Part 4 - Je ne parle pas français

Blinding light. I run my hands down my face and scrub at my eyes, opening one and fumbling for my phone. 7am. Great. 3 hours sleep. I pull the little curtain around my bed tighter to try to block out the light, scull the remainder of my water, realise I have quite a headache and put my sexy eye mask over my head in an effort to get a little more sleep.

Yeah, nah, that's not gonna happen. I realise I'm still in my dress from the night before, and I never found my quilt. Didn't need it though because the room was so hot that a blanket would have been very uncomfortable. I allowed myself to stay in bed until about 9.30, playing on my phone and intermittently trying to doze. The combined heat, light and ruckus  made by those checking out that morning made for a rather fitful couple of hours, so I made my way to the shower to get ready for the day.

10.20am. I grab my phone and charger (so I can go to the charging station!), a map and a pen and head to Belushi's downstairs for breakfast. Naturally, I'm 20 minutes too late for the included breakfast so have to order and pay for the strange breakfast burger I ended up with. I mildly planned my day and set off to find some Parisian op shops.

I was sadly disappointed by the op shops I did find in Paris. There were plenty of them, and they had a lot of stock but it was a combination of terrible, dirty and overpriced (often all three combined). I left empty handed and, sick of walking, Google maps'd (I should get paid for all the marketing they get out of me) my way to the Louvre.

I hadn't originally intended to go to the Louvre but after talking to people in the lead up to Paris, decided I should probably check it out so I could check it off the list. I'd heard about the lines, and how disappointing the Mona Lisa was, so I leisurely disembarked from the station and wandered my way through to the underside of the pyramid apex. It was only later that I realised I had found the sort-of "secret" entrance - instead of lining up in the strangely sweltering heat outside for an hour, I just walked up, talked with a person behind me in line for 2 minutes and I was in. Next, the ticket booth, talked to the same person for an additional 35 seconds and bam. Ticket machine ready.

I grabbed a map and figured I'd go straight to the Mona Lisa and then work out from there what else I wanted to see. They say that if you were to see each of the 35,000+ art objects in the Louvre, allowing 1 minute for each, it would take you 25 days each of a full 24 hours. So…unless you're utterly mad, you don't see even a tiny portion of what is available. I followed the signage (and the crowd) flowing in the direction of the Mona Lisa. Along the way, I got out my camera just like all the other tourists. I started photographing the art, and felt like a fool. I then found myself a fun game - photograph the people taking photographs of the art. I mean seriously - what's the point of having a photograph (poorly taken, largely) when you can look at it online in much better quality? Why don't you stand in front of the art and actually look at it? Look at the paint strokes. Look at the framing. See how old it is. Nope. Let me just take a picture of it and move on. Or better yet, a picture of myself in front of it.

I enjoyed this game because people looked largely ridiculous. I continued following the flow of people until I saw a large crowd, pushing and shoving. That must be it. That must be the Mona Lisa. I joined the fray and patiently let myself be jostled - I wasn't in a rush, I don't need to push to the front to take my selfie. Soon, a little gap emerged and I snuck under an enormous American's armpit and claimed the space on the barrier for my own. Before taking a few pictures (which I admit I did do), I tried to take some time to actually look at the damn thing, while being pushed and shoved and elbowed from behind. This is complete madness. 

To be honest, I wasn't as disappointed as I expected to be. My expectations were so incredibly low and I thought she was proper tiny that my first thought was "She's bigger than I expected." (Think there might be a That's what she said joke in there somewhere). I took my pictures, I even whipped out my meerkat (that was embarrassing) and my meerkat had a selfie. Then I thought, what the hell, everyone is doing it, and so I turned my back on good ol' Mona and selfied. I selfied hard. 

