Consumed By The Beauty of Bruges

Bruges was my first stop after my stay in Amsterdam.  I spent the train ride over the Dutch border and into Belgium rehashing translucent memories and splendid moments of complacency with my backpacking buddies. I decided to go to Bruges after some Dutch people we met at a park recommended the town for its unparalleled beauty.

I stepped off the train expecting nothing tangible but something that was going to put me in a state of awe. I was still ignorant of the fact that most of the "beautiful" parts of a city are located in the old town which can be a ways from the train station and/or the actual city center. I impulsively followed the peope who looked the most touristy, hoping they would bring me to the promise land. However, they weren't many travelers since it was still out of season.

The only time I was frustrated they weren't around.

In my obvious state of confusion, a girl from London approached me with the same predicament, wondering if I know were the old town was located. As mentioned before, I did not, but luckily she had a map which we worked to bring us to the outskirts of the old town. The transition from "new" town to old town is an alluring one in Bruges. At first, we were looking for any sign or mark of culture, history or tradition. Once we found this, we unconsciously snaked our way through the conduit of silent alleys banked along the sides with magnificent medieval architecture.

These places exist?!

We both voiced this thought of how it felt like the buildings were literally imposed on us in their consuming beauty. Our eyes were drunk from the beauty that poured in from every corner. We continued our walk, comfortably silent, scanning over the dated design of this town.

When we reached the town square, our hypnotized minds were awoken by the first chirps of people talking. We decided to try the infamous Belgian waffle, with melted chocolate on top. Needles to say, I was in heaven. If heaven was full of beautiful buildings and the tastiest waffles in the world.

Yeah, I went there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We strayed away from the center, desiring the same silent awe we had just felt before. We found exactly what were looking for. Once we turned the corner from the square onto a side alley, the canal opened up with a bridge between the two sides. Each side adorned with differentiating buildings of that dear medieval architecture. In the distance were the windmills dotted across the outskirts of the old town. Skimming atop the canal were three pearl white swans. We both stopped our stride, paralyzed by the moment fate just handed us. I started laughing at how absurdly precious my life was slowly becoming in this trip.

When people told me that Bruges was the Venice of the north I was excited by that connotation. However, after witnessing the beauty of Bruges and Venice, I felt this appearingly observant comparison only sells Bruges short. 

Stay Traveling My Friends