these were to be our first, albeit cold, but still delicious sugar-encrusted waffles.

Extremely pleased with ourselves, our next port of call was the Henri Maes Brouwery/Brouwerij/Brewery, the last remaining family owned brewery in Brugge for a brewery tour (included a free beer, woo!) arriving a la Nicole. Bought our ticket, bought a beer to pass the time (so I was mildly merry when we began the tour). Our tour guide was a sour looking elderly woman who inspected our tickets with disinterest as we piled into the first room. How looks can be deceiving. We had infront of us not only a wealth of knowledge, but a true, dry-humoured comedian. 

First we saw how the beer is made today, which was essentially 4 large containers. But the interesting part of the tour was heading up the original brewery building – which has been preserved – to see and learn how they used to make beer. At this stage I’m going to point out that, due to be slightly merry, I completely ignored her warning to “Watch the steps as they are close together” and instantly – on the first step – ran my shin directly into the metal edging. Pretending like nothing happened while my shin screamed at me, I continued climbing the stairs (it’s Thursday and I still have an egg on my shin).

"I do not like beer," says our guide, "I love it."

With her dry sense of humour and wonderful Belgian accent, she told us the history of brewing beer in Belgium, the temperatures, the cooling mechanisms, as we climbed up so high we were literally on the roof of the brewery. We then descended (backwards, down a tiny stair case might I add, doing nothing for my nerves). There are apparently over 1200 Belgian beers. The strongest being 14%, which she advised to only having one per day, because it will... "all of a sudden.....Punch! in the face."

We learnt that apparently hops is part of the marijuana family, which explains our laughing fit we had a little later...It was also here that she explained about the head on beer. The head gives you time to savour and consider your beer before drinking it. To form a relationship with it. Perhaps even to talk to your beer a little. But, as she put it, when it talks back to you, you need to be a bit careful... Once on the ground again, we gathered our free beer and grabbed a table. While we waited for the head to dissipate on our beers, we formed a strong bond with our respective beers, which can be seen here.

The next hour or so was basically spent crying with laughter over jokes that will make no sense in the retelling (we think it was the hops).

We gathered our wits enough to leave (of sorts) and we set off to find..something. Sorry Nicole, but I'm still iffy on what exa..Oh wait! We did find it. Those hops are still affecting me. We set off to find a garden (I can't find the name, I'm sorry Nicole) and walked  directly around it. Unphased, we tried again, and this time found our way in. It was a silent zone to respect those that had passed away. It was very beautiful, but soon our bellies were calling and it was time to move on.

Dinner tonight was at a pub and in my usual way jumped in balls and all. Enormous beer, 3 course meal. I was in a bit of pain before the end, but I soldiered on. The food was delicious, but there was one thing on all our minds: waffles.

Wafflewafflewafflewaffle

Nicole and I certainly did not need waffles at this point after our 3 course meal, but Cory had thoughtfully left space for his. No matter. Waffles were going to happen. We started the slow waddle back to the square to find some waffles. On the way, we went searching for the frog.

The frog. That stupid frog!

On a statue in the middle of Brugge somewhere, is a tiny little frog that if you kiss it or some such your Prince Charming will appear (and will carry your luggage for the rest of your life). We found said frog. Cory watched on in disapproval as Nicole lent to kiss the frog. Mwah. Figuring I was already there, I decided to give the frog a smooch. Sadly, no Price Charming magically appeared but I'm pretty sure both Nicole and I caught Hepatitis Alphabet from the sneaky pash. 

Frog done: waffles now.

Where to for waffles? This waffle place? That waffle place? OMG Do we go to the recommended one or just any of these? Nicole and I could barely stand so we let Cory lead the way, and we decided upon the one recommended in the booklet. And what can I say. Waffle (wafflewafflewaffle) with strawberries, chocolate sauce and icecream happened. Oh did they happen. Deliciousness later, a belly ache, sickness, and feeling desperately sorry for ourselves (but also overwhelmingly happy - what a contradiction!) we waddled and stumbled our way back to the hotel to, well, die, really.

