We drove into Bruges from Amsterdam, though a bit later than planned — not because anything went wrong, but because the weather was almost impossibly beautiful. Everyone in the Netherlands seemed determined to spend the day outside. Along the highway, the water was alive with windsurfers, kite surfers, and sailboats gliding through the sunshine. It made me wonder: where do all those sails and boards live during the long gray stretches? Do people just wait patiently for one glorious day like this and then suddenly emerge all at once?
At one point, traffic came to a complete stop for a drawbridge lifting to let a line of tall sailboats pass through. We got out of the car to watch. As we stood there admiring the boats, a voice crackled over the loudspeaker:
“Lady in the short trousers, please get back in your vehicle.”
Yeah, the lady in the short trousers was me.
By the time we arrived in Bruges, we were completely charmed already. We checked into our beautiful hotel, The Notary, parked the car in city parking, and settled into the kind of relaxation that feels almost cinematic after a long drive. The hotel overlooks its own quiet stretch of canal, with flowers everywhere and a swimming pond filled with fish and water plants. We sat in the garden with glasses of Sauvignon Blanc and let Bruges work its magic on us.
That evening brought a beautiful dinner followed by cognac in the hotel bar — one of those perfect little European moments where nobody seems rushed and the lighting somehow flatters everyone.
The next morning, determined to maximize our short stay, we launched straight into Bruges proper. First: a canal cruise, which absolutely lived up to the hype. Bruges is lovely from the streets, but from the water it feels almost unreal — medieval facades, low bridges, ivy-covered walls, and tiny hidden gardens tucked behind centuries-old buildings.
Then came the Belfry.
We climbed the narrow staircase all the way to the top, and despite the fact that I exercised constantly, my legs were trembling afterward. Apparently stair-climbing in a medieval bell tower uses muscles modern life forgot.
One of the highlights of the trip was the Basilica of the Holy Blood. The lower Romanesque church especially was incredible — dark, ancient, and almost fortress-like in its simplicity. Josephine lit a candle for her grandmother before we headed upstairs to see the relic itself.
When we arrived, the line was surprisingly short. Jamil complained a bit while we waited — only to discover on the way out that we had somehow timed it perfectly. The line had exploded behind us, stretching all the way down the stairs and into the courtyard. We still have no idea how we escaped the crowds so completely.
And then, just like that, our twenty hours in Bruges were over.
We grabbed shawarma for the road, climbed back into our Ford Kuga stuffed to the roof with luggage, and pointed ourselves toward Maastricht for the next leg of the adventure.
