Frankfurt, Bruges and Back (14 – 16th May)

Since I finished the last part. I realised that I really only gave Frankfurt the afterglow of my day in Prague. A destination picked just to break up the journey from Prague to Bruges, like Cologne 5 days before, no expectation.

Talking of which.

Prague to Regensberg, Nuremberg to Frankfurt – Total is around 400Km.

Trams – 3 Miles – oh those cute Prague trams..sigh.

Bus replacements – 106km – Regensberg to Frankfurt.

Frankfurt though was real. And thats why it was a delight, yet a very different delight to Prague.

It had vibe. It had energy. It was a real place. A place where people lived and breathed it, they werent visitors or tourists, and the ones I spoke to were surprised why I would be there. But thats what I wanted to do, explore and be on an adventure. Like Prague before it, the people were so so friendly, the hotel was very cool. Matched the vibe of the place.

Guitars on the walls. Sex shops on the way to the station. A subway that told of hopes dream and a better way. Fascinating.

The clean lines of its commercial area, clean, crisp, steel, grey, contrast with not only the green trees that do their best in the park area to hide them, but also that to catch any train, the walk from the tower blocks is past the sex shops. Theres a statue in the park of a naked man, his penis is graffiti red. It’s not the good luck charm to run it like the golden dog on the Prague bridge the day before. This place has secrets. This place is what happens when only money exists. Yet, its people are warm, fun and buoyant. They are living, with the shadows of what’s around them.

No one is walking except me. Its 9am. Eros, Love, has had a contrasting way of showing herself this week. Pleasure, Colours, Desire. In Frankfurt its invitation behind closed doors, that are wide open at 9am. The girl sits on the steps on the photo in the subway. She an image of Frankfurt the local authority want you to see as you take the subway under the station and then walk along the road along past the selling of Eros. She’s black on the white light. Contrast. She’s on her phone. She’s not here. She’s not looking up. She’s alone.

Frankfurt is a real place. Of Contrasts. Shiny glass and grey. Bright neon. Green trees. The City is dead at 7am when I walked it. Cafes closed, I notice these women, as if they’re looking away bored. Luther now stands in the shadow of the steel glass of capitalism. A photo that could be used for a sermon. Frankfurt doesnt feel finished, roadworks everywhere. Theres a new commercial block to be built. Roads to be oriented around it.

Light and darkness. Left and Right. I forgot to mention the food. Because I pressed publish then had breakfast. My first hotel breakfast on tour. Overnight oats and toppings to die for, vegetarian meatballs, cheese and eggs, then cakes. I didnt need anything else to eat until I raced through Brussels station 4 hours later. Though like the day before my train is delayed. Because of the internal pass I can just get on any next train to Bruges.

And. It’s a double decker. Look at those windows. They deserved better food than the salmon wrap from the carrefour take away express, the bakery queue was too long for my slightly anxious 10 minutes to change. My second ever trip on a double decker train. Id seen them through Germany and Czech republic and was hoping for one there. But Belgian countryside in a torrential shower was to be it.

Frankfurt to Bruges was a time where I went deep in my journal, I dont think its for here, not right now. The time of two hours and the prompting of something poetic I had read, took me to thinking about how I respond to other people, especially in relationships, and how I could only build fractured and temporal homes with other when I had so much on the inside that was shrouded in masked pain, avoidant hurt and feelings that had been shut off. Building a home for others with me, couldnt happen in full, until so much of that I needed to face and love had to be done so. It was deep, real and it flowed out. It needed to, once it started. What could love be, if love to me was just what I could give to pacify? A lot came out, and I felt raw and light as it did. 7 pages of journalling later.

I arrive in Bruges after the joys of the double decker train.

I walk from the station, it feels like the Cotswolds, but in terracotta orange, and closer to the town it smells of chocolate. It’s like York if someone left the doors open. And it’s just as busy.

Im in Bruges, but as yet not loving it. The 30 min walk to the Airbnb and im hot and sweaty, and so like most of my travel routines, I shower, change and head out with the camera for a walk around. It’s a cute city, it’s just very busy. It smells of chocolate. I take the usual tourist photos. It’s a tourist place. The contrast to Frankfurt is stark. Here burgers are £25, and all the restaurants line the square so you can have the bruges experience. All selling the same food, all with specials that are on fixed boards. You dont feel like it’s special. I try and wander around, escape the crowds a bit, the canal around the city frames it, the reflections and buildings are what draw me in, and the ducks, coots and grey wagtail thats often seen and heard along the bank. Tiny daisies make their solitary appearance along the banks.

I find non Belgian food, the obvious vegetarian options aren’t doing it for me, and not at tourist prices. Tofu Poke Bowl and Mango bubble tea. Totally Belgian. But I’m craving healthy food after travel food. And it was decently priced. I think I’ll end up some kind of snack later. The servers in the shop weren’t the most polite. It contrasts the friendliness of Prague and Frankfurt. Thank you to MW and NT for my Bruges beer, poke bowl, and the late night take away food Belgian style that was essential.

