Fudge, meet my sweet tooth - Bruges, Belgium

Emma and I were advised the no-miss day trip in Belgium was the lively Gent. So we, headstrong and following our instincts, went to Bruges and were anything but disappointed.

My immediate reaction on leaving the little train station was, 'I can't wait to move to Oxford!' This may have been partly because for once there was no need for a sweaty, rickety, expensive metro. Sweet relief to be able to walk the entirety in one day. The other part was its uncanny Anglo resemblance.

The squeeze-your-cheeks angelic little town was as cozy as a hot chocolate with Cadbury's fingers next to a fire (or radiator, to be more realistic) complete with Mansfield Park on my kindle.




And the sun even warmed the tips of our noses as we casually picnicked next to the canal.

The square, complete with ever-present horses

Not sure why, I was bound and determined to seek out the 'Christ's Blood' in the Basilica.

Ta da!

I wasn't going to pay respects exactly; it just kinda seemed cool. Then absolutely awkward as I walked into the wrong museum and blurted out, 'Je cherche...uhh...le...sang?' ('I'm looking for the blood please,' or, 'I'm obviously some kind of tourist vampire polite enough to ask directions before going for lunch').  The woman patiently smiled at me, pointing me across the cobbly street.
We skipped up the circular staircase and on entering the chapel, slowly approached the stairs at the top of which a priest on a throne guarded the vessel protecting the 'holy blood'.

My eyes widened imagining the poor guy's career.
"How was your week?"
"Oh well, the same, you know. People gawked at me as I counted once again the floor stones. Then the red bits in the stained glasswork. Then I tried to understand what those giggling english girls were going on about but eventually gave up."
"Any chance of promotion yet?"
"..."

Emma rolled her eyes at my incredulity before going outside to see a famous little frog on a romantic bronze statue. Supposedly after 1000 times being kissed, the frog would turn into that inevitable prince. Not risking the odds, I only leaned in for a picture and left my lips a good few inches away.

I then went running after Michelangelo's only statue outside of Italy, but after circling the Church of our Lady several times (while finding two other statues of Madonna and Child might I add) accepted it was already closed. Well. Next time.

Even the snowmen profit from Belgium beer. Bless.

We chanced upon a genius time of year to visit Belgium for les gourmands- the period of furry white bunnies and multi-colored eggs.

What does that spell?

C-H-O-C-O-L-A-T-E.

The window displays showcased the chocolate capital of the world's finest sweets in an especially creative fashion. Although some seemed slightly...out of season.

Place Central au crépuscule

Towards the end of the afternoon as the sun gently left us in the shade, I hesitated, whimpering outside yet another teensy shop bragging of sugary talents, fixated on the fudge display. Emma elbowed me, "Go ooonnnn, GET some." We were soon happily munching our caramel. I even had some left over to take to my Brussels couchsurfing host. Everybody scored.