Ghent, Belgium: Two feet, two wheels

October 25, 2016March 18, 2021 / toumemoir / Leave a comment

The port city of Ghent, sitting in the Flemish region comfortably between Brussels and Bruges, was another convenient and endearing day trip I took, being just about a 30-minute train ride away from Brussels.

When I arrived at the main train station in Ghent, I wondered which direction to take: right, left, up, down, diagonal? (I should’ve flipped a coin every time this happened, which, funnily, was often.) But once I spotted the historical centrum sign, I followed the same sign until I arrived at my destination. It took about 30 minutes to walk there, which gave me an opportunity to explore quiet, off-the-beaten tracks and sneak a glimpse of the local way of life in the process.

Once I was greeted by the imposing monuments at the historical centre, however, I was surprised to see many travellers and tourists — even more than in Bruges. I had read that Ghent is Belgium’s best kept secret, so with that in mind, I was expecting to stumble across nary a soul, but I was wrong — the historical centrum was bustling with visitors. It sounds paradoxical and rather comical, but I guess many people are highly aware that Ghent is a gem that not many people know about.

I also noted that there were many locals, young and old, riding bikes in Ghent, which I thought was a charming sight, giving the city an idyllic feel. With my appreciation of the sight of bikes and canals, I realized that I could’ve visited Amsterdam as well, which was also just a short trip away; however, time was short and I didn’t plan my trip as efficiently as I could have. More importantly, for the time being, I had Ghent, and Ghent was all I needed.

Another waffle!

Like Bruges, Ghent sits at the top of my list of places that I adore the most. Walking along the streets of its historical centre was a feast for my hungry eyes and inquisitive soul; I felt like I was in another world altogether, with the splendid panoramic views of medieval churches, cathedrals, castles, and merchant shops, which have been so beautifully preserved.

Ghent is also a dream place for people whose favourite mode of transportation are their two feet. I walked to and fro and in numerous circles, losing myself in my immediate surroundings; after all, the port city was big in scope, with many things to do, eat, and see. Still, time wasn’t on my side, and I regret not having had the chance to fully immerse myself in the culture of this gem of a place.

Bruges, Belgium: We Love Chez Albert

October 23, 2016March 18, 2021 / toumemoir / Leave a comment

If it were possible, then I would’ve wrapped my arms around Bruges, hugged it tight, and kissed its cheek in gratitude. Because while I held my breath in Brussels, I found peace, quiet, and balance in Bruges.

I adored it dearly, particularly its essence. Despite being minuscule in scope — which I found rather alluring — it was modest, warm and inviting, and its beauty was timeless. It is to date, one of the places from my travel diaries that I cherish the most.

Markt (Market Square)

Bruges made for a convenient and enchanting day trip out of Brussels, being about 1 hr 20 min away by train. No reservation was necessary, either, for trains from Brussels to Bruges left regularly throughout the day.

When I arrived at the centre of Bruges, I was surprised by how quiet it was; it might’ve been the cold weather, but there weren’t many travellers or tourists roaming the streets that day (something I secretly celebrated in my mind).

The first waffle I ate in Belgium was actually in Bruges (I had the strawberry waffle when I returned to Brussels afterwards). It was a plain waffle from Chez Albert, and it was so scrumptious that it set the bar exceptionally high for the waffles to come. That, plus the almond croissants I had in Paris, were my favourite sweet eats throughout my whole trip! The waffle was warm, sweet, dense, and oh so comforting. Y’s had caramel on top, and one bite of hers had stars and baby chicks circling my head.

I learned that there are two types of waffles in Belgium: the Brussels waffle and the Liege waffle. The waffle here was a Liege waffle, which is irregular in shape and rich and dense, with caramelized sugar baked inside. The Brussels waffle, on the other hand, is rectangular in shape with clearly defined edges and is lighter and fluffier. The strawberry waffle in my previous post was a Brussels waffle. After having the Liege waffle in Bruges and in Ghent, I can say that I liked it much more than its Brussels sibling.

Walking along the canal with Y was calming; we were the only two around who weren’t locals. We walked continuously with no plans in mind and were greeted with some lovely sights, and even lovelier people.

One of the fondest moments for me was simply walking along the sidewalk and exchanging smiles with passersby. A simple gesture, to be sure, yet it was the simplest of things that prompted me to develop a sentimental attachment to Bruges.

Brussels, Belgium: The Three Amigos

October 23, 2016March 18, 2021 / toumemoir / 1 Comment

Town Hall at Grand Place

Guildhalls on the Grand Place

Grand Place (French) or Grote Markt (Dutch); central square of Brussels

Each place is imbued with its respective characteristics, and there are aspects that I appreciated dearly about every city I visited, be it its fine architecture and historical artifacts, the local food and people, or the overarching feeling of belonging and oneness that I experienced. While I spent the least amount of time in Brussels, my experience there was a colourful one. It was simultaneously the city where I’d experienced the greatest sense of unease, and the city that had armed me with unparalleled emotional comfort.

