First Visit to Bruges!

Here are a few photos from our first trip to Bruges, the most visited (and probably most beautiful) city in Belgium. We were traveling with our art history class, and the day's schedule was jam packed (packed like jam?). The only chance I had to snap any pictures was from atop the Belfry, after climbing 366 tiny, dizzyingly winding stairs. Ceej didn't quite make it up, and I only did out of determination to get the photos. The hour turned as I reached the top, and the noise of the bells in combination with a little problem I have with heights tried its hardest to give me a baby panic attack. I got over that, only to find a chain-link fence lining the windows from which I'd hoped to get my pictures.

Longfellow had a better experience here, judging by his poem "The Belfry of Bruges." I'll explain whatever history in it that I know…

In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown;
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town.

Built originally around 1240, the tower was destroyed in three separate fires: one in 1280, one (from a lightning strike!) in 1493, and another in 1741.

As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood,
And the world threw off the darkness, like the weeds of widowhood.

Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapors gray,
Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay.

At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there,
Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, ghost-like, into air.

Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour,
But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower.

From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high;
And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky.

Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times,
With their strange, unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes,

Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the choir;
And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar.

Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain;
They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again;

All the Foresters of Flanders,—mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer,
Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy Philip, Guy de Dampierre.

Flanders is the Dutch-speaking, northern half of Belgium. But I don't know who any of those guys are, sorry.

I beheld the pageants splendid that adorned those days of old;
Stately dames, like queens attended, knights who bore the Fleece of Gold

Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden argosies;
Ministers from twenty nations; more than royal pomp and ease.

Bruges prospered as a medieval trade city, especially because of the wool cloth that was made in Flanders and sold in the hall attached to the belfry.

I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground;
I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk and hound;

Maximillian was someone important. Mary was too, but she fell off a horse and died.

And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept with the queen,
And the armed guard around them, and the sword unsheathed between.

I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and Juliers bold,
Marching homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold;

The Battle of the Golden Spurs took place on 11 July, 1302 in Bruges. Flemish infantry defeated a bunch of French knights and then took their spurs as trophies. (But the French took them back two years later.) 11 July is now celebrated as "Flemish Day" by Dutch-speaking Belgians.

Saw the light at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods moving west,
Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Dragon's nest.

You know how Pennsylvania has lots of deer? Belgium has dragons.

And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote;
And again the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin's throat;

Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike of sand,
"I am Roland! I am Roland! there is victory in the land!"

Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city's roar
Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their graves once more.

Hours had passed away like minutes; and, before I was aware,
Lo! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square.

Bruges was almost unreal in its charm. The whole city center is preserved as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, which I think means that they aren't allowed to build anything new and ugly there. The water running through the town allows for plenty of picturesque bridges and an almost Venetian feel.

It was still fairly wintry this past Saturday, and none of the trees or perennials were blooming. But Lucy and I are visiting in mid-March, when I hope to see an even more beautiful Bruges.

Here are a few fabulous panoramas, courtesy of Wikipedia. Click to enlarge:






On another note, Dr. Evil comes from Bruges, as revealed in Austin Powers in Goldmember.