Smurfing It Up in Belgium

The train from France to Belgium took us first to the bustling city of Brussels; after walking around for a whopping ten minutes, we hurried back to the station in time for the next train to the sleepy, picturesque town of Bruges. We enjoyed our time there so much, we spent three full days soaking in the scenery, food and zany Belgian music of Bruges, a welcome retreat from the madcap dash of the previous week.

It came as no surprise to me to learn that popular cartoons The Smurfs and The Adventures of Tintin originated in Belgium. The radio, the TV, even the train’s P.A. system all constantly bounced along with upbeat techno rhythms reminiscent of 1980s Saturday morning cartoons. Bo-ing, bo-ing bo-ing! By the third day of listening to Bruges music, I began to feel as though I was a cartoon myself.

Follow That Pug!

The most obvious feature on the town skyline is the tall (and amusingly crooked) bell tower, over 500 years old. We could see it from almost any point on our many walks through town. But one evening, we were fortunate enough to stumble upon a carillon concert at the bell tower: we could scarcely believe our luck when we learned the schedule was to be a medley of classic Beatles songs! And we could scarcely believe our ears when the concert actually began: the bells were so wonderfully old and out of tune, I definitely did not hear Yellow Submarine or any other song on the playlist.

During the concert, we commiserated with a fellow Beatles fan—a Mexican man sitting alone on a bench, visiting Bruges with his wife and four teenage daughters. He was having fun, he said, but he was happy to be taking a quick break from the rest of his family who skipped the Beatles in favor of souvenir shopping and an Internet cafe. Even as he spoke, his family returned, shopping bags in hand, mobbing their father and sweeping him up for dinner and an evening on the town.

For our evening out, we found a cute pug waddling down an alley, so we followed behind. He led us to Die Vlaamsche Pot, where the restaurant owner informed us that the pug was named Praline and that tonight’s specials were cherry jam meatballs (Angie liked them) and baked eel (which I enjoyed).

Clean Suds, New Buds

A much-needed laundry stop brought us to Mister Wash, where we met Melissa and Laurie-Anne, two American college students fresh from a friend’s wedding in Kenya (they were covered head-to-toe in tribal henna tattoos to prove it). Chatting together over folding laundry, we all realized we were using the same European travel guidebooks, penned by clever travel zealot Rick Steves.

The girls had nothing but raves for Rick’s written advice, but Angie and I decided they might be a bit jealous if we’d told them in 24 hours we were joining up with an official Rick Steves’ Europe Through the Back Door blitzkrieg 3-week tour in a cushy charter bus. Sure, most people our age were roughing it with backpacks and youth hostels, but we’d long since decided that Rick was our travel buddy—thanks mostly to his cracking us up in his PBS travel documentaries—so we’d booked two seats as soon as possible, without even pricing similar tours with other big-name companies. In short, we liked his style.

The Day 3 Effect

By Day 3 in a new place, you feel like you’ve lived there for years: you see the same shopkeepers, street vendors, and pass by roads and houses you have come to recognize. Now I felt like a regular Belgian citizen. Angie and I took it easy, skipping museums in favor of people-watching at the town square, a brewery tour, and a long lazy conversation about nothing in particular.

It was just getting dark and already a little chilly when we headed home from the town square. I was a little sad to realize it’d be the last time I’d see it on this trip. Maybe I’ll be able to return here someday and see if anything has changed. But for now, no more lazing about! Tomorrow we would head to Amsterdam, meet up with our tour group, and resume a full itinerary. I sincerely hoped my feet wouldn’t fall off before we ended in Paris.