Brendan Gleeson, Colin Farrell, Ralph Fiennes, Nick Stylianou, Nick Manners.

We were to join the list of famous people associated with Belgium’s picturesque medieval town: Bruges (or Brugge, if you’re native).

With sandwiches packed by Janet and a cooked breakfast inside us (at no additional cost), we managed to haul ourselves onto a completely packed train from Bruxelles-Centraal to Brugge.  Seriously,  my leg occupied space shared between three Belgian men and the entire torso of a dog.  This Bruges place must’ve been popular.  It also might have something to do with us not getting a train until midday, because we had a lie-in. See?  This is what happens when you give in to fatigue!

Rolling off the train we sauntered towards the central part of the town, aiming for two large, old-looking towers.  The map in our RGTEOAB (Rough Guide To Europe On A Budget, our Bible) was little more than a sliver at the side of a page, so we were convinced we could leisurely complete all the sights-to-be-seen.

On the way, we saw the Onze Lieve Vrouwekerk, which is a bit of a mess of a building, but it interestingly houses the delicate marble Madonna and Child by Michaelangelo.  Sometimes Europe spoils us, you know.

Next: lunch. (Our sandwiches had long-since been eaten.) And we all know what comes with lunch, don’t we? Beer.

Sitting down in the Markt (the central square with gabled buildings on three sides) and picking something typically Belgian from the menu over a frankly disproportionately large glass of Hoegaarden, NM went for moules-frites and I went for a ‘Belgian endive’.  I had no idea what that was, but seeing as it came with ham, I doubted that I’d need appropriate snorkelling equipment. (No?)

As it turned out, a Belgian endive was a sort of mashed-potato-with-melted-cheese-and-a-bit-of-ham-and-what-looked-like-a-leek-sort-of-hotpot-sludge-thing.  It was alright.  And then I helped NM finish his mussels, which was very nice.  And then we decided to climb the Belfry.

This turned out to be a massive error of judgement.  Hoegaarden wheat beer + potato-and-cheese-endive + moules-frites + about 200 very steep, tapering stairs = incredible, crippling indigestion.  The views from the top were nice, as I struggled to not black out/revisit my internal organs outside my body.  The building dates from the thirteenth century.  I was praying the mussels we’d ingested were slightly more recent.

We admired the Burg, a smaller central square, and reached ground level to have a prolonged rest before attempting to move to the fairly impressive Basilica of the Holy Blood, which contains The Actual Blood Of Christ*.

*might not actually contain the blood of Christ.

Still, having paid nothing since our entry to the Belfry, we thought it’d be best if we lightened our load of Euros on some more attractions, so off to the Stadhuis, where, ina beautifully turreted (and sandstone-laden) façade, we could see the magnificent Gothic Hall in all its glory.  Hosting New Testament scenes and Romantic paintings depicting the history of the town, the calming audioguide finally soothed my aching insides.

Included in our modest ticket price was the nearby alderman’s mansion, or the infinitely more complex Renaissancezaal ‘t Brugse Vrije.  It’s only got one attraction, which is a massive sixteenth-century marble/oak chimneypiece carved in honour of the ruling Hapsburgs, who are predictably portrayed with enormously flattering codpieces.

A quick visit to your bog-standard cathedral and all of a sudden it was almost five o’clock.

We went to buy our fantastic hosts some chocolate and some champagne to show our gratitude, while taking a leisurely walk back to the train station via a lovely park/river combination.

We had another fifty minutes to kill at Brugge train station, so we naturally thought we’d pay homage to the film and discuss issues of guilt, morality and redemption.  This was short-lived, but it was a step up from discussing which birds were most suitable for a licking.

Now, interesting to note was that our train was at 1758. Up until 1750, the train platform was deserted.  At approximately 1755, people were filtering into the station and appeared to be waiting for the same train.  At 1757, however, when the train arrived, it seemed as though Brugge was conducting an entire evacuation of the town through this one train.

Somehow, we ended up seated near a drunk Francophone Belge who was sitting on the floor crying to everyone (including the Flemish Brugge contingent) that he “was not an animal” and a Spanish couple with friendly toddler (who liked my purple t-shirt) who had been to the zoo.  It was like having my language A-level exams simultaneously, and I thought my head would explode with animal vocabulary and the subjunctive.

Once in the safe confines of Brussels, we hopped on the metro to the end of the line at Stockel, and found a lovely roast chicken dinner waiting for us upon our arrival!  Staying up until very late learning all about the European Commission and forming the ultimate antidote to the UKIP misinformed, we finally retired to bed shortly before midnight.

We were well-fed, well-informed, and well onto the final leg of our trip.