Well, I've created my route through Brugge. If I don't stop walking it should take three hours to complete. And by that time I would have seen the whole city. With some stops it will take me about five hours, I'd imagine. But even still the day will hardly have begun. And with very little to fill the day, what is one to do?
Normal people have lunch I believe, and that's how they kill time. Perhaps I'll enjoy the chips at the chip truck. And depending on how they do me, I'll go see the french fry museum. Yeah, you heard me. But the prices for such things are so silly. Ahh – do I want to smell like fries, or see things of cultural significance? Well times will tell.
Off I go to explore the town, at last.
I can honestly say that I didn't think it would take this long to see the city. A I write this, the time is not 18:54. That has to be eight hours after I started; it just has to be. So where did I go? What did I do? Well, that is an excellent question. I started by leaving the hostel and walking up tourists row. This was all after breakfast, where I drank too much hot chocolate, and nearly emptied their juice, you understand.
Obviously I watched a lot of tv from the eighties as well.
Europeans pronounce wifi as “wee fee” instead of why fi. I have wanted to say that for weeks, but I haven't. So there it is. Ha ha ha. Fools. Take that non-North American Inventors. Forever will you pronounce magic wireless internet like a fool – because your letters aren't pronounced like our letters! Wee fee. Please.
So, I started off wandering aimlessly. Ohh look, medieval architecture. You get over that in about three minutes. Bruges. It makes a good day trip. Try not to overstay your welcome. And if you're spanish, try not to sing that song what repeats “tonight's gonna be a good night.” Because you probably sound as big a fool as when I try to sing La Bamba.”
I do not sing La Bamba very well.
But my “should be in Germany” friend belts it very well. It's her goto Karaoke song, you see. No Timmins Ontario “Man I Feel Like A Woman.” but it's not bad.
I ended up at a place called The Central Station. You may become aware of it if you travel to Brugges. Because it's the only real way into town. I bought my train ticket to Paris, to make sure I had a fully functional exit strategy, and then consumed a breakfast beer from the vending machine, and then headed out to explore the town.
Step one was to see traitors gate. In 1688, or some year around that, someone from Brugge helped the enemy invade the town from the inside. Without this help no one could have got past the gates and the walls. The traitors skull, or rather a brass replica, still hangs on the gate to this day. Needless to say, he was made dead dead dead!
From there I wandered to the central market. Which I can only assume is an underwear market. And a whole roasted chicken market. If you want underwear or a roasted chicken go to the market by traitors gate. Or if you want ten socks for seven euros. They sell that too. If you want something else though, stay far far away.
I stumbled into De Bretoen, trying to speak French for food. They are said to have the best “thin pancakes” in the city. Five euro thrity for the pancakes with pear and chocolate sauce.
Seven twenty, Though it is early (19:19 to be exact) I head to nap.
I didn't really nap, though. Instead I stumbled across the room to point out my free internet hotspot point that I've been stealing internet from. I showed it to two people who also thought that two euro for half an hour of access was ridiculous. I then proceeded to talk to them until one went to seek out a net cafe, and another went to find a banana (remember, of course, bananas are good.)
After the pancake, I wandered to the extreme north of the medieval city. Hidden thee amongst the Benzses, and the BMWs was a park with two sheep in it, and a number of bunnies. How cute, how adorable. So I stopped there, looked at the two picnic tables, and went once more on my way. I was so near to the windmills I could – not taste, but perhaps feel? No – well look, I was close to the windmills, and I had a bladder full of urine, so I just wanted to get to them quick, alright? Can we accept that. Good – great. So there I went, and took many a picture. Including a series of myself jumping in the air in profile. Thus far they're my favourite pictures I've taken all trip. I'm like a skate board all star!
And then I had past the midsection of my day, and it was all back home from then.
Through the park past the other windmills I walked, trying the coin laundries for washrooms. But without luck. In Brugge, if you use for a washroom, something that isn't a washroom, you will get stuck with a fine for a hundred and seventy five euros. So, failing to find a washroom at the laundromat, I headed back to the library. But if I went directly there, I would miss something spectacular.
I touched the blood of “Our Lord And Saviour” Jesus Christ! Well, I touched the container which the blood of “Our Lord And Saviour” Jesus Christ was is. Well... I touched the container, that the container of the blood of “Our Lord And Saviour” Jesus Christ was in. Well... I touched the container that was said to be the container of the container that the blood of “Our Lord And Saviour” Jesus Christ was in,
Look – all I'm saying is that I donated seventy euros to look at a container that contained what looked like a gross sausage that should have been thrown out eight hundred years ago. But apparently every day, between two and three o'clock it becomes liquid again. Some say miracle, scientists say temperature change. But I, in theory, have come close to the blood of Jesus. What did you do today?!
True or not, this vial went on the crusades eight hundred years ago. For better or worse, I have definitely now seen congealed sausage blood. Grossly awesome.
And after that it was to the library for the washroom. And then to see the canon that was upended and buried in the road. Yup, there's a four hundred year old canon burried in the road that you'll probably walk right by if you're not made aware of it. Even the locals are said to be unaware.
And then it was back home. Except, what's that? The wall of beer? And is that a sign pointing to the local beer store? Well this must be examined! And it was.
The next entry will dictate my experience discovering, testing out, and exploring the world of Belgium beer – all for your educational purposes! How lucky you all are.
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