Staring unbemused at another enormous American, I said "You can stop pushing, I'm leaving now" and "excuse me"d and "I'm leaving"d my way out of the ridiculous crowd. Exploding forth from the back of the crowd, I was confronted by the largest painting in the entire Louvre, and far more interesting in my opinion, the Wedding at Cana (you'll know if it you saw it). It was impressive, but I couldn't get a good picture (hangs head in shame that I even tried..) because too. many. damn. people. were. taking. selfies. in front. of. it. With Jesus looking bored in the middle and the party raging on around him, the painting was magnificent and a stark contrast to the teeny tiny little miniature Mona Lisa directly opposite.

I continued walking around - my next port of call was the Venus de Milo, and I walked through various halls and statues until I found her. I felt more in awe of her than I did her famous friend, Mona. Again, I wanted to stand and look but I was jostled and shoved until I just had to leave. How I hate tourists, even if I was one of them. I also saw a sphinx at some point too, with the same treatment - pushed out of the way once I had quickly snapped a picture, and tried to stand and appreciate what was in front of me.

Thoroughly frustrated, tired, sore and desperately hungry, I decided I had seen enough of the Louvre, dealt enough with tourists and had gotten my fill of so-called culture for the day and so I found a cafe, stood in line for what felt like about 4 hours and found a seat at long last. I sound like I hated it there, but really I found the human experience and the social aspect of it more interesting than the art. I would have gladly taken the people out and spent more time than I did but it simply was not the environment to - sadly - appreciate art.

 One thing I did very much enjoy at the Louvre - and highly recommend when you go too - is to look up. simply look up. Much of the incredible artwork housed here is the ceiling work. Incredible pieces with ornate corners - here was some exceptional - and probably largely under acknowledged - talent.

I popped out the other side. Food, done. My feet hurt, but it was time to see what else is around. I whipped out my little meerkat and took some embarrassing photos at the Louvre pyramids and on the Love Lock Bridge, which wasn't too far away. I was utterly exhausted (remember, I was only working on about 3 hours sleep!) and so made my way back to the hostel and had a much needed nap.

I could have stayed there forever and all night, but I hauled myself out of my bed (I still didn't have a quilt - why did everyone else have a quilt? Where did I forget to pick it up from?) and went back down to the powering station, double vodka red bull in hand. Here I said hello to Anthony again and started talking with the folks to whom he had been talking. We ended up having a few beverages and deciding to head back out into the night. It turned out to be a rather late one, filled with vodka, beer, cider, red wine and chocolate crepes and again I fell into bed at some ungodly hour, hopeful that I might get more than 3 hours sleep that night.

Only one day to go and then my French adventure is over.

xx

Don't forget to look up...

Oh, there she is!

Yeah I selfied.

But my meerkat did too! Can't put all the blame on me.

This was the incredible piece directly opposite the Mona Lisa.

The Venus de Milo. All I could think was
"You lost your arms in battle! But you grew
some nice boobs...!"

My meerkat is such a silly tourist. Seen here doing the Louvre point.

Part 3 - Je ne parle pas français

I felt a tad seedy and blurry eyed the next morning while I tried to silently go about getting ready without waking the others. The ziiiip of my little suitcase woke them up, and a quick hug and a thank you and I was out the door, ticket to Paris in hand.

The streets were quiet and deserted, and it was going to be a stunning day. I grabbed a stale sandwich at the train station and waited for the platform number to be called. Luckily I was early, as it took me a few minutes to realise I was standing in entirely the wrong place to board my number 17 carriage and, once in board, settled down next to a rather strange woman and closed my eyes. I let the next couple hours go by in a little bit of a dozy haze, trying to catch up on some much needed sleep.

A couple of hours later it was time to disembark and, grabbing my things, I emerged into an enormous train station. I google maps'd my way out and stood, blinking, at Paris.

First impressions, especially after Strasbourg? Want me to be honest? It was covered in a haze and smelt like piss. I was a little way out of the touristy zone as I was staying at the St Chrisopher's near Gare du Nord and wondered if this was what it was all like. I had been warned and prewarned and underwarned and overwarned about pick pockets, scams and muggings in Paris and so my guard was up. Google maps in hand, I began walking towards the hostel, feeling like I was being leered at on all sides. 

