And in Ghent. And in Bruxelles.
Traveling with friends is not my normal mode of operation – which seems odd when you think about the fact that a) I like people and b) that does happen to be the way that most of my friends and peers travel. I think the habit of solo travel was built up in part because that’s how I learned to travel (let me assure you, very few twenty-year-olds want to spend their year abroad exploring provincial capitals in Italy) and in part because I hate being the one holding the group back when I stop to take, oh, ninety million photos.
But when my dear friend Layne told me she was headed for Europe, had a few days solo, and would love it if I’d join her in Belgium, there was no way I was saying no. I arrived earlier (hence the stops in Paris and Luxembourg) and we planned to rendezvous in Brussels for a quick couple days in Belgium together.
This was not my first time in Belgium, but the prior visit was when I was the aforementioned twenty-year-old weirdo going to Italian provincial capitals. At the time, I didn’t drink beer. On that trip, I also for whatever stupid reason (probably affordability?) ate neither waffles nor chocolate. I wasn’t even supposed to be in Belgium, but rather in Maastricht, just over the border in the Netherlands… then a train strike happened and it felt prudent to be in Belgium so I’d be able to catch my flight out of Charleroi.
What I needed was a Belgium do-over.
It was a relatively quick ride up from Luxembourg for me. Belgian trains I found highly utilitarian and, if I’m being honest, a bit of a let down from the pristine, elegant SNCF trains I had gotten spoiled by in France. Brussels was our home base in a lovely apartment southeast of the city center.
There was of course one thing I knew I had to do in Brussels: Cantillon.
I wouldn’t consider myself a beer nerd, but I am certainly a Cantillon nerd. They are notable for being one of the few remaining traditional lambic brewers in Belgium (and depending on whom you ask, perhaps the only proper lambic brewer left in Belgium). We’re talking true lambics here – not some syrupy fruity is-it-a-beer-or-a-weird-cider concoction. Their menu is spartan, their production numbers laughable in comparison to other breweries of equal renown; all of this is intentional to maintain the integrity of the beer.
And my is it worth it.
I’d had their beers before, mostly at The Sovereign and Monk’s Kettle, but there’s nothing like unfettered access and great prices. It was a visit that I would recommend without hesitation, particularly if you like a little sour, a little funk. Glorious.
After a quick break back at the apartment (it was Layne’s arrival day, after all), we ventured up into town to see a bit of Brussels and indulge in that most Belgian of treats: la gaufre, the waffle!
We let our noses lead us to Maison Dandoy, a speculoos bakery that just happens to have phenomenal waffles. I went for bruxelleoise with toasted hazelnuts and it was perfection. Rich, crisp, sweet, nutty, excellent.
Just steps away from that sweet, carb-y heaven is the center square, known as la Grand-Place in French or De Grote Markt in Flemish. If stately, ornate buildings with lots of gilding are your thing, then this has to be one of the best squares in Europe.
We quite enjoyed playing tourist, which – being in Belgium and all – involved some fried foods and more beer.
For our second day, we knew we’d be headed off to Bruges, a quick hour’s jaunt west by train. Most of the trains leaving Bruxelles-Midi station have a stop at Ghent, so we decided to do the same. It was absolutely the right call.
Ghent was an absolutely joy and really typified the aesthetic I picture when I think of the Low Countries: canals, bikes, pretty Gothic churches and charming brick grachtenhuizen rising above the water.
We hopped on the tram to go into the city and have breakfast at Simon Says, a restaurant Layne found that’s housed in a wildly-colored gem of an Art Nouveau building.
It was the perfect spot for a casual breakfast, with delicious baked goods and any kind of coffee drink your could want. If you’re going, just know that it fills up fast!
The only thing I really knew about Ghent was in the context of its famed Altarpiece, so I knew I wanted to wind my way over to the cathedral eventually. It’s an excellent walking city, though I’d imagine it’s great for biking as well.
Ghent was a medieval powerhouse, its highly decorative buildings a testament to its success. Just before reaching the cathedral we came across the Belfry of Ghent, the tallest tower in the city. Naturally, we had to go up.
Unlike many of the bell towers I’ve visited over the years, this one has an elevator. No complaints about that. Above is a replica of the dragon that sits atop its spire, a symbol of the city.
We reached the top to find phenomenal views of the city and surrounding areas – no surprise there – and, well, a great deal of wind. Thank goodness for hoods and hats and puffy jackets!
This is the cathedral, just across a short square from the belfry and home of the second tallest tower in the city.
The great thing about the wind is that it kept the skies relatively blue and picturesque, though our faces were quite windswept by the time we caved and ran back inside to catch the lift down.
After a little more touristing downstairs, we made our way over to the cathedral. I’m always a bit iffy about taking photos in an active space of worship, and (truth be told) I doubt I’d be able to shoot the altarpiece as well as the professionals. On a more interesting note, the piece has a bit of a spotty history in that it’s been stolen multiple times.
We finished our Ghent visit with a stop at the nearby brasserie Sint-Jorishof. The beer and snacks were fine, but the real appeal was the ridiculous collection of antiques and bad taxidermy. Then we were back off to the station and, not too long after, on our way to Bruges!
First thing about Bruges: the city name is Bruges in French, but Brugge (broo-hee, more or less) in Flemish. We couldn’t get over how much more fun the local pronunciation is.
Like Ghent, there were lots of cute brick buildings, and it was very walkable; unlike Ghent, it had a distinctly touristy vibe (horse-drawn carriages on cobblestone and corny souvenir t-shirts, &c.) that wasn’t exactly my speed.
By the time we arrived, it was time for food. (Travel hanger is real.) We found a spot that did savory waffles: the food was much better than my photos of said food, so just imagine a waffle with a perfectly cooked fried egg atop it.
The central square, Markt, is very pedestrian friendly and provided a great view of the belfry. The buildings that ring it vary from old-old-old to just seemingly old (like the Gothic Revival Provinciaal Hof above) with lots of cafés and beer bars.
We eventually made our way to the patio of 2be, where I nursed a kriek (cherry lambic) in the cold, though I wonder if a Delirium Tremens may have been more appropriate.
One of the things I quite admire about most European country’s approach to cold weather is that they utterly embrace it. I remember a conversation with a bartender in Copenhagen one winter; his take was that if they couldn’t figure out how to lean into the cold, they’d all have left by now. As a weak-blooded Californian, I question my own sanity every winter on the East Coast.
With time left to kill before our late train back to Brussels, it only seemed prudent to stop for a snack of frieten—the inimitable Belgian fries! (France and Belgium apparently still disagree about which country invented “French” fries, but suffice it to say I’m grateful to whichever one made that discovery.)
We found fries in a little nameless stand in front of the belfry. Our fry cook – who, if I remember correctly, was from Albania… and I’m fairly certain we had a nice little chat about my visit… but who knows after a day of beer drinking – recommended mayonnaise and beef stew as our toppings. Both were absolutely delicious and made it worth sitting on a cold metal bench.
Finally, we made our way back to the train station and returned to Brussels. A trip well done.