Belgium's symphony in stone

As a child, it’s the place that I envisioned when I closed my eyes. White stone buildings with delicate gold-leafed spires. White swans floating on placid canals. It’s the fairytale Flemish city of Brugge, Belgium, and when I first set foot in the Venice-like town I knew that this symphony in stone was made of dreams.

Getting to Brugge (known as Bruge to the French) from our area is no small feat. Getting there from just about anywhere is no small feat. Maybe that is how it has retained its charm. A flight on either American Airlines or British Airways will take you from LAX through London to Brussels in about fifteen hours.

The train from Brussels to Brugge takes about an hour and is quite picturesque. We passed whitewashed thatched roof cottages that looked three hundred years old and probably were. In the farmyards women with scarf-draped heads wearing faded dresses were stooping over to feed chickens or hoe in the garden. Another fairytale image come to life.

I discovered Brugge while I lived in southern Holland, so I didn’t have to worry about a place to stay, but when I returned several years later I was happy to discover the hotel ‘t Bourgoensche Cruyce, a quaint half-timbered canal-side establishment. The hotel changed hands recently and is now known as the Relais Bourgondisch Cruyce. Several of the sixteen guest rooms in the three-story hotel face the canal. This is one of the most painted and photographed buildings in Brugge, so you won’t have any problem finding it in miniature. There are even lace representations of this unique hotel.

The canal-view restaurant ‘t Bourgoensch hof, next to the hotel, serves marvelous five-course French or Belgian meals. The interior is decorated like a French chateau with massive marble fireplaces and equally massive chandeliers. It is a place to savor your meal while watching the white swans glide by the wall of windows.

Don’t leave Brugge without trying a delicious local dish called “Flemish Carbonade.” It tastes a bit like a ‘tacos al carbon’ without the taco shell. Also, be sure to try the much publicized and much loved “frites,” which look and taste like “French fries,” but the Belgians claim they actually originated in their own country. Frite shops sell these deep-fried potatoes that are delicious with hot or cold mayonnaise. Other sauces such as curry or hot peanut sauce offer a flavor twist. Belgians are fiercely proud of their frites, so don’t call them fries, especially not French fries.

A leisurely walk is one of the best ways to get the feel of the city; unfortunately, getting lost in Brugge is no problem either, with the narrow winding cobblestone streets and many convoluted canals. Purchase a map before you get too far, like I did, only to discover that not everyone speaks English.

The canals wind around the buildings as if they were streets, so a canal boat trip is a wonderful way to drink in the ambiance. I hopped aboard one of the “motorbootjes” for a swanlike ride though the canals. We drifted down the canals past Flemish step-gabled buildings, some dating from the medieval period. Flower-laden boxes hung from windows and swans and ducks dodged our little vessel as it meandered though the waterways.

The Markt Square houses an opulent civic center with fanciful white stone walls and gold spires. The Markt buildings boast an eclectic mix of Gothic, Baroque and Renaissance architecture, which encompasses approximately five hundred years of history. The castle-like structures were fashioned of intricately designed stone and reach six or seven stories high. Leaded windows and ornate archways adorned every building. The belfry in the center of town is three hundred and sixty-six steps high and affords a marvelous view of the city. Its forty-seven carillon bells ring forty-seven lyrical notes.

The Church of Our Lady, a noble cathedral with ivy inching up the walls and tufts of grass sprouting between cobblestones, contains another treasure: a small Michelangelo statue entitled “Madonna and Child.”

Lace and chocolate abound in Brugge. Shops that sell both line the cobblestone alleys where I discovered delicate seashell-shaped truffles and minute lace works that measure an inch in diameter.

On my last night in Brugge I was afraid to sleep for fear that this marvelous dream would end. I opened the leaded glass window and the night air rushed in. Directly below my window, three stories down, the canal water lapped against the side of the hotel. A moored boat was draped with a tarp which had filled with rainwater. Lights from a restaurant across the canal reflected on the placid water. Someone in the restaurant was cleaning up...moving chairs and vacuuming. The cool night air was laced with a faint chocolate scent, or was that just my imagination?

The scent of canal water swirled about my high window. It was the scent of five hundred years of history. It was the scent of dreams. It was the scent of gnarled fingers fashioning lace or deft hands pouring melted chocolate into intricate molds. I couldn’t bear to close the window on this pageant of history, so I left it open. The soothing lap of water against the side of the hotel finally lulled me to sleep while swans slid on the serene surface, guided only by the moonlight.