Belgium, 2023.
It’s hot. Easily the hottest day of our road trip so far. We’re sat in a square filled with quaint little cafes, an array of mismatched seats are scattered throughout the space. The worn wicker I’m sitting on presses uncomfortably against the underneath of my thighs and I know when I stand I’ll have an unsightly imprint on my leg. But still, I feel happy. The weather certainly helps; I’m British after all, so even the sniff of sunlight is enough to send me into a frenzy. In front of me is a decidedly frothy cappuccino with a rather unnecessary addition of a chocolate flake. It’s a questionable choice considering the climate but I start every day with one, rain or shine. Barely a stretch away from me lies the real reason I picked this cafe over another. Truth be told, the one four doors down had a better coffee machine: this one has a dog, though. So close I can almost scratch behind his tufty little ears lies one of the fattest golden labradors I’ve ever seen. He’s a good boy; in fact, at this moment, he’s the best boy.
He’s sprawled out on the stone floor, presumably the coolest spot he could find. His rapid panting tells me he’s not as content as his owners keep insisting he is. The need to pet him is too much to resist, so I join him on the not-at-all-cool ground and stroke his scorching fur. An already perfect morning, as we continue our amble I muse that the highlight of my day has probably been and gone.
I’m wrong.
You see, we’re in Bruges. Anyone that’s had the pleasure of visiting here will understand it’s no exaggeration when I say it’s like stumbling into the setting of a fairytale. I’d go as far as to say that the word picturesque was probably first penned to describe this city. Every corner could be a watercolour painting, something you’d see in a kid’s book and wonder why beauty like that only exists in 2D.
A few hundred yards from our breakfast spot, we reach the canals. Laced throughout Bruges, they are intricately weaved in between patchwork orange brick buildings, dressed with vibrant greenery. I spot a window seat protruding from a house that overhangs the water and I realise I’m staring at my dream home, such a pity it’ll never be mine.
A speedboat crawls past us. Its eager passengers are clearly as enamoured with the view as me, choosing to forfeit the speed of the vessel they overpaid for, instead buying themselves an extra 60 seconds of cityscape porn. I get it.
I don’t want to leave, I want to sit outside bars that perch roadside, cars and bikes whizz past so close you can almost touch them. I want to wander through uneven cobbled streets that make my calves burn and thank the lord I’m wearing Converse. I want to visit every single chocolate shop and rank them from best to worst, sampling them more than a few times, just to be sure.
It’s simultaneously the selling point and the drawback of a road trip that you get to see so many wonderful places in one go, without really getting to see them at all. As we head back to the car, my pace noticeably slower now, I think to myself I’ll probably never love another city in the same way I love this one.
But then we arrive at the next stop and I remember: half the beauty of a destination lies in the fact that it’s new, undiscovered territory that teases you to uncover its hidden charms and that tomorrow, I’ll fall head over heels all over again.
And tomorrow, I do.
LJ x
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