Prior
BAM! posts:
When
we arose on our second day in Brussels, the air was clean and the promise was
great. We were well-rested and hungry to
see some quaint medieval European shit.
There seemed to be only one way to remedy our hunger: Bruges.
We
made our way to the train station, grabbed some breakfast, and hopped a train
that would take us the 45-60 minutes to Bruges.
Most Americans are familiar, if at all, with Bruges as a result of the
2008 dark comedy In Bruges, starring Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson as two
Irish hitmen who are hiding out in the gorgeous city of Bruges. Throughout our time in Bruges, it was not
uncommon to hear any of us, in our best (which is also our worst) Colin
Ferrell/Pikey accent, exclaiming "iiinn Bruges!" out of sheer
appreciation for how awesome the city ended up being.
From
the train station in Bruges to the center of the city, it's probably a
20-minute walk through winding parks and pathways, across canals lined with
trees, swans, and vomiting horse statues.
If you're lazy,
you can take a ride on a horse-drawn carriage through Bruges's cobblestone
streets, admiring the medieval buildings that, for the most part, are uniformly
set at about three stories. Bruges has
so much European kitsch you don't know what to do. Thankfully someone –- or should I say
something -- did.
Shortly
after arriving in the main downtown area of Bruges, we ran into an
anthropomorphic cone of pommes frites perched on a wall outside a
storefront. His name was Pieter.
He could see that we were new to Bruges. Only the six of us could hear him or see him
move. He spoke quickly and with an
accent of unclear origins. It wasn't quite
French, it wasn't quite Dutch, and it wasn't quite angry goat, but it was
somewhere in between.
"Welcome
to my home. I am Pieter van Hooterfrite. I have lived in Bruges my entire life. If you listen to me and do everything I say
without any deviation, you will have an unforgettable visit –-the kind of thing
you will blog about. If you do not do
exactly as I say, you will leave this city with no memory of it, but a very
painful foot fungus that will take months to alleviate. It has been proven time and time again. Heed my warning, dear travelers. Do you accept?"
We
nodded with nervous excitement.
"You
have chosen wisely, Americans. Before we
get started, I must make a very important point. You must take pictures of everything. GMYH and Colleen, I'm talking primarily to
you. Daniel and Chandler, you should
take some too. Bonham and Gregerson,
your fingers shall not touch a camera today, unless specifically asked by
another in your group. Don't test me on
this one."
"How
do you know our names?" I innocently asked. Pieter hissed back, "I don't come to
your job and slap the balls off your chin, so please do not interrupt me. Capice?"
"Capice,"
we said in unison. After that, none of
us spoke a word until Pieter was finished.
We feverishly scribbled his rambling instructions, taking down as much
as we could and committing the rest to memory.
"First,
you will walk towards the central market.
On the way there, you will pass a museum suggesting that it contains an
exhibition regarding Picasso in Bruges.
Take one picture of the advertisement and continue walking past it. The museum is no more than a giant rape
shed. Do not tell this to any of the
people waiting in line to get in.
Continue
walking towards the central market until you get to the Belfort. It is the tallest building around. You can't miss it.
You saps looks like the kind of people who
watch movies. The Belfort is the bell
tower in the movie In Bruges from which Brendan Gleeson's character commits
suicide. It's all any Americans every
really talk about when they see it.
Nevermind the fact that it's over 700 years old and has over 27 tonnes
of bells. No, all you Americans care
about is the horrific, gory, depressing scene from a movie starring two
Irishmen, you insignificunt piece of
shit. See what I did there? I must make a confession. I love the movie. It has done nothing but bring much deserved
attention to our wonderful town, even if people associate our most famous
landmark with death.
But
I digress. You will climb to the top of
the Belfort. Wait in line. Pay your admission fee. Do not tell anyone that you spoke with
me. While climbing the Belfort, take as
many pictures as you want. Shit, I don't
care. It's your trip. When you reach the top, however, you must
take pictures of the landscape below from every side. GMYH, take one panoramic and one only. Be sure Bonham is in it.
Upon
your return to the ground level, whether or not you are hungry, go to the
closest pommes frites stand. Chandler,
order pommes frites with some sort of delicious gravy. Colleen and Gregerson, you can share an
order, and make sure to get both mayonnaise and ketchup. GMYH, get mayonnaise and pickle sauce.
Do
not ask what "pickle sauce" is, and do not be alarmed by the amount
of mayonnaise the vendor puts on your frites.
Just order as I tell you and eat your frites. You will not be disappointed. In fact, it is unlikely that you will ever be
able to each what you call French fries without mayonnaise again. Accept this fact. Daniel and Bonham, you cannot order your own
pommes frites, but you may each get one of those tiny little forks –- a red
fork for Daniel and a green fork for Bonham -- and sample your fellow
travelers' frites. Don't hold back.
When
you are finished eating, stroll around the market plaza. Soak it in.
Take a panoramic picture of the market from the middle, and a nicely
framed picture of the Belfort, and at least one picture of a bronze lion.
As
soon as the third picture of a lion is taken, it is essential that you get a
beer. Go to the southeast corner of the
Market, to Breidelstraat.
You
will pass a silver-painted devil standing on a drum, carrying a much smaller
silver-painted devil. He will beckon
you. Do not heed his siren calls. GMYH, give him 50 cents Euro, back away, and
take one picture of him. This is all he
needs from you. Colleen, do not look at
him. In fact, turn your head in the
opposite direction as you pass him. If
not, he will misinterpret your glances and things will get awkward. We wouldn't want to get silver all over that
blue jacket now, would we?
