An entry in the TFS Travel Journal
One of us (not Milton) had the worst night’s sleep of the trip, since the room was still warm and insects were buzzing about our bed throughout the night. The room, though, does deserve special mention; in addition to its size, it had beautiful linens and fabrics (in purples and greens) and voluminous pillows!
We boarded the bus for the quick 25-minute trip to Middleburg. Nothing special in that town, except a flea market that was just opening and made us want to just throw everything there away. Rode to a 30-minute ferry across a foggy, little estuary of the North Sea, and then biked about 20 hot kilometers, mostly at the base of a bluff along the Sea. Finally arrived in Sluis for lunch.
Nice little border town, quite dynamic, with, inexplicably, several sex-related video and supply shops. Must have something to do with its being on the border. . .
We saw a place that looked like a good choice for lunch, locked the bikes and settled in at an outdoor table. We felt a bit out of place in our sweaty biking outfits, especially as it began to dawn on us how superlative a place this actually was. Ended up being one of the best meals of the trip!
The pre-appetizer offering was a plate of: a little ham w/mozzerella, salmon tartar, and a fish carpaccio. Appetizers were a trio of moules (mussels) for two prepared w/vinegarette, w/tomato-basil sauce that was so good we had to use our available (and also quite delicious and chewy) bread to soak it all up afterwards, and in a luxurious light cream soup. Entrees were lobster, prepared to perfection and served with all the work already done, and a turbot chop (the only word for it, as it was the size of a large veal chop) served w/a lobster bernaise sauce. Both were divine and succulent, and were accompanied by a glass of house white which was just right. (sorry, PG). They were also considerate enough to serve a small pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemon juice with Wendy’s tomato juice and our two large bottles of Perrier. Thus sated, we drifted to our bikes for the final ride of the trip.
How nice that they saved the best for last! The 17km or so to Brugge were all along a 25′ wide canal, with tall trees lining both sides. The bike path was, as usual, wide and uncrowded, and the long canal (as well as the others that intersected it and went off way into the distance) was still and beautifully reflective, except where the ducks meandered. We rolled into Brugge in plenty of time for the massage Milton had booked days ago, only to learn that there was absolutely no one to do a massage, as everyone’s on National Holiday. No immediate need, anyway, and they said they’d continue working on it.
We unpacked (3 nights in the same room!) and encountered some time-consuming computer glitches which we think we’ve rectified. Spied down from our room to the street below as virtually all of the group went together to dinner even though it was a free night. Instead, we revelled in our freedom and went out for a twilight stroll.
This city of Brugge is hard to believe: a medievel city whose architecture and buildings really haven’t changed much since. Enormous, ornate centuries-old buildings line the major squares, and as it gets dark, flood and spot lighting illuminates certain structures and canals in an etherial, romantic way.
We were certainly full from lunch, so we just shared a gelatto cone of pistachio and chocolate chip while enjoying a romantic walk to Minnewater Park, a tiny and lovely lake in a park in the south of the city, with Milton having to blow his nose every five minutes despite 12-hour sudafed and zinc lozenges. Wendy window-shopped at each of the 53 lace and 47 chocolate shops we passed to prepare for tomorrow. We returned home to our sweltering (since the turn-down maids closed the windows; why would they possibly do that?!) room and opened our windows to the cool breeze.