BELGIUM
September 1
Discovering Bruges
“This is the last city for us to visit.”
Mario’s words carried a sense of anticipation as if urging Cher and me to savor every moment of this final leg of our journey. It reminded me of the popular song’s title, Save the Best for Last. While Bruges might not boast the iconic allure of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, it certainly has held its unique charm.
From the moment we set foot in Bruges, it felt like we had been transported back in time. Often referred to as the Venice of the North, Bruges unfolded before us like a storybook, each chapter filled with the enchantment of centuries gone by. As a first-time visitor, I was immediately captivated by the charm of this medieval city. The cobblestone streets, winding canals, and ancient brick buildings seemed to whisper tales of history deeply etched into every corner.
Our exploration began in the heart of Bruges, at the bustling Market Square. Standing amidst this grand plaza, we were enveloped by magnificent Gothic architecture, including the iconic Belfry Tower that loomed above, casting a long shadow over the lively marketplace below. The tower’s melodic chimes filled the air, mingling with the hum of conversation and the rhythmic clip-clop of horse-drawn carriages.
Fairy-Tale Town
We meandered toward the canals, where Mario decided we should take a boat tour. The gentle sway of the boat and the soothing sound of water lapping against the stone embankments were calming. As we glided through the canals, our guide painted vivid pictures with his words, recounting stories of Bruges’ illustrious past as a thriving trading hub in the Middle Ages.
We floated beneath low-arched stone bridges, their surfaces smoothed by centuries of passage. The reflections of the gabled houses danced on the water’s surface, their vibrant hues and intricate facades blending seamlessly with the clear blue sky above. It was easy to see why this place is often described as a fairy-tale town.
Mario then led us to the Basilica of the Holy Blood. Inside, dim light filtered through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the stone floors. In a small chapel to the side, a line of devout visitors waited to venerate a crystal vial said to contain a few drops of Christ’s blood. The atmosphere was thick with reverence, and I couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of awe I marveled at the intricacy of the church’s décor – the vibrant paintings, the golden altarpiece – each element telling a story of deep devotion and unwavering faith.
We later found ourselves in a quaint, family-owned café tucked away on a side street. While sipping cola, I was caught off guard when a man at a nearby table struck up a conversation with me. “Philippines?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied. He then spoke in a language I couldn’t understand, so I quickly introduced him to Mario, who fluently spoke Dutch.
Mario later recounted the man’s story to me. His parents had separated when he was just a child. He had a Belgian father and, as he was led to believe, a Vietnamese mother. At 36, while serving in the army, he found out that his mother was, in fact, Filipina. He embarked on a journey to the Philippines, seeking the truth, and there he found his mother’s roots – relatives, friends, and a community. Sadly, he never came upon his Filipino mother. Since then, he has harbored a special fondness for any Filipino he meets. His unusual eagerness to speak with me made perfect sense.
Our visit to Bruges was more than a sightseeing tour; it was a journey through time, a deep dive into a rich tapestry of history, culture, and beauty. As we drove out of the city, we carried with us memories of a place where time seems to stand still, where every corner holds a story waiting to be discovered, and where the past and present exist in perfect harmony.
September 3
A Poem Of Gratitude
(Dedicated to our hosts, Mario and Merlita)
From distant shores of the Philippines we came,
Drawn by your kindness, your love’s bright flame.
To Belgium’s heart, with open arms,
You welcomed us, with endless charms.
Avelgem’s old farmhouse, four centuries grand,
Became our home, in a foreign land,
A private room, a warm, soft bed,
Sumptuous meals with which we're fed.
Through Brussels’ streets and Ghent’s old walls,
To Bruges’ canals and Frankenberge’s shore,
You guided us through places old and new,
With a heart so generous, and spirit true.
To Lourdes, France, you took us far,
In your trusty Captiva, our guiding star.
Through a thousand kilometers, without a rest,
You showed us sights, the world’s very best.
And when the time came for an utmost glee,
To Paris we went, to the tower so stately
You gave us a moment, timeless and sweet,
A grand adventure, our eager heart’s beats.
Dear Mario, dear Merlita, your gift was vast,
A treasure of memories, forever to last.
In every journey, in every view,
We found a piece of joy, thank to both of you.
So here we stand, with hearts full of praise,
Grateful for your love, your generous ways.
May God bless you always, free of strife,
For all the joy you brought to our life.
Epilogue
This is the last travel article I put together here in Belgium. My next ATABAY article I will piece together, by God’s grace, in Texas, where Cher and I will fly on Friday, September 6, to see our daughter, Jan Kristy and her family.
Belgium, au revoir!
US of A, here we come!
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