When I arrived in Brussels, I felt spiritually nauseous. It might’ve been because the sky was dark and gloomy (I was also sheepishly sick with a raging cold), but it was also much deeper than that — an overall feeling that I couldn’t pinpoint or articulate in words. It was when I arrived at my hostel and met my roommates, that I learned that there had been a few incidents the day prior. Thus I understood why armed soldiers were roaming metro stations, and why there were military vehicles lining the street a short distance from my abode. Of course, this sight wasn’t new to me; I had seen it in Paris. However, if I was aware of the slight chance of any incident happening in Paris, then I was also aware of it in Brussels — and tenfold.

I didn’t like that eerie awareness. I didn’t like that my mind was being inundated with suggestive imageries and programmed into fear. I knew, statistically speaking, that the chances of anything occurring were much lower than the chances of crimes happening back at home and dying in motor vehicle accidents. Being a skeptical person, I was also careful not to allow my private sphere of thought to be proliferated and my psyche to be governed, and to fall into the trap of collective neurosis and fear. At the same time, that’s not to say that I wasn’t alert or cautious every breath I took — I was. Yet I was bent to enjoy my time there and everywhere I went, because to live in a state of fear is crippling.

On the other hand, I thought I was alone in experiencing an off-putting vibe in the cities I visited — until I met my roommate, Y. She, too, had just left Paris, and meeting her felt as though I was meeting a twin — similar in thought and character and life experiences. Like myself, she had experienced a magnetic pull towards certain cities, only to be greeted with the harsh realities of these places; and it was in her experiences that I found solace and comfort. There was also N, another roommate, whose hobbies and interests mirrored mine almost completely. (Geeks can easily recognize other geeks.) I have these two lovely individuals to thank, for they were the catalysts behind me having such an exciting and heartfelt time in Brussels. (After Brussels, N and I even met again in Paris, where I had returned to for the nth time.)

It’s an enticing thought, in retrospect, how travel can fuel synchronistic events such that you end up meeting similar souls (and starkly different ones) along the way, that would serve as catalysts along your journey of evolution and growth. It reminded me of a man I’d met at a laundromat in Paris (I’d like to remember him as the lone artist philosopher), and J, another friend I’d spent much time with, whose personality was uncannily similar to someone that was once part of my life. There was also the hostel receptionist in Paris, whose friendly and bright disposition made me understand why I’d subconsciously done the things I’d done in the past — and why, in the final analysis, it was for the best. For that brief moment in time, their mark on me was profound: I learned that I’d healed and was capable of opening my heart again.

Carbonnades Flamandes à la Leffe Brune, Frites

Strawberry waffle from Mokafé

Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert

The Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert is a very old and classic shopping strip built in the mid-nineteenth century. You can find boutiques selling luxurious items such as fashionable clothes, hats and gloves, jewellery, and chocolates. There were a few notable chocolate shops, one of them being Neuhaus, founded in 1857 by Jean Neuhaus, who had apparently created the praline. I purchased a few boxes to bring home and a customized bag for myself to enjoy that day. The chocolates were absolutely divine. Brace yourself though, because the infinite flavours and selections can be at once heavenly and overwhelming.

You can also find classic cafes at the Galeries, one of them being the widely visited Mokafé, known for its delicious authentic Belgian waffles, which the three of us tried together. I had a regular waffle topped with powdered sugar and strawberries, which I didn’t find special — I found it too crispy and rather flat in taste. I shall give the cafe a benefit of a doubt, but perhaps it was because they were in a rush to serve customers and were short on staff, with only one server that day. It was a Saturday and the cafe was full to the brim, and people left because they were waiting too long to be served. But I felt for the server; he was a nice guy who was running to and fro. Kudos to him, he deserved a cape.

During my time in Brussels, I also visited Maison Dandoy, a very old sweets shop created in 1829 by Jean-Baptiste Dandoy. They specialize in biscuits and are known for their speculoos cookies. I purchased a package of speculoos biscuits from one of their quaint biscuit shops, and after finishing the package, I wish I’d bought more. (I wish I’d also taken a photo of the shop.) There are a few Maison Dandoy shops around Brussels as well as tea rooms. Apparently, they also make fine Belgian waffles.

