The Road Trip Part Two

Although I was happy to leave our hostel, I was feeling sick and getting worse as we drove to Bruges. At some point on the drive, my chest was so congested I thought that I would suffocate. We were silently on the drive, but I was secretly thinking that Theresa should drive me to the nearest hospital. When we arrived, Bruges was full of people! Theresa was completely shocked, as she had been there many many times with her family and usually there is no one in sight. It was an "open Sunday," where people could sightsee and shop for last minute Christmas gifts. If you relatives gave you Belgian chocolate or beer for Christmas, they probably bought it in Bruges on that day. I don't even remember getting to the hostel and plopping down on the bed, but a few hours later, we were braving the cold to get some dinner. An unexpected Flemish specialty, we ate baby-back ribs and french fries. The one upside of having a cold is the excuse to feed yourself until you almost burst. Feed a cold, right? Anyway, I had hacked a lung out onto the Bruggian streets, so I was feeling a lot better.

In the morning we woke up early to fit everything in Bruges into one day. Bruges is a small city with a few key sights, but we were so busy! We started with the Dali museum. I never cared for Dali before. I thought his elephant posters and melting clocks were a little too hippie, but his illustrations of Spanish folk tales won me over. Afterward, we went to the French Fry Museum, however this is a misnomer. I learned there that Americans call them french fries because they were offered to American soldiers by French-speaking Belgian soldiers during WWII. Theresa had a good laugh at me and my countrymen for that. We climbed the seemingly endless staircase up to the Belfry, where we had a sunny view almost out to the North Sea. The next stop was a brewery tour at Half Moon Brewery. It was a great tour with an even better beer at the end. We could barely fit it in, but we split a waffle and some Kriek at an extremely touristy place on the main town square. The waiter had no idea whether he should speak English or German to us. Dinner was at a classy little Michelin starred place where I indulged in the Belgian special, moules frites. Theresa had a delicious lemon sole, and we both went home happy campers. Bruges had won me over, and I didn't stand a chance. Before we left we had time for one more waffle at a Mozart-themed restaurant (?)