Flopping down in the hostel chairs, we interacted as best we could past our enormous bellies with some Aussies and Canadians and then passed out.

***

This has ended up significantly longer than I intended so I am going to split it up even further! Sorry, I'm not sorry. Next entry will be last day and home.

xx

This time from inside the belfry

Frites! Fries! Chips! They are my kryptonite

#handheart the beer

Stahp it Bruges, you too pretty.

Pretty people in front of pretty Brugge

Kissing the stupid frog ;)

Sheer overwhelming excitement from my waffles.
I look completely mad.

Part 1 - All the B's: Belgium, Brussels, Brugge, beer...bwaffles...

Monday 25 August was a bank holiday in the UK. Public holiday for all us Aussies – in fact, I have no idea why we had a day off. I just did some incredibly mundane research as to the reason behind the bank holiday and put myself to sleep, and didn’t really find a proper answer. In all honesty, who cares? We had a day off. Woo!

Therefore, a few weeks (months? Beginning of July. How long have I been here? What’s my name?) there was a call to action, Belgium on the August long weekend. BOOM. Naturally, my fear of commitment (lol) kicked in as it was weeks into the future and I didn’t know what my plans were..but after some time passed (and after Cory and Nicole had done all the work planning and researching), I waltzed in, deciding I would in fact piggy back off their hard work and join them on the little weekender.

The Friday passed incredibly slowly. We were messaging each other on Facebook all day (did I just get you into trouble?) because we were all already on holiday mode. When 5pm eventually rolled around I ran out of work and instantly my shoe broke. The path to the train station was also blocked. I couldn’t help but think, “Is this an indication for the rest of the trip?” but squashed my negativity and powered my way – the long way – to the train station. Worst. Tube. Ride. Evar. All of Britain was on that damn train, going to the airport. Finally, I met Cory and Nicole at the airport and we made our way without too much incident through security and customs.

We boarded the plane and then got off it again (well, not really, but it felt like it). The flight was about 45 minutes; they rushed us through our drink and cookie before we descended again. Honestly, the instructional video on what to do in an emergency took longer than the flight. Once landing in Belgium, we realised our mistake of having little French knowledge and a significant lack of idea of how to get to our hostel. After a particularly rude encounter with the train service counter staff (see? It did make it into my blog ) we jumped on a train – hopefully the right train – and got off at a stop – hopefully the right stop.

Our first step out into darkness in Brussels with the yellow lights of the building, and everything sparkling and shiny from the now-cleared rain was rather magical. An extremely short and lovely taxi ride later, we arrived at our hostel. Little to say here; there were some slight room mix-ups but first things first: the bar for our first Belgian beer.

“Your sweetest beer, merci!” and thus began my love affair with Belgian beer.

Poor Nicole ended up in a room by herself with the snorer-from-hell (although Cory and I had our own snorer) and periodically through the night we would Facebook message each other to complain. Aside from the lack of sleep, the hostel was very nice with an ensuite bathroom and a proper shower. Upon checking out the next morning, it was time to figure out how to get to Brugge. Breakfast first, though. We found what was probably a pub (and I was, naturally, quite willing to jump straight into the breakfast beer but decided to keep my decorum) and had breakfast. It was delicious – an omelette and a cappuccino. Now, I probably normally wouldn’t write much about this, but the cappuccino – which, dear friends, as you know I really only drink mocha – was di-vine. Cream and Belgian chocolate on top. While I was gushing over my coffee, Cory was sticking his face in his, going for the Belgian Dip.

It was time to leave Brussels. As we meandered our way through the streets, stepping into chocolate store after chocolate store, the heavens opened up and we scrabbled for our umbrellas. Rather soaked by now, it really didn’t matter, so we splished and splashed our way back to the train station to figure out how to get to Brugge (or Bruges, I will probably alternate spelling).