My time in Brussels was short and I regret having spent the least amount of time there, for there were activities that I wish I’d had the time to do, such as going to the Belgian Comic Strip Center and the Musée Hergé, and simply walking around exploring Brussels’ comics-based street art murals, which I really looked forward to. Brussels is the hub of comics, and if you grew up with older siblings who read Belgian comic books like the infamous Les Aventures de Tintin, then you’d have an appreciation for them, too.

Rouen, France: Pianos and reveries

October 16, 2016March 18, 2021 / toumemoir / Leave a comment

After Prague, I returned to Paris for a couple of days. Although Paris was the city I liked the least, ironically, it was also the city where I had spent most of my time — too much time many people would add, and to which I’d nod in agreement. Nevertheless, I was excited to return to Paris for the simple reason that I knew I’d be leaving the city and heading elsewhere, with one such place being Rouen.

Paris. I woke up early to get a head start to my day, but when I arrived at Gare Saint-Lazare to buy my train tickets to Rouen, I couldn’t find the ticket office (I wasn’t aware it was on 7th heaven) so I went to Gare de l’Est to buy them, only to return to Gare Saint-Lazare again to board my train.

Once I arrived at the platform at Gare Saint-Lazare, I realized that I could make the earlier train but then I learned that it would cost me 13€ just to change the time on my ticket. “Alas, I might as well order a coffee and sit back and relax while I wait for the next train,” I thought to myself happily.

I felt worn out that morning from running to and fro — so much so that I lost my wits and mistakenly threw away my train ticket in the garbage along with my coffee cup. The only way to retrieve it was to dig my hand through the garbage, which I did, and which prompted a passerby to gasp in horror. (Luckily, it was a relatively new garbage bag and I saw my ticket sitting upright.)

As bizarre of a start my morning might’ve adopted, to me it was a comical twist in my travel adventures, and after having settled the minor details, I enjoyed unwinding at the train station and people-watching, and losing myself in the recesses of my own thoughts and emotions as I usually do — that is, until, scanning the horizons with my eyes, I spotted a piano with a sign over it that read in French, “For you to play.”

In the midst of all the commotion at the train station, the piano stood motionless — seemingly lonely and lifeless at first glance. I watched as people went about their daily lives, bodies moving swiftly to and fro. There was motion all around me, yet all I saw was a blur. Many of us were going, and going nowhere at such an intense speed. The only sure sign of life was that piano.

I wanted to touch the keys and undress myself into nakedness — into all my musical, soulful elements. But I couldn’t. So I waited patiently for someone else to come by and breathe colour and passion into the insipid air that enrobed many of our lives — until someone did come along and play.

Once again, time had stopped for me, just like it had in Prague when someone was playing Yiruma underneath the Charles Bridge — only this time this anonymous individual was playing Yann Tiersen. The keys, the notes, the emotion — I felt my throat constrict and eyes water.

Few things in life moved me and elicited a powerful emotional response in me as much as the sound of piano keys, a musical piece with emotion and reverie. Again, I observed passersby, innocent souls going about their days, and I pictured Paris in its recent heartbreaking events. How fragile life was. And that piano, at that moment in time, was the only symbol of light and hope in the face of destruction and death.

Gros Horloge

Cathédrale Notre-Dame, Rouen. Seen in some of Claude Monet’s paintings.

Rouen. Most of my post centres around my adventures getting to Rouen, not so much on Rouen itself. But I think the photos speak for themselves, for I myself feel crippled in my efforts to find the right words to describe my experience there.

Rouen was one of my favourite places I had visited. It was there that I felt transported back in time. It was also the only city where I experienced bittersweet nostalgia and a vague familiarity for the unknown — as if I’ve known this place from another existence and my being there this time was simply a second greeting.

Auzou Le Chocolatier Normand @ 163 Rue du Gros Horloge, 76000 Rouen, France

The first chocolates I tried in France weren’t from Paris; they were from Rouen. I was fascinated by the quaint exterior of Auzou, a classic chocolaterie, and when I walked in, golly gee, was I ever greeted by an entire universe of sweet treats, especially chocolates!

Even though I’m not a big fan of chocolates, I knew I still had to try chocolates while in France, otherwise I’d be committing a sin against the gods of glutton. So I asked the helpful lady for a bag of 100g of chocolates, and being an adventurous eater, I also asked her to recommend me some unique flavours, the first one I tried on the spot being fig.

I’m quite ashamed to admit it, but I ate the whole bag in a day because they were so divine — and indescribably so! “Save some for later? Forget it,” I rationalized. “Tomorrow’s a new day, which means new eats.” Though, while savouring these fine creatures, I wished I had loved ones to share them with.

(Fret not, I did purchase chocolates from Pierre Hermé and À la Mère de Famille when I was in Paris, as well as chocolates from Neuhaus when I was in Brussels, to bring home as a gift for my dad, who’s a big chocoholic.)