Tens of millions of people visited to Brugge over the last half century. Those visitors took somewhere between hundreds and thousands of millions of photographs. Set against this tide of photography, there isn’t anything I could add to the photographic record that would be unique or special. Given that, I was happy to wander around the town and take snapshots of pretty rooftops or colour combinations.
It’s a weird relief when that pressure to perform with the camera goes away: I could relax, spot the pretty and snap the pretty.
Brugge was an incredible experience, gorgeous and weighted with history. It was also a crappy tourist trap. There were a thousand tat shops and tourist restaurants who served Generic Western European Bar Food. Eadaoin and I wandered the city, enjoyed a boat tour, had waffles, had coffee, had frites, then went home.
The biggest problem I have with the town were us: tourists. Big complains, small problem, because tourists are part the entire point of a tourist attraction. It was great to get away from the noise and clutter of Brussels, but at the end of the day I wanted more. Give me a bleak, empty beach with the wind in my hair.
Eadaoin and I both loved Brugge. We have tentative plans to go back for an overnight winter stay, because whatever about the crowds, the city radiated the quiet serenity I crave. There are few cars, but many narrow roads and silent corners by a canal.