The train journey (and yes, we managed to get on the correct train) took about an hour, and Cory and Nicole took the opportunity to get a little shut eye. Because I had my eyeballs in (contacts…for those who haven’t heard me go on and on at length about it yet), I didn’t want to fall asleep and watched the scenery go past instead. Countryside, Belgian cows, Belgian fields, Belgian industrial areas. I had gently closed my eyes when I felt a small brush on my arm – we were here. Good thing Cory was on the case (this was to be a running theme for the next few days as Nicole and myself especially discovered directions were not our forte – although Nicole did redeem herself. I, on the other hand, in true Sasha-style just faffed around and flittered along and actively contributed nothing of any use to the trip – except to take all the group selfies).

We emerged from the train station, bleary-eyed and sleep deprived, to a beautiful sight. Bright blue sky, fluffy white clouds, cobble stone roads.  A green park with a calm canal that we walked beside as we made our way to our hostel (a la Cory’s navigational skillz). It was love at first sight – and we hadn’t even made it to the town centre yet. I’m convinced Cory has a map uploaded into his brain with GPS navigation because I honestly do not know how we got to all of our places without any ado and I certainly would not have been able to find my way back again.

We arrived at our hostel, climbed about a hundred stairs to our room (“So glad I don’t have much luggage”, we all exclaimed) and settled ourselves into our room. The hostel provided a hilariously useful tourist guide and map, and both Cory and Nicole were organised (note: I wasn’t) and had their Lonely Planet guides out. We made a shortlist for the afternoon and set out: Chocolate was the first order of the day. Along the way, we passed through the main square of Brugge and stopped. Still. Out came the cameras. The architecture, the sunny bright day, the blue sky, the detailed sculptures and carvings that adorned the buildings. A little mermaid here, a cat there, a series of figures. In front of us, the ornate clock tower, the horse and carriages, the cobblestones. We stopped here for a long while taking photo after photo. Mine, mostly selfies. Every time I went to selfie, I would find Cory laughing at me and my “selfie face”. No matter. Must take all the selfies!

Our first port of call: The Chocolate Museum. Once inside, the gorgeous smell of chocolate wafted through the air. Here I learnt that Belgian chocolate is so incredible because they have  “stringent chocolate composition regulations” – brought in in 1884. None of this “I’m not sure if that chocolate will be any good” – it’s all good. Here I learnt I was an awful tour guide (in comparison to our excellent Map Reader Cory, and Sign Reader Nicole, we had Shit Tour Guide Sasha), and we missed a couple of rooms – but this turned out to be a good thing (so maybe I did it on purpose?) because it meant we arrived in time for the final chocolate making demonstration for the day, spoken in fluent French, Finnish and English, and for our handmade praline (a soft centred filled chocolate, usually hazelnut flavoured).

We were hungry now. While at the Chocolate Museum we had bought entry tickets to another museum but we had run out of time to see it that day. Guess what the other museum was. Go on. A Frites Museum. A Fry Museum. A Chip Museum. Hysterical. However, this would have to wait for tomorrow as it was now time to eat yet again! A place recommended by Cory’s Lonely Planet guide was on the agenda – and after a short misdirection, we found it and made our way inside. We were presented with a giant tome of a menu – so big you could beat whales to death with it – and instantly felt overwhelmed. I was adamant I was getting the mussels, and thus turned a blind eye to everything else on the menu. I was now confronted by the choice of beer which constituted most of the spell-bound book and mildly panicked. Cory spotted the beer paddle first, and I jumped on the bandwagon – why choose one beer when you can have four? I can’t speak for the others but my happiness was simply overwhelming: four Belgian beers, mussels, frites, and we had just left a chocolate factory. I was practically beside myself. I can’t remember what the four beers were; cherry and blonde were the first two, the next was a dark ale and the final was perhaps a normal wheat beer? I struggled a bit with the dark ale, and Cory proposed a trade for his cherry beer. This escalated my giddiness to new heights and I was truly beside myself.