"Speak English?" 

Look straight ahead and keep walking.

With relief I arrived at my hostel, checked in, was too early to check in, and deposited my things in the lockers downstairs. First port of call: a walking tour, starting at 1pm. Plenty of time. I'll grab a cider and work out which train to catch. After I downed my breakfast of champions, I wandered back to the train station where much to my dismay I realised I had no idea how to buy a ticket or even where to get a train from. This wasn't going to do. I knew my starting point was roughly a 35 minute walk and so I set off, with exactly 35 minutes to spare.

It was hot. The streets were seedy. I walked as fast as my little legs would carry me and sweat was pooling in the small of my back. Suddenly, the streets became greener and clearer, cafes started to appear, the sky seemed to brighten. I was making my way towards the epicentre, the Paris of the postcards. Google maps says 5 minutes left to walk. 3 minutes. 2. Ah, there they are! I spotted a big group and joined the list. I was doing a Sandeman's tour of Paris which is free - but the guides are paid by tips and so they try extra hard to try to get bigger tips. It's a great way to have a very good tour.

Our tour guide was a spunky gal named Harry. It was a lot to take in and I can't remember the names of all the places we went or all of the stories she regaled us with, but some of note include the Notre Dame, the Love Lock Bridge, and the Louvre. I had a good chat with quite a few people on the tour, and at the end arranged to meet up with two of the girls under the Eiffel Tower at 9.30pm. I wrote down all the instructions but I was not convinced I would actually be able to get to the right place by the right time.

It was time to go back to the hostel and check in and possibly collapse from exhaustion. I google maps'd my way back (sensing a trend here?), gathered my things and went and stood in the express queue. And waited. And waited. I was sweaty and exhausted and mumbled something under my breath about the expressness of the express queue, which inspired the gentleman, Anthony, in front of me to strike up a conversation. We had a bit of a chat while we waited (and people in the non-express queue were being served), and figured we'd catch a drink down in the bar if neither of us were doing anything. And so I started to make friends :)

So with my nap foregone, I quickly showered, became acquainted with my room (a very nice hostel, to be fair, little curtain on the bed and everything) and made my way down to the bar with my phone and charger in hand. I perched myself up at the power station, which basically became the place to be to meet people. Shortly after there was a small group of us all gathered near the power and we got to chatting, double shot vodka red-bull waking me up nicely. I told them of my plans to try to figure out how to get to the Eiffel Tower to watch it at night and, they not having plans, decided to join me. 

With Angus and Rick in tow (that's actually not true at all - I had zero idea where we were going and was actually the one in tow) we jumped on a couple of tubes and popped out near the Eiffel Tower. We needed to get some wine first, and so we walked out near the moment and rounded a corner. I stopped dead. And gaped. And stared. I peeked at my watch - it had just turned 9pm. I was the closest I had been to the Eiffel Tower and not only was it all aglow with yellow, but right at that moment, the sparkling lights had begun. It was beautiful and left me speechless. I was able to stand and stare while Angus grabbed some food.

I dragged myself away, knowing we would be coming back here shortly. We found a bottle store, purchased a few bottles of cheap vino, a bottle opener and some plastic cups and set off back towards the Eiffel Tower, stopping periodically to take pictures at various angles. The moon was perfectly round and partly hidden behind a cloud, and the whole scene was breathtaking. Somehow Rick understood my instructions to meet the girls at the "grassy bit where people aren't allowed to go" and we walked towards, then underneath, then out the other side of the Tower. To my shock I saw the girls, Rose and Kay from the walking tour this morning, waiting at a corner and gave them both a big hug, all of us surprised to have actually worked out where to meet without any kind of contact details at all.

