Remember the luggage struggle I mentioned in the last entry? The one where Scott ended up having to begrudgingly schlep my rollaboard around Europe even though he packed lightly and just had his backpack? Well, he was especially thrilled when we arrived in Ghent at almost midnight (we missed our local train after getting into Antwerp on the Thalys train and it was too tight of a connection) and had to walk about 3 km in the dark in an unknown town dragging along the rollaboard over the medieval cobblestones- announcing our presence with every single step as it bumped its way over every single stone. Scott, who is normally cool as a cucumber, likened it to being a wounded gazelle on the savanna- or easy pickings. 
We still didn’t have cell service at this point (we had opted to just download Google Maps for the areas we would be visiting and to attempt to rely on Wifi) which was fine except that you had to keep your eyes glued on your phone to stay on track because without cell service or Wifi, Google Maps wouldn’t give you live course corrections if you went astray. Being in a strange town, and being in the dark, this was not ideal.
So with just a little trouble we finally found and turned down the dark alley where our lodging awaited us, and as instructed by the proprietors, rang the doorbell to the main house, and… nothing. No response. We both looked at eachother. Nervously. Scott asked me again if I had let them know we would be late getting in. Yes, of course. I had reached out to them about 6 pm to let them know that we would be pretty late arriving, but that we were in fact coming. No problem, they informed me. So here we were, standing at the door and holding our luggage, but with no cell service and not quite sure what to do. After what seemed like a lifetime, the owner’s voice came through the speaker and asked if we were really checking in at midnight… well, yes we were and here we are. He informed us that he needed to put clothes on but would be down shortly. Phew!
Another narrow and winding spiral staircase awaited us and we were on the third floor. The proprietor showed us the apartment, gave us our keys and other pertinent instructions and wished us a good night. I had asked the age of the building and he told me that it was originally built in the 1700’s. He also informed us that it had been owned by 1911 Nobel Prize for Literature recipient, Maurice Maeterlinck. Hence the building’s name: Huize Maeterlinck. Huize Maeterlinck was quirky but adorable and perfect. (It also came with cats! Two of the proprietor’s cats would periodically come up to the apartment and meow at our door asking to be let in, would snuggle for a bit and then would go on their way.) 
An information sheet posted in the apartment gave us suggestions for local restaurants and points of interest. One of the suggestions was to visit the Vrijdagmarkt, or the Friday market in the historic town square where vendors would be set up selling fruits and veggies, cheese, meat, baked goods, etc. Lucky for us it was just a short walk from the apartment and we were able to visit it the following morning getting some cheese, croissants and other pastries which we were able to enjoy for the next few mornings. 
The highlight of the market trip was when we encountered a Belgian beekeeper that had a booth set up selling his honey and beeswax products and Scott chatted with him about bees for a while. I enjoyed listening to them talk about beekeeping and it turns out that Belgian bees are just as temperamental and finicky as our American bees. The Belgian beekeeper told us about the Asian hornets that are a problem for European bees- evidently they popped up in France in the early 2000’s and have now spread all over France and into Belgium, Spain, Portugal, Italy and the UK. They are a problem because they are a significant predator of the honeybee.
After the market field trip our plan was to make our way to Bruge, the “Venice of the North,” thusly named for its intricate and picturesque canals, and a city that in addition to looking like it is the inspiration for every Thomas Kinkade painting, or might be the setting for any number of fairy tales, had its first castles appear in the 9th century. Scott, who would go on to coin the term “castely shit” was stoked to go see some castles and some “castely shit.” Equipped with our downloaded Google maps, a decent understanding of how to get there, and plenty of snacks in our backpacks, we headed off to the train station.
The walk to the train station was much more inviting in the daylight and we were able to take in the sights of Ghent- the beautiful Lys river, the canals, and catching glimpses of the medieval Gravensteen castle which is a notable landmark of the city. We took a quick detour into Sint-Jacobskerk, a 12th century cathedral, as we passed it. It is hard as an American to wrap my mind around and grasp just how old some of these buildings are. Most of these buildings would require a feat of engineering even in today’s age to construct, and to imagine them being constructed without heavy machinery and modern technology is simply mind-blowing.
Once on the train and en route to Bruge we were entertained by watching the pretty countryside. We had a rough idea of how far away it was and what station we needed to get off at but neither Scott nor I speak Dutch and evidently both of us weren’t paying that close attention because when Scott pulled up his Google maps he saw that we were well outside and past Bruge and he keenly noted that “trains don’t typically circle around a city for an approach.” It turns out he was right and we were now at the end of the line, at the lovely Belgian seaside resort town of Ostend. Oops.
We went into the train station in search of someone that could help us figure out what we did wrong. We found a nice train station employee that told us that we had simply overshot the stop (by chance we had missed seeing the sign that said “Bruge” at the Bruge station) and she wrote us a nice “hall pass” for us to carry with us when we got back on the train explaining what we had done. The rough translation amounted to “lost travelers” which we got a good laugh about. Since we were now in a lovely seaside town we decided to take advantage of our travel miscalculation and to go dip our toes into the chilly North Sea. 
The whole time we were in Belgium everyone we came across kept lamenting how unseasonably cool and rainy it had been the past few weeks and this day was no different. We encountered brief periodic showers that day which kept the potential beachgoers at home and it seemed like we had the whole expansive beach to ourselves. Scott took off like a rocket to go wade in the sea and I spent some time watching the seals in the “seal only” section of beach before going to join him. In this section no people are allowed and have to stay at least 30 meters away from the seals. I am not sure if I was seeing harbor seals or grey seals but it sounds like both species have just recently made a return to Belgian beaches due to conservation efforts after being away for the last 20+ years. 
After we dusted the sand off our feet we took a stroll through the town. It was a strange juxtaposition seeing the magnificent Sint-Petrus-en-Pauluskerk cathedral situated right among your typical beach shops and shoreside highrise hotels. We made our way back to the train station, hall pass in hand and got on a train that would supposedly take us to Bruge.
