The train ride carried us through picturesque countryside dotted with quaint little towns, dairy farms and rolling hills. We rode on and on through Belgium, watching out the window as the scenery passed by. After a while the picturesque countryside got rather monotonous. After about the fourth hour and the nine thousandth quaint little town, I was sick of dairy farms and the hills could roll off into the sea for all I cared. There was absolutely no break in the scenery, as if a loop of video tape were playing itself over and over in the window. I found myself wishing for an industrial town or steel mill or landfill to pass by just to break up the tedium. I couldn’t imagine living in such a dull country.
At last we got to Brugge. It seemed a fine town with the requisite ancient buildings, gothic cathedrals and cobbled streets. The storefronts held displays of antiques, wines, foods, souvenirs, clocks, beers, the latest fashions and so on. It was a really lovely town, albeit rather expensive.
Our first mission was to locate somewhere to stay for the night. We checked a few of the nearby hotels. Some that we saw we only had to look at to know there was no way we could ever afford them. We inquired at some of the more modest ones, only to find out these too were extravagantly priced. I don’t know if this was because of actual pricing policy or that the desk concierges were free to make up prices depending on whether or not he or she liked your first impression. One woman who must have been sitting with a pine cone up her butt looked me up and down and said plainly “I don’t think you can afford to stay here.” My distaste for Belgians was multiplying exponentially.
There did not seem to be any bed-and-breakfasts or hostels anywhere nearby; at least not as far as we could find out. Belgium is a bilingual county, officially speaking both Dutch and French. However, Belgium is split between fanatic adherents to the French language, while the rest of the country is maniacally devoted to Dutch, and ne’er the twain shall meet. I was unaware of this uncompromising cultural rift. I thought everyone lived side by side as one big happy, albeit impolite, family; so my inquiries in French met with icy denials for information, as Brugge is in the Dutch part of Belgium.
Mike suggested that we phone a family of Jehovah’s Witnesses whose name my friend Henny had given us while back in Ireland. We hated to be so presumptuous, but the Witnesses are such a unified, and above all, loving organization that we can easily find good friends anywhere in the world. It is therefore no great surprise when those among the congregations invite other Witnesses to stay with them, though total strangers.
By some miracle we found a phone directory with a listing for a local congregation. I dialed the number and spoke to whomever it was that answered. I certainly couldn’t come right out and ask for accommodations, so I introduced myself and asked where the local congregation was and what times they held their meetings. It was difficult to understand the man’s broken English, and the directions were useless to me anyway, as I had no idea about any of the landmark references he mentioned. I casually asked if he knew of any inexpensive places to stay in town because we couldn’t possibly afford any of the hotels here and he informed me that no, he didn’t. I didn’t press the issue; he didn’t know me or owe me anything, and I wasn’t about to come right out and ask for a place to stay! I thanked him and he wished me well and that was that.
It seemed that we had nowhere to stay that night. It was getting late and it seemed unlikely that we would find anything. Not to be outdone by our situation, we boldly proclaimed a momentous decision: We would stay out all night! Mike and I congratulated each other on our shrewdness and intrepid spirit. But deep in my subconscious, I suppose I felt like a disgruntled employee who, due to unbearable circumstances, proudly resigns – immediately before the boss fires him.
So out we stayed. One thing that my Dutch friend Henny had recommended was to try the beers in Belgium. Apparently they had wonderful beer, especially those brewed by the Trappist monks. We set out to find a pub. Most of the ones we located were way too expensive or dressy or overcrowded with throngs of revelers who proved utterly rude to us.
