Fookin Bruuuuges

Colin Farrell states in the film In Bruges, " If I grew up on a farm, and was retarded, Bruges might impress me but I didn't, so it doesn't." Well, Colin, I think you've got that a bit wrong. I was not brought up in a farm, and I am not (that) retarded, yet I thought Bruge was [insert Irish accent here] briiilliant.

I knew that Valenciennes was close to the border with Belgium, but I never realised just how close it was until I actually did the 20 minute bus ride. Stepping across the border, you realise straight away you are in smokers' paradise. It's pretty common for French smokers living near the border to hop across to Belgium to buy their tobacco and cigarettes in bulk, for a fraction of the French prices. The first street beyond the border testified to this, almost every shop being a tabac, and even the air itself smelling strongly of tobacco.

We arrived at the first Belgian train station after about a 10 minute walk, which turned out to be pretty dilapidated and deserted. With nowhere to buy a ticket we just got on the train, but had to nip off at the next station to buy a ticket, which stopped there for  a few minutes anyway. English people are fully aware that we are paying extortionate amounts of money for rail fares, but Belgium really puts National Rail to shame. We bought a special ticket which gives you 10 journeys to anywhere in Belgium for 50 euro. So the 5 of us got to Bruges and back for 10 euro each, which amounts to less than £4 for three hours of travelling each way. Seriously, David, sort it out!

After only getting slightly lost in the very crowded streets of Bruges, we came across our hostel. Great location, only a 2 minute walk from the main square, very young traveller friendly (only 19 euro for the night) with a bar open til 6am. Nice. After dumping our stuff in our 6 bed dorm we headed out into the city. First stop,  beer. I've only just started to like beer, after working a season in a French campsite last summer, I came to appreciate it for it's cheap-ness (or free-ness if you get to know the bar staff). We ordered a big Belgian beer each,  and decided that our first mission was to get chips. They're very into their frites here, and it's not just your standard ketchup and/or mayo combo that you are offered. Here, there are about 10 different sauces to choose from. I went for a slightly too spicy harissa mayonnaise sauce called Samurai, but there were tonnes to choose from.

Given that it was the last weekend of September, we were really lucky with the weather. We strolled around the streets and along the canals, looking at all the gorgeous buildings, stopping off for beer pit-stops frequently on the way. We of course took advantage of the shops selling hundreds of types of beer and posh Belgian chocolates. Just as the sun was starting to go down, we found some very cool looking  windmills which we climbed up (all be it a bit precarious getting back down), and a  few grassy hills just calling out to be rolled down. I personally loved acting like a 5-year-old, but my friend Hannah wasn't such a fan when her dress flew up, although the Spanish guys next to us thought it was great :p.

Dinner was an interesting experience. The first issue came when I asked for some water for the table. "Nononono, we are not in France any longer. No water in Belgium. No good", the waiter splurged out in an all too quick sentence. Not really understanding, and assuming they were making a poor attempt at a joke, we carried on ordering. When the meals came, Hannah asked for some mayo and ketchup, and I asked for some tap water (again) thinking they'd just forgotten. The waiter brought over the condiments, and a bottle of mineral water. "No, no sorry, tap water please" I explained. The waiter was not impressed by this "Whaaaat!? You no want water!? It open now, and now I must pay from my own poche (pocket)." His mate came over later too to shout at me for being an idiot. Uncomfortable? I think so. The bill proved surprising, with the condiments being an extra 1 euro charged for each. After such aggressive service, and not having been told before that condiments were an extra charge, Hannah decided she was not paying 2 euro for a tiny pot of ketchup and mayo.Fair enough. So after putting down 2 euro less than what the bill stated, we got up to make a hasty exit. Sam however, did not make it out, with the waiters grabbing him and nicking his coat. Luckily, before it went too far, Hannah and I realised he wasn't with us, and went back. The argument over the bill continued, until Hannah, at a loss, screamed "JUST LOOK AT THE KETCHUP!"(she had only used a tiny amount) The momentary distraction, as the waiters and other diners turned to see what she was on about, was all we needed to get away, with Sam, his coat, and not having paid. The rest of the evening was much calmer, and sampling some more beer got us back to loving Bruges. My favourite was one called "La Morte Subtile" (Subtle Death), a blonde beer flavoured with peach.

Bruges was beautiful, and definitely  a must see for anyone travelling through Europe. The beer was bon, the chips were spicy, and the waiters were mental.

The moral of the Bruges story: if you want to end your evening in one piece, always use a condiment.