Kay and Rose had the foresight to bring a picnic rug (or more accurately, Rose's blanket off her bed) and together we shared bottle after bottle of red wine, rose and champagne and delicious cheese and bread under the spectacle that was the Eiffel Tower at night. Soon our party numbered 6, as Anthony from earlier joined us and we continued to eat, drink and be merry. On the hour, every hour, the Eiffel Tower began to twinkle in the perfect stillness of the night. We photographed and selfied, and drank and talked. We purchased more wine from the travelling liquor salesmen for grossly inflated prices.

Soon after midnight, it was time to leave as the Eiffel Tower had sparkled one last time. We gathered our things and made our way back to our respective hostels (to be entirely frank, I get a little hazy around here, I think there may have been a taxi ride, some standing on the street for a while and a strange guy that kept talking about bears). And thus was my first night in Paris - I was initiated.

The wonder of travelling alone is the people you meet. This was my first time entirely alone and it was rather daunting for me and, even though I don't have any problem talking to people, I get unsure if people want to continue talking to me. So if those folks I met that night in Paris are reading this, I want to thank you and wish you all the best with your onward travels. If you're ever in London-town, hit me up for a bevvie.

Til next time.

xx

Pity about the graffiti, but still enjoy this picture.

Love Lock Bridge 

Simply stunning

But first, just let me take a selfie..

Cheap vino! And it was delicious! #jokersmile

Stahp being so pretty.

Gatherings.

Part 2 - Je ne parle pas français

Caroline and I had already discussed keeping to our sides of the bed, yet I woke in the morning and my sheets were untucked. I apologised to Caroline if I had tried to spoon her in my sleep. We started the day with a spot of shopping as we made our way to the local shopping mall. We found a pastry place for breakfast (Caroline expertly ordering for me in French), scoffed it and some terrible black coffee and then began perusing the shops. C-line did very well for herself, making a few purchases, and I at the last minute grabbed a pair of lurid pink and orange sunnies for the wine tour we were going to embark on that afternoon.

Messages flying and plans laid, Caroline and I wandered to the Strasbourg train station to meet Lina and to make our way to Colmar, a little town about an hour out of the centre of Strasbourg. At the station, Caroline brushed up on her French by purchasing me my train ticket to Paris, fluently. I was very impressed. We grabbed a salad and drink for lunch and soon, collected Lina and the three of us boarded the train. Despite our efforts to get on the train quickly, we still managed to be the last few and found three spare seats with another girl. There was a jumper (or sweater or whatever from wherever you're from) on my seat and we asked the girl if someone was sitting there. She indicated "no", and so we assumed that someone had left their jumper on board.

Not 2 minutes later, a man come up to us and motioned towards the jumper and spoke in French. Lina and Caroline feigned ignorance, while I didn't have to feign anything and gave him my best stupid face. "I was reserving that seat," he said, and we said "Oh." Flustered, the train was full, we wouldn't get three seats together, we didn't make a lot of effort to move, and so he grabbed his jumper from me (and in hindsight he did have a half eaten sandwich there too) and found another seat (along with about 14 pieces of luggage). We started to feel bad, but seriously, you can't save a seat on these trains. He must have ducked out for a ciggie. Anyway, karma was about to bite us (me, first) in the butt. The train pulled away, I grabbed my salad, pulled off the lid of my mustard dressing and proceeded so upend the entire pot all over my dress. "Fuck." I exclaimed. "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck." No point sugar coating it. This is precisely what I said. Probably a few more times, even.

This was typical. Thankfully there was a bathroom on board and so I soaked my dress and dried it as best I could under the hand drier. Didn't do anything for the mustard smell, but at least I didn't have wholegrains down my dress anymore. I returned to my seat and begrudgingly ate my pointedly dressing-free salad.

About an hour of me making a wet patch on the seat later, we arrived in Colmar and found Eve. The bike rental place was next to the train station and so we got our little basketed French bikes and I began to panic (and not to subtly, either. I tried to be stoic about my fear of riding the bike, but I failed. Miserably). I made a couple of test laps and soon we set off, myself bringing up the rear, white knuckled on the handlebars, squealing and cursing my way through the streets. I seem to have an uncanny habit of being able to pull into the curb or into cars exactly when I'm not meant to. I think my subconscious hates me. It was not long though before we were off the main roads (after a particularly hairy cliff drop and a crazy roundabout) and found our way onto a back gravelly road.