Go
forty-two paces past the silver-painted devil, and turn right down an alley. It will appear that nothing is down the alley,
but you must enter it and go about twenty-five more paces, where you will reach
De
Garre. This is the bar where you
will have your first drink in Bruges.
The bar itself is pretty small, and at first you will not think there is
any room for your group. First survey
the room downstairs. There will be no
open tables. Chandler, check
upstairs. There will be no open
tables. Gregerson, ask the bartender
downstairs if you are allowed to drink without being seated. He will say "no." That's exactly what he's paid to say. Be polite and patient. He will come in handy later. Make everyone downstairs think that you are
considering leaving. Step out of the bar
and discuss openly whether you should move onto another location. A table of middle-aged sloths sitting at a
table downstairs will hear you. Although
they speak little English, they understand.
Return inside. They will get up
and leave, offering you their table.
As
soon as you sit, order a round of their house beer, called Garre. Dear God, it will be some of the best you
will ever have. At 11% ABV, it goes down
way too easily. This little bar is the
only place in the world where you can get it.
Over the next 90 minutes, you will each order at least three. The bartender will serve them to you in
Gulden Draak goblets, even though you are not drinking Gulden Draak. Your drinks will come with cheese.
No
more than 45 minutes after you arrive, a gaunt, bearded man will enter the bar
and sit down at the table next to you.
GMYH, I want you to try to convince the others that this is Harry Dean
Stanton, even though it is not.
Clandestinely take a picture of him.
After
you have quenched your respective thirsts and gotten a little buzz on, pay your
tab and exit the bar. Go back out to
Breidelstraat and take a right, towards the Burg. There will be a copper-painted devil. Go to him, Daniel. Let him caress your shoulder. He will grunt. Do not be alarmed. It is natural.
Then
go the Burg immediately. GMYH, take a
picture of the Burg. Bonham, look
directly at him.
From
there, wander around for 38 minutes, hugging the canals. Walk through the antique market along that
one canal whose name escapes me. You'll
know it when you see it. Do not buy
anything.
Gregerson
and Colleen, it is at this point that you must leave Bruges. Do not ask why, and do not hesitate. A train will await you at the same station
from which you arrived. It will take you
back to Brussels without incident. Just
know that it is nothing I have against you.
It simply has to be this way.
Daniel,
GMYH, Bonham, and Chandler, do not cry for Gregerson and Colleen, for you will
see them later tonight back in Brussels.
Salutations will be exchanged, and a warm and joyful night will be
had. Your work in Bruges, however,
cannot be completed if they are still here.
If they do not leave on the 3:21 train, you will all be dead. That is not a threat; it is a fact.
Daniel,
Chandler, GMYH, and Bonham, go to Café
Vlissinghe. GMYH, it is in your
guide book. Chandler, it is in yours, as
well. It is the oldest bar in Bruges. On
your way there, stop at a canal -– any canal.
Daniel, take a selfie. GMYH, take
a picture of Daniel taking a selfie.
Chandler, take a picture of GMYH taking a picture of Daniel taking a
selfie, but under no circumstances are you to provide this picture to GMYH or
Daniel.
Also,
find the blue door with the lion knocker and take a picture of it.
When
you arrive at Café Vlissinghe, say nothing.
Go to the beer garden. Order some
olives, cured meats, cheese, and the tiniest onions they have, but only after
you've ordered beers. After a few beers,
go to 't
Brugs Beertje. There was a fight
scene in In Bruges filmed in this bar.
Several other tourists will make sure you know that. Sit at the bar. Pay no attention to the glass bear staring at
you. At both bars, take a picture of
every fucking beer you order. Each one
will be better than the last, culminating in the Black Albert, a Belgian royal
stout. Take three pictures of it.
Once
you have finished the Black Albert, you will have exactly enough time to walk
back to the train station and catch the next train back to Brussels. Once you are on the train, Chandler, get a
window seat and fall asleep. Daniel, as
soon Chandler falls asleep, flash a peace sign.
Then move Chandler to the aisle seat, sit in his window seat and cover
your head with your jacket. After that,
you will arrive in Brussels, and you will be on your own. Hurry, my friends. I have wasted enough of your time. Oh, one more thing. Do not speak French to anyone in this town."
We
did exactly what Pieter said and enjoyed every damned minute of it. Upon our return to Brussels, we freshened up,
met up with Colleen and Gregerson, and then went to a restaurant named Chez Leon (after my as-yet-unborn first-born son), where I got
the only staple of Belgian cuisine that I had not yet enjoyed: mussels.
I got them in garlic butter, and I made quick work of them.
All
that eating made us thirsty, so we decided to head back to the Delirium
Café. After all, there were about 2,000
beers that each of us had not yet tried.
It was once again hopping, although a little less so than the night
before.
We were able to snag a table
downstairs in the main part, next to Mephistopheles.
This
time, we also had at our table a copy of their famed beer list. Really, it's more of a beer book. 255 pages of malty and yeasty goodness.
Among
others, I went with The Trooper, Iron Maiden's beer, which was pretty good,
although not as good as the many Belgian beers I had throughout the day and
night.
The
mood in the bar was electric. A nearby
table of Spaniards was there for a bachelor party, and they did not hesitate to
start singing songs, which prompted others to do the same. Feeling haughty, I started a "Seven
Nation Army" chant. The Spaniards
picked it up, as did the rest of the bar.
It was the best chant I've ever started in Belgium, and a crowning
moment on a great day. After a few
beers, we had a wheelbarrow race back to the hotel and went to sleep.
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