in Bruges

Bruges, I imagine, is a quite charming town when it’s not raining and bitter cold. I bet the town cleans up nicely in the summer, when the parks are full and the few canals are lined with green, and newborn ducklings waddle after their mother in single “awww”-inspiring file.

But here, huddling in the cold, trying to get the hostel key to unlock the main door so we can thaw in our room that smells like an odd – but believable – mixture of partially discovered vomit and cigarette smoke, I’m trying very hard to picture the charm.

But it’s not the weather. I think it’s the town itself – there’s something too “It’s A Small World” about it. It’s beautiful, yes – but it all seems by design. And with shops and restaurants and tourist hotspots all around, I keep waiting for the town mascot (the Euro?) to run out and take pictures with all the kids. Granted, Amsterdam had more than its fair share of tourist traps – but it was big enough that you could, in ten minutes, outwalk it all. Bruges is very very small, and after having walked almost the entire town in one afternoon, it feels a little like a tourist catering service. I mean, we walked into a nice little traditional restaurant for dinner and they were playing the Plain White T’s and Maroon 5.

I shivered twice – only the first time because of the cold. I don’t know – to me, Bruges lacks personality.

So I’ll go have another pint of Brugse Zot in the downstairs bar, listen to the college students talk about which schools are or are not in the ivy league, then climb into bed with my copy of moby-dick and think to myself: very good, at least I’ve done that.

I found the apple pie. (by the way - best dinner ever...)

(Here’s hoping the rain lets up so we can bike to Damme tomorrow!)

Bruges soundtrack: Bon Iver – For Emma, Forever Ago