Slipping past the flimsy tape (what tape?) we bounced and jostled between the vineyards and emerged back on the roads. Soon we arrived in Eguisheim, voted the prettiest town in France. And it sure was pretty. It was gorgeous. Buildings painted bright blues and pinks and flowers of every hue, pinks and yellows and reds and purples. Dark wooden beaming and wooden shutters lined the streets, many houses built in dates beginning with  16 or even 17. We parked our bikes and meandered through the cobblestoned streets. We stopped at a sweets store and bought some macarons, many of which we devoured instantly, before making our way to the winery. 

We chose the 3 standard + 2 fancy wine selection, and settled ourselves at a table to chat and drink wine for the next couple of hours. It was a lovely way to spend the afternoon and there were many delicious wines to be tasted as I got to know Eve and Lina a bit better. The day was powering along, and so we decided we'd try one more town before heading back to Colmar to return the bikes. By now, I was a little tipsy and my bike riding confidence had grown exponentially. 

We rode through vineyards, blue sky above, green vines all around, sun shining down, wind streaming through my hair. I had a moment. I had one of those moments: giddy happiness. Riding a bike. Through a vineyard. After drinking wine. In France. 

Squee!

I stopped periodically to take terrible selfies and we all stopped for a few photo opps along the way too. It was an absolutely gorgeous day - we couldn't have had more perfect weather and the forecast had been threatening thunderstorms! We meandered through the streets and popped out on a main street, about to make our way to the next town when Even and I at the front were called back - there was a problem. Turned out poor Lina's bike had developed a flat tyre and so we about turned and began making our way back to Colmar, walking out bikes.

It was a reasonably pleasant stroll (although it turns out I am completely uncoordinated, and I continuously hit the pedal on my shin) and we made it back to the bike rental with a few minutes to spare. Exhausted, sweaty and happy, we organised our plans for the evening. Head into Strasbourg, shower, and reconvene for dinner (picking up a bottle of el cheapo vino along the way, my idea of course being the alcoholic of the group). Some ridiculous pictures later with our naughty meerkats, along with a few glasses, we were out and about and managed to squeeze in a last meal order at a local restaurant before their kitchens shut.

It was here we departed from Lina and Caroline, Eve and myself continued on for a rather deep conversation over a couple of ciders in the Irish pub (because there's an Irish pub everywhere!). We wandered through Strasbourg by full moon light and returned to the hotel (with a bed wheeled in for Eve), as I had a very early start to make my way to Paris on the morrow (or, as was closer to the case, in about 4 hours time...)

I will take this opportunity again to say thank you to Eve and Lina for welcoming me! And thank you again Caroline for inviting me, it was wonderful to see your face and the town I had heard so much about.

Gay Paris, on the morrow.

xx

Eguisheim, gorgeous town

Stunning town, this was the winery

All aboard our bikes :)

Posing

Photo courtesy of Caroline: Actually riding the bike!

Meerkats gone wild.
(Mine is the one passed out in its wine,
Caroline's is gently humping the bottle)

Strasbourg. Is. So. Very. Pretty.

Part 1 - Je ne parle pas français

I had known for months that Caroline would be in France while I was in London - it was simply a matter of coordination (and hoping that Caroline would do most of the organising for me because, frankly, I'm pretty terrible at it). The day had finally come. Two of the three meerkats were to be reunited on the other side of the globe.

The night before, I realised I hadn't worked out how to make it to the airport. Gatwick, in this instance. I quickly jumped online and bought an overpriced ticket and then proceeded to pack my one bag allowed by easyjet. At the butt crack of dawn the following day - even though I wasn't flying until approximately 10am - I got up, got ready and made my way to the airport. This was 2-fold: 1) I'd rather be super early because something is sure to go wrong and b)I always forget how long it takes when one flies. I left cold London and made my way to sunny Strasbourg, France.