The mussels were delicious (in white wine sauce) and soon I had a mountain of mussel shells beside me. My companions enjoyed their food too, although to be honest I was utterly engrossed in my own experience that I think I may have zoned out of life for a while. In the blink of an eye, our two hours was up and it was time to leave. Utterly squash packed with food, we found our way inside some chocolate stores. Once inside, the scent ensnares you; a switch goes off in your brain telling you that you must purchase some chocolate, you must eat some chocolate, all the chocolate, and now. We lamented that we were unable to send a smell-o-gram to our friends and family – I don’t know how anyone could work there and not be enormous, I would not be able to control myself with that dizzying delicious scent. Overcome, we each bought a bag of mixed chocolates and made our way to the square to review and devour. [Insert more selfies here].

We had mixed feelings towards the chocolates; none of us were particularly fond of the white chocolate ones (made from cocoa butter and containing no cocoa – the more you know!) and after eating most of our bag, we decided we would leave the rest for later. We attempted to find a bar in an alley way (which we thought was called Alley Bar but wasn’t) which sells the highest percentage beer in Brugge, but as we missed it we made our way to another bar via some gorgeous twilight canals and cobblestone alleyway. [Insert some more selfies here].

We rounded a corner and found a little corner bar that looked cosy, getting us out of the chill of the evening air. Spotting a table, we perched ourselves upon it and proceeded to spend the next few hours until darkness fell chatting and drinking beer and talking selfies, of course. Nicole wondered, “Why do they have so many fruit beers?” Neither Cory nor I could answer – the answer to which we would find out on the morrow. I discovered that I am rather a fan of Hoegaarden rose. We watched the world go by from here as daylight turned to dusk turned to night. A promo girl approached and asked if we wanted a free beer each. Um, yes? We were also given a little card and asked to hashtag a photo of the beer, hence why there’s a few of those around Facebook… Feeling like we had eaten and drunk our fill today, we decided to head our way back to our hostel to call it a night. On the way, we passed yet again through the main square of Brugge that was lit up and beautiful for night time.

More selfies, and the discovery of a lightning storm in the distance saw us poised, finger on the shutter, attempting to take lightning photography on our various devices. We stayed like this for quite some time, enjoying our successes when we would, somehow, capture the sky lit up like it was daylight. We shivered and shook in the cold, and finally turned to move back to our hostel.

“Look at the light over there!” I exclaimed.

“It looks like a shower of arrows, “ Cory replied, and we stood agape watching the rain fall, alight in the spotlight of the building. I fumbled to get my camera when I realised what was happening.

“Run!” cried Cory, and we were suddenly hit by a ferocious downpour that had encroached while we stood watching it.

The three of us sprinted for the nearest doorway – the same thought everyone else in the square had - to catch our breath, put away our cameras and unfurl our umbrellas. I was giggling rather manically; I thought the sudden onslaught of rain – while we stood and watched it, no less – was hysterical. We waited for it to ease, jumping between shop fronts, before meandering our way back to our hostel, soggy and disgracefully full.

*****

Because my tales are always a rambling adventure, I will leave this off here as Part 1. Nothing much else happened that night aside from finding that our originally empty room was now full of people (damn! It was such a pipe dream to keep an empty room…) and me devouring the rest of my chocolate because I am a little piggly-wiggly. I’ll continue the rest of the days in my next post J

Much love xx

First arriving in Brugge. Beautiful.

In the square, beautiful day!

With my...mussels!

With my....beer paddle!

Staaahp! You're too perdy!

Chocolate selfie!

Belfry Selfie OMG THAT SOUNDS AMAZEBALLS

My blog is called Thrown to the four winds.
This restaurant was called 4 winds.
Here is me, throwing caution to the four winds.

With my free beer

So. Ridiculously. Pretty.

Photo of the evening. The sky lit up from the lightning strike.