In Bruges: I’d be okay with getting whacked here
This city really is as beautiful as that assassin movie made it out to be. Â It’s almost too beautiful. Â It’s beautiful in the way a movie set is beautiful, that it defies all reality in its perfection. Â The cobbled, windy streets; the horse drawn carriages; the canals. Â Walking around, I needed to remind myself that people actually live here. Â Those windy streets have actual houses that actual Belgians sleep in. Â And not all of them get up every day to make lace and pralines. Â Yes, tourism plays a huge part in the economy, but there is also a local scene beyond the frites sold at every street corner. Â Even in my short time here, I started to find some local haunts. Â I ate at Pas Partout, where I think I was the only non-local there. Â I got an authentic-tasting mushroom soup, potatoes, and half chicken for nine Euros. Â Sure, the restaurant didn’t have a view of the clock tower, and mussels were not on the menu, but that’s not the real Bruges. Â I felt like I was one of the locals. Â Well, almost. Â Everyone around me spoke French or Dutch. Â When I didn’t talk, I felt like a local. Â I also had a lovely picnic lunch with fixings from the “golden triangle:” an intersection with the best bakery, butcher, and fruit stand in the city. Â Sitting on a bench in the adjacent Astrid Park, I watched a woman play fetch with her dog next to a pretty fountain surrounded by pretty flowers. Â The location was still idyllic, but the dog didn’t understand the rules of fetch, which made me happy. Â It’s not all perfect in Bruges. Â Some dogs here are ignorant. Â That’s something I wouldn’t have learned had I stayed in the city center with the tour groups.