I go to the pub. Belgian beer is to be tried. It comes with snacks. Yum.

The rain falls down. The rain falls down big time. It’s also hail.

The tourist canopies are shelters, shop vendors bring their electrically light signs inside. No one is moving as the rain bounces. My beer is nearly done. I wonder if I stay for another. I wonder if, at 8.45pm thats it, and my night in bruges is over and it’s a grey kind of washout. I head back to the Airbnb with that in mind. It’s my last night away, im about to end it early. Until. Until. Light appeared. The sun peeks out for the first time since early this morning. The reflections on the river turn golden. Rain vanishes. I get the camera. It’s sunset waking in Bruges time.

Everything shines with the moisture of the rain, lights glow red, orange, pink and yellow. I miss a great shot of the horse drawn cart past the history museum by a few seconds but it doesnt matter im having a great time. I wonder how many photos of the reflections can I take.

Im about to head back, the light is going, when someone walks past me and I smell chocolate. I smell belgian waffle. After 3 hours walking with only a poke bowl and a beer. My last night away requires a treat. Chocolate smells right at 10.30pm. Warm with waffle. Too cold, just for ice cream. I want the strawberries too. Theres a queue. only the famous place is open, 10 people ahead of me craving last night waffle in Bruge at 10.30pm on a Friday night. Chocolate smells right that that time, it smelt sickly at 4pm. And it is totally divine. Heavenly. Eros in a card plate, with a waffle base. I walk under a lamppost to get the photo, then get one outside the chocolate box fairytale shop. Bruges felt magical when to sun came out and the tourists hid away, when the lights came on. When I could just play in it, and not be trying to find food, or trying to find my way around it, trying to find the mystery of what this place is, a romantic city that felt too busy and not many couples around tbh.

I slowly walk, through the city carrying my red and brown treasure, that wafts its divine scent up into my body, I make sure I dont walk into a lamppost, or trip on the kerb. I feel as happy, as light as blissful as ive been all week. It’s just a perfect moment. Late night chocolate waffle, sun pretty much gone, and only the hauntingly beautiful reflections of the bridges as I walk past them again. Reflections. What we bring to the world. What we see. Id seen this bridge four times now, each time different.

Its magical. I stare at it, litter in the bin. Light shimmers on the water.

Light and dark again.

The morning starts early, I have to be in Brussels for 10am for the Eurostar check in. Trains are hourly from Bruges. Im in the anxious but know it’ll be ok state. Pack the bag the night before, get around 5 hours sleep, im awake at 5. The bridge in the morning looks different again. Bakeries dont open in time for me to have that European outdoor coffee…id be rushing it anyway. The town is empty, the traders are preparing for the day, vans arrive with flowers for displays, chocolate, trinkets and pastries fill the windows. And 300-500 varieties of beers bottled ready to be sold. Love sells macaroons. I find lovers bridge because I take the wrong turning. Bruges has a final surprise. Green space, a weeping willow into the water, lovers bridge. Calm, before the travel. Thank you.

Thank you, actually, is what I said to myself through the devouring of the chocolate waffle the night before.

Thank you, is easy when the world tastes like Belgian chocolate, or gives an unexpected gift, of water and trees, gratitude is pouring warmth on memories, is what I write in my journal with my pecan nut pastry and station bought coffee.

Double decker windows and I’m reflecting as I look out of them. Im heading ‘home’. Belgian cows, pigeons, horses. Green fields , blue cloudy skies.

And that was the end of Bruges. It was the last day. Not sure of the distance today, I’ll do a full wrap up in the next one.

I landed back in my flat in the the north east of England at 4.30pm, with the hour extra, id left Bruges at 7.00am, 10+ hours earlier. I slept on the Eurostar, and pondered liminal spaces in the departure lounge. Thats for another day. My journal has a lot in it this week. It’s been an incredible week. My heart feels massive for a world ive seen more of in so many different parts. My bravery has expanded, and travelling alone has taken me to the inner parts to, to get to know myself, with different scenery around, different decisions to make, and with no choice but to make them, to ask for noodles in different languages, and the next train when one has been missed. Doing the whole thing in the first place. So much more to say, but this one needs wrapping up. Frankfurt (revisited), Bruges and the journey back.

Thank you for reading, for joining me on my adventure, for supporting and sharing with me. I land tired but so very happy. I take an arrived back photo, a week after the leaving one. Important to keep the memories. Fridge magnets go up, and the laundry goes on. Emergency pizza eaten.

Part 6 of Eat, Train, Love is done. Travel food wasnt great today. Too many pastries, or boots meal deals at Kings cross, then pizza. Trains were great though. And Love. Love is a macaroon shop in Bruge, it’s a bridge over the water. It’s being so open to life that the universe is a love poem. Love is gratefulness to memories. Nearly bed time.