Alighting the plane with instructional directions in hand, I decided I would have an adventure and get the train for €4 instead of a €30 cab fare. I followed the crowd towards the train station and went to get myself a ticket. It didn't work. It spat out my coin. Other people tried. It didn't work. No one could read the screen. Giving up, I went to the platform where another ticket machine was situated.

Here a lovely French lady noticed my distress and helped me purchase a train + tram ticket. Boarding the train with the others, there was a beautiful lady opposite me. I couldn't stop staring. She had a pretty great rack. She smiled at me. It got a little awkward and I looked out the window. Finally it was time to get off the train, and when everyone else began to move, I figured I would too. I didn't know where I was but decided I'd work that out when I got there.

Thankfully, I'd arrived in the centre of Strasbroug. Small win! I saw the tram station I wanted and began walking towards it. About halfway there, I the seed of doubt was planted so I doubled round and went back to the station. No wait, yes, I had been walking in the right direction, and so I walked back out again and into Strasbourg. It was beautiful. A lovely sunny day, a canal, high buildings and green grass. A tram tracks crisscrossing their way across the roads, connecting the whole city. I found my way to the tram stop indicated on my piece of paper and sat down. The street name ahead of me looked familiar, so I quickly jumped online (oh yes! I had data! This would prove invaluable to me) and realised that I was seriously close to where I was staying and that I could continue walking there. About 5 minutes later, I was at the hotel.

I made my way inside, got the key without an issue and proceeded to pass out on the bed for a couple of hours while I waited for Caroline.

Our room was cozy and comfortable, and the bedding situation proved no end of amusement. Yes, it was twin share. Yes, we had separate beds. But they had been pushed together inside a double bed headboard and therefore all that separated us were our tucked in sheets.

I woke up desperately hungry and braved the streets for a snack. I couldn't find a snack bar or simple take away cafe so I settled on an icecream. "Je ne parle pas français," I began to say to the girl.
"German?" she replied.
"Oh no, English," I said, surprised she had chosen German over English as her first choice.

Not too much later, Caroline and her family arrived. They were utterly lovely, but it was time for us to now meet the young ones and go out for drinks and dinner. Caroline and I prettied ourselves up and met Eve and Lina, Caroline's friends from when she lived and worked in Strasbourg in 2012. It was really lovely being welcomed by them and seeing the old haunts they used to go to. We first went to a pub, grabbed some beers and Caroline, Lina and Eve caught up about past times and current times. It was fun watching them interact like they'd never been apart and learning about their lives here in sunny Strasbourg (which, I found out, is very not sunny in the winter). We grabbed some dinner, with the other ladies ordering in French, and we sat with a perfect view of the Strasbourg Cathedral.

After dinner, we decided to walk past the cathedral - a couple of selfies and photos later, we noticed some music began playing. I turned around, and a light show was beginning, played out on the facade of the structure. We had arrived just at the right time! Over the next 10 or so minutes, the history of the cathedral, all accompanied by incredible music, were animated across the cathedral. Colours and whirls, flashing lights and beautiful images - it was breathtaking. Once it was finished, we commended our great timing and made our way to a watering hole, where we picked up another of Caroline's old friends along the way.

The cocktails here were huge, but we were all getting sleepy so Eve and Lina made their way to their respective homes, with plans in the making for the next day. Caroline and I nosied our way around the backstreets of the city, pointing out this here and that there, where she used to live - with Caroline being very patient as I stopped to take random photos.

Returning to our room quite late, we crashed in our close beds with the promise of shopping, cycling and wine on the morrow.

xx

Two of the three meerkats reunited

Two of the three meerkats

Cathedral all alight

Giant cocktails! (The beer changes the perspective...)

Strasbourg by night

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.