Terrible Tuesday

Terrible Tuesday.

Fantastic. So, when we left off, I was feeling like a rotting, giant tomato. Fine. Things will get better. The swelling from the Indian food will abate. I'll be able to get rid of the all the crappy fat I put on. That'll happen, right? Right?

Whatever the case, here is neither time nor place to discuss that. We had other things to do. Most importantly, go to Brugge!

First things first. Check out of the hotel. We were only leaving our home base for 2 nights, so we thought it best to bring only an over night bag with a change of clothes. Make sense, right? Sure. I'd also decided to bring every single item of clothing I had. All of it worn on my person.

We packed up, left our extraneous baggage at the concierge's hold room and jumped (and I use that term lightly) into a snazzy black cab. A few minutes later, we arrived at a beautifully decked out St. Pancras Station.
   
Yes, beautiful. 

I'm not sure why, but it seemed really strange to me that going through this train station was like going through an airport. It really shouldn't seem strange, after all, we were traveling internationally, but it did. I mean, it was the whole thing. Passport stamp, going through the metal detector, strip with optional cavity search, the whole nine yards.

We get through security, and we have time to kill, so we go to a little cafe with benches outside. It was there I realize that I left my scarf at the hotel. Mom calls the hotel to tell them that I left it there and please keep it for us. No problem.

I go to get mom the requisite pastry and DC and feel like I lost one of my gloves. I freak out for a second, but find it. No problem.

After consumption of sugary treats, I carry all of the stuff for mom as we go to the restroom. She goes, then it's my turn. I felt bad about using the handicapped one, so I go to the regular one.

Okay. Here is where disaster strikes. Before we left, mom gave me a ring. She claims that this ring was a gift from my dad to her years ago and she wanted me to have it. Sweet, right?

Let me describe it for you. It was a small gold flower with a NECKLACE band. Let me try to explain that. It was a piece of link necklace. LINK NECKLACE soldered onto the back of this flower.
Think about that. It was quite pretty. But think about it. What happens if you glue a piece of a necklace onto something and then it moves? It BREAKS. And that's what happened. It broke. The thing slid right down the drain. Right. Down. The. Drain.

By the time I got back to the holding area for the train, I was crying inconsolably. Making a jackasss of myself is a regular occurrence for me, so I really had no problem sobbing hysterically in a 'stiff upper lip' place like St. Pancras. Screw 'em if they want to look. At that point I didn't care. I also didn't have the heart to tell moms what happened, so I said I lost the ring. This was a big mistake.  

Confession time. If you've been following this blog, you may have noticed I hadn't written in a while. This is why. When I began starting to document this particular trip, I got a phone call from said Momster. I quote: "While you're telling everyone how horrible I am, you just make sure you tell them you lost that ring I gave you." At which point not only did I stop writing this blog, but I blocked said pain in the ass mother mine from FaceBook. 

But I digress.

Not really being able to quell my tears, we board the Eurostar train. We were going to take the Chunnel! I don't know why I've always wanted to do that, but I did. And now we were doing it.

  I stuffed our bags in the above compartment, dried my tears, and settled in for a nice ride.

We were in the 'business class' car or whatever it's called, so we got a meal with the ride. 

Water, orange juice, yogurt and pastries. More damn pastries. At this point, I was beginning to see why the Plague took out 1/3 of Europe. Dairy and wheat, do not a healthy diet make. But enough of my harping.

I'm harping!

As always happens when I'm being transported, I fell asleep due to the rocking of the train and missed the Chunnel experience. That's about right.

We disembark at Brussels Midi and have to catch another train to be let off in Brugge. Easy right? NO! Why would it be? Why?

We get of the train. There is no lift. Great. Just great. So I have to get mom down to the station to catch another train. !@#$%!

By some miraculous act of God, she hobbles down the stairs. Then what? I don't know. Do you? No, you? No. !@#%##!

After about an hour, we figured it out. Oh, and guess what? Back up the stairs to the platform. Thankfully this time there was a lift.

We get onto "Any Brussels train" (literally that's what the directions say), and hope for the best.

Several stops later, we've arrive. Brugge! The most preserved Medieval city.

Yay! HOLY CRAP it was cold! I'm not talking cold, I'm talking HOLY !@#$%! CRAP it's cold. Beyond cold. It was so cold, they were having an ICE FESTIVAL. ICE FESTIVAL!!!!

The screen says ICE FESTIVAL!

Did I go? HEEELLLZZZ no!
Well, maybe a little.

Tweleve Euros and a tip later, we get to the Pand Hotel. The Pand is a 5-Star hotel. It's also tiny. Tiny, tiny. Yeah, we had a bed. A bathroom too. There was no moving around the room.

 
 There was a radiator, thank God, and a window right next to it that opened. That seemed like a weird idea to me but as long as the heat was on, I was good. We were on the First Floor and yes, there was a lift. And, oh what a lift it was! 

One of the joys of this trip was me watching She Who Must get into this lift. First, she had to pull the tiny door open. Then she had to go 'tap, tap, tap' with her foot on the floor of the lift. After she was sure that there was indeed a floor, she could get in. Once in, there was no turning around. This thing was 4 feet by 3 feet. No lie.

Here, see for yourself: 

Now don't give me a hard time about the orientation of the video, I know it's not right. But hell, I could barely feel my hands.  

We had, literally about two hours left of daylight, so we hobbled our frozen asses down to the square. In Medieval life, there was only the square, so that's where we went. 

Now, Burgge is beautiful. Absolutely lovely! I'll post a few photos (and only a few- you're welcome) of Brugge in the next post, but for now, I have to introduce you to the most wonderful thing in the world.

TARTIFLETTA!

It's glorious. And when you're in below freezing temperatures, it's your best friend, (along with the warm ameretto, and ameretto laced hot chocolate). But for now, the most wonderful thing in the world:

Before it's cooked;
 

After it's cooked:


 Moments before being in my belly:


So simple, so perfect, so delicious:  Recipe:
 
Now I have to warn you. This is addictive. I ate this 6 times in two days. Fattening? Oh you bet. But seriously, potatoes, cheese and bacon? Probably the most perfect food. I made a more or less version of this when I got home (Rheblochon cheese is impossible to find here). It was so wonderful, I had to promise not to make it any more. Yeah, that good.

This has been a long post. Had some technical difficulties, so my apologies.  I'll add more later.