Since we have been to Brussels several times this year alone (been there, seen it, done that), we decided to take the train to Brugge for the day.
Yes, just one hour by train to this charming medievel burg built on the banks of a picturesque river that winds its way through a bucolic counrtyside right off a travel brochure. The perfect day trip. If you can actually get there, that is.
The nearest station to our hotel was a mere ten minute walk they told us. Up the hill, right, then left. Up the hill, right, then lost is more like it. Apparently, the road curving to the right is considered a right turn in Belgium, so we curved to the right, and then turned to the right. Wrong.
Throwing ourselves on the mercy of a passerby (a friendly local), we got a new set of directions and found the station. (All right, we must have looked really pathetic because she led us there). Still, we managed to purchase tickets and find the platform by ourselves (hey, the entire station was under construction and everything was in French or Flemish including the ticket guy so this really was an accomplishment).
As we were congratulating ourselves on a job well done, the train pulled in and we climbed aboard. Finally, we were off!
Well, not really. We went a grand total of one stop before we stopped. For good. Lights, air, passengers, everything off except us. Once again, we were rescued by a friendly local who assuerd us that all was not lost. We could catch the next train to Brugge from the adjoining platform.
Whew. This was definitely not as easy as it looked. But after only one wrong turn and one wrong train, we arrived at our destination.
From the station, they told us, it is a mere ten minute walk to the town (wait a minute, wasn't ths how it all started?). So, off we went, down a winding cobblestone street. No right or left turns here. No turns at all. More like twists, one after the other, nonstop.
Hadn't these people ever heard of a right angle? When they were building the roads, had they gone around every pebble in the way instead of removing it?
After about an hour, I started to feel like I was trapped in some mythical maze just waiting for a minotaur to pop out any second. Things started to look a bit too familiar. "Oh look, there's the Church with Christ's blood in a glass tube (yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking)." Twenty minutes of walking in the oppopsite direction and..."oh look, there's the church--again." Twenty minutes later...well, you get the idea.
Eventually, we decided it was time to catch a train back to Brussels. Easier said than done. Which street had we come in on? Was it the one that started with a G and had sixteen letters (eleven of them vowels) following it, or the one that started with a G and had twenty letters (fifteen of them vowels) following it?
Once again, we looked for a local. "Turn down this street and follow the river," said the first one. "Turn down that street and go over the river," said another.
The third couple didn't say anything. They just pointed, then followed us and whistled when we took a wrong turn (obviously, they didn't speak English. Either that, or they were messing with us).
Suddenly, there it was. Just around the corner(or curve 1,256,439 as we liked to call it) --the train station. And we had just enough time to make it to the platform.
Except the station was under construction, and everything was in French or Flemish, and...once again, we got on the next train.
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