Brugse Zot

First time on le Shuttle with Maisy, easipeasy -the way to go.....

 

First rule of Turpie travel...all continental trips begin and end in a Calais hyper-market....

Today was no exception, Auchan, Coquelles being the chosen retail interlude, and of course now owning a motorhome with a spacious rear garage adds a whole new dimension to any ensuing .'booze-cruise'. I have no doubt that the cost of travelling from Derbyshire to Calais does not stack-up in terms of economics; maybe you save £2.50 on a simple bottle of wine - say around £200 on the 13 cases we bought. Using the car - petrol, two hotel stops, a ferry crossing and meals out - that would probably set you back perhaps nearer £250 pounds at least. In a motorhome, then the costs could be even more; what you save in hotels bills goes straight into the gas tank.

However, the issue is not about economics, but quality of life and value for money. I don't make a habit of shopping in Asda, however a couple of weeks ago I found myself in central Stockport and needed a few items for lunch. After admiring approvingly the competitively priced cucumbers (its an exciting life I lead these days), I moved on to the wine department. There was simply nothing I could bring myself to buy. The 'New World' wines were the cheapest, but everything seemed branded, super-blended single grape varieties. French and Italian wines were all seriously over-priced at £7.50 upwards and again tended to be own brand labelled, or blended wines labelled from famous  areas like Chianti and Cotes de Rhone, or single grape types such as 'Primitivo'.

That's not to say that France has been entirely immune from the same process. Most hypermarket chains try to push own brand wines, usually produced by large Cave Cooperatives on an industrial scale. We call them 'petrol-pump wines' due to the fact that if you visit the supplier directly you can often buy the wine in bulk if you bring your own plastic 'vrac', then fill it up by the litre using a fuel-style pump. In the Calais area discounted branded wines aimed at the British market - J P Chenet and the like- also abound. All that being said, you can still buy very pleasant Southern French wines for less than 5 Euros - sometimes for even half that amount on BOGOF deals - where you can tell, just by reading the label, that the bottle has been made by an individual grower and produced within a particular terroir with love, pride and care. It's 'the south' bottled, an essential pre-requisite for surviving  long, dark winters high in the Pennines.

Having speed-shopped in Coquelles we headed for Dunkirk and the Belgian border. Our stop-off at an aire for a snack was, as is often case,  a good antidote against becoming too dewy eyed with incipient Francophilia.  The TV cultural commentator, Jonathan Meades, talks about the twin French obsessions with weird gigantic structures and la moderne, often expressed in grey, loveless concrete. Both were much in evidence at the Aire d'Offerkerque.

A simple lunch stop at l' Aire d'Offerkerque

I wonder who thought it was a good idea to place a look-out tower on top of the insanitary block?

There are few sights as grim as an empty, concreted car park ..it could have been drizzling I suppose!

Auden reckoned that "concrete will unsex any space which it encloses". French architects have attempted more than most to disprove his assertion, but even here, in the world centre of unashamed Brutalism it must be said that dreary concrete car parks far outnumber le Corbusier styled villas. No musing on modernism for us though - in less than an hour we'd arrived on the outskirts of a fourteenth century boom town, and for once Muriel seemed as keen to get there as quickly as ourselves, depositing us without having a 'a moment' straight into the 'Aire de Camping Cars' situated on the southern edge of the ancient centre of Bruges.


It's about a 15 minute stroll from here into the town square and without further ado we set off. We happened on the moment when tour parties were heading coach-wards, so picked our way through the hoards coming towards us. Each group was led by a courier touting a number on a stick. I have to say most of the tourists trailing along behind looked pretty miserable; it did seem to resemble being back in school. I suspect that Gill and I, having both been teachers and managers in education, would undoubtedly need to have been holding the number at the front. However I did consciously resist the urge to blow a whistle and yell things like "no dawdling at the back" or "Jenkins! leave Melissa alone, you don't know where she's been".

Swans at Minnewater Park

The path to the city centre crossed Minnewater Park reaching the built-up area at Beginjhof. Here, just across an ancient waterway, where flocks of swans float among the willow trees, is Bruges' Beguinage. These medieval convents were unusual in so much as the women who took holy orders, rather than retreating from the world, worked within the city expressing their faith through charitable work.

The gate to the Beguinage

The Sister's simple whitewashed houses glimpsed through the gates.

Within is a haven of tranquility remote from the bustle of the city beyond its high walls.

Visitors are asked to be silent as the Beguinage is still home to practicing Benedictines

Whitewashed small cottages similar to those found within the grounds of the Beguinage are scattered throughout the city as they were built as almshouses for widows and the poor. Whole streets of them can be found in the vicinity of Katelijinstraat, many our now house craftshops and artisan chocolatiers.

Whitewashed houses and quaint cobbles - cute, but murder on the feet!

The racks of brightly coloured scarves looked very jolly in the afternoon sun.

Spire of The Church of Our Lady

As we wandered towards the heart of the city the late afternoon light slowly faded towards evening and the setting sun lit the steep rooftops and stepped gables in a pale golden light. The red tiled roof of the Sint-Jan Hospital faded to a burnt umber colour.  We arrived in the main square, seeking out somewhere to have a beer as the clear sky deepened to a translucent royal blue, it was truly memorable moment. We found a place with a great view of the Markt and Belfry.

Evening sunlight on the Sint-Jan Hospital

Orange roofs

The Belfry

Viva Europa!

Choosing a beer is really tricky, the variety is mind-blowing. In the end I opted for a local brew from Bruges' Halve Maan brewery. Brugse Zot means Bruges Fool. Apparently due to some highly unlikely tale involving the citizens of Bruges and Emperor Maximillian, everybody from Bruges are known as 'fools'- hence the beer's name. Gill opted for a Weiss Bier called Brugs, all very civilised.

Too much choice....

Does anyone choose Bass Pale Ale, I wonder.....

Pete's Brugse Zot

I like the Cheshire Cat grin...

Gill's Brugs 

After we'd had a bier we wandered over from the Markt to the adjacent Burg Square. The town hall and nearby restaurants were all floodlit in a warm yellow light which contrasted spectacularly with the deep blue, twilight sky. It had been a long day, was it just this morning that we had woken up to clearing skies in Oxford?

Bruges Town Hall

Restaurants on Burg Square,

Time to wander back through the half empty streets and hit the sack...Goodnight!