Boarding a tour bus at 6:45 a.m, the tour guide greeted us in three languages. “Welcome, my name is Pierre, blah, blah, blah there are no bathrooms on the bus, a rest stop for 15 minutes in two hours, please enjoy. Silently thanking allah for not allowing me time for that second cuppa, I selected a seat. Getting all settled in, came the second announcement in three languages, “No eating on the bus.” Hearing that, I took a quick look about and made a dignified dash to the way back of the bus, you know the seat that stretches across the entire back of the bus. I settled in only to stifle giggles as I rode along taking sneaky bites of my sandwich. Four hours and one rest stop later we arrived in Brugge. An absolutely charming little town. I was enchanted as Pierre lead us up across the quaint hump backed bridge, through the park and along the canal where tourists, geese and geese poop mingled to present a European scene. Pierre’s pace increased as he gave directions in three languages. Stopping at the museum, he told us to take a picture of the sign in front of the museum so we could find our way back there in 2.5 hours.“Where’s the bathroom?” several asked in several languages. We quickly figured out he only knew words in the tour guide book in three languages, understanding none of them. He gave us a vague jesture, pointed to the boat ride, gave us a ticket and said to be back at the appointed time and place then he disappeared.
Needing a potty worse than a boat ride, I broke free of the crowd and went in search. I walked up to a lovely looking woman standing in the doorway of a cafe and politely asked where the bathroom was. “You can’t use it unless you buy something.” “I need to go.” “No, you can’t!” she said stepping in front of me to bar my way. “Let me in or I’ll pee on your floor,” I said through clenched teeth. “She said she’s gonna pee on my floor.” she called to the gather crowd. “Yes, I will.” “You’re going to pee on my floor, are you?” At this point I wasn’t sure I could produce any pee, she sort of scared it back up in me. I felt a gentle hand on my arm and a voice with lovely southern drawl say, “my wife needs a bathroom too. Let’s all of us go on down the street, I’ll buy a cup of coffee while you two go.” Giving the waitress a what I hoped was a triumphant shrug, I went off with the nice young man and his wife. On a side note, they boast of having 880 different beers. They must all have bladders the size of a gondola.
Feeling nearly euphoric with an empty bladder I wanted to dance back to the boat ride along the canal.
Looking up the spelling of the name of the town is conflicting. When referring to the town, it seems to be spelled one way, yet it’s spelled two ways on the official Website. Brugge – Bruges There must be a grammatical reason. I tend to believe the place-mat!
Finally, finally in my life I had a real Belgium waffle. No wonder people get excited about them.
. Crisp, delicious and perfectly perfect with beer.