Ostend Weekend (4/5) By John Allbones

(1/5), (2/5), (3/5), (4/5), (5/5),

We were dropped off, given little maps, and pointed towards the centre of town. As I stepped from the bus I immediately felt the heat and the back of my neck. It's going to be another scorcher. I'd remembered my sun-block but forgotten my hat. The grim realisation that my day would have to include the purchase of a cheap baseball hat, with Brugge written on it, that even the Beverley Sisters wouldn't be seen dead in, gave me an empty feeling.

The kind of feeling only the very real possibility of buying a souvenir from a souvenir shop can give you. I hate looking like a tourist, but it's going to be inevitable now, particularly, as I'll be wearing it in conjunction with my newly premiered bum bag, and a face covered in Factor 5000 sunscreen. This gave me somewhat of a ghostly pallor. I realised at this point it wasn't a great look. Thank God this wasn't Paris! They'd have strung me up outside Galeries Lafayette and poked me with stale baguettes until I said sorry for my crimes of fashion.

Even my sartorial concerns couldn't spoil Bruges. What a lovely place! People had told me it was nice, but not much more than that. It was a delight from start to finish. Canals, the sound of horse and carriage on cobbled streets, the mediaeval architecture, and the finest mushroom omelette I've ever tasted (optional). All this, bathed in beautiful sunshine. Even the mass of tourists couldn't spoil it. Or indeed, could one of those blokes who stands on a box and pretends he's a statue. I'm not a fan, but this guy was good. No matter how many people gawped at him, his expression never changed.

But, there was just the slightest hint of concerned recognition when he spotted my white face out of the corner of his eye. He must have thought I was a new mime on the block, checking out the competition.

I'd bought a two quid book on Channel Hopping the day before I set off. The best two quid I've ever spent. I only picked it up because it had a little bit of information on Bruges in it. This tiny tome suggested a walk that would be off the beaten track, but would allow the more adventurous pedestrian to see the 'real Bruges'. Bingo! Within two minutes of leaving the beautiful, but busy Markt, along Philipstockstraat, it was as if I had Bruges to myself. I encountered a baroque church, quietly idyllic stretches of canal, windmills, and little toy town streets. I hardly saw a soul on my travels.

The only individual who really stuck in my memory was a little old lady who lived in one of the charming little houses. Dressed all in black, she emerged from her tiny dwelling to shake what looked like lace, although it could've been me wanting it to be lace. It wouldn't surprise me if Bruges council don't pay her a retainer to shake lace in the street as a tourist attraction. If they don't, they should. It worked for me.

I stopped for a bite to eat just before the end of my walk. I sat outside a lovely restaurant by the water, just opposite Groene Rei quayside, and enjoyed my glorious mushroom omelette and glass of water. I couldn't help thinking what it must be like to be a resident of Bruges. To be born and brought up in such a wonderful looking place. The rest of the world must seem like a bit of a dump. Where else would you aspire to live? Brussels? Yeah, right!

To me, it was always just an alternative destination when heading off on North Sea Ferries, the poor relation to Amsterdam, or so I thought. How wrong I was, Bruges is a gem.

Continued ... next page (5/5)

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