We left the house at 4am. I have been to Belgium before, but this trip was Cookie’s first time leaving the UK, and I was far more excited about that than I was about the alarm.

Le Shuttle at 10am went smoothly, which, looking back, should have been my first clue the day was saving its drama for later. Cookie handled the crossing better than either of us expected. Thirty five minutes in the car and he barely noticed we had left the country.

First stop: Bruges.

Wandering the Old Town

Bruges does that thing where every street looks like it was built for a postcard, and somehow it still gets you, even when you know that is coming. We wandered the Markt beneath the Belfry, crossed into Burg Square past the Basilica of the Holy Blood, and ended up at Rozenhoedkaai, the little canal bend everyone photographs. For once, the photos do not oversell it.

We did not climb the Belfry this time. 366 steps felt like a job for a day when we were not also trying to fit in waffles, fries and beer.

We ate our way through the rest of it properly. Waffles, obviously. Belgian loaded fries that we probably did not need after the waffles. Beer that tasted like it had actual opinions about how it should be brewed, in the best way.

By the time it finished, it was gone 11pm and we still had not made it back to the hotel.

The chocolate shop window that nearly finished us off

The little iron sculpture and canal, one of those spots that stops you mid-walk

The loaded fries in question

Chocolate covered waffle, eaten walking, as it should be

Cookie, thoroughly unbothered by how pretty everything around him is

One more canal view, because Bruges does not let up

Walking Cookie toward Burg Square, no idea what the night still had planned

Cookie, main character energy in front of the Burg

Then the Night Took a Turn

Here is the part I have been dreading writing, because it is hard to make it sound as chaotic as it actually was.

There was a problem with our hotel booking. I am not going to get into what exactly, partly because it is not fair to name a hotel over one bad experience, and partly because it genuinely does not matter for the story. What matters is this: we could not reach anyone for a while, and by midnight we were standing outside with our bags, in our pyjamas, in the middle of Bruges Old Town.

Belgium won a World Cup match that night. I want that on the record, because the contrast is what makes this whole thing so ridiculous in hindsight. The streets were full of people celebrating, flags out, singing, genuinely delighted with life. And there we were, two exhausted humans and one very confused Maltipoo, dragging suitcases over cobblestones, having the single worst hour of the trip so far.

At one point we seriously discussed sleeping in the car. In the end, at 1am, we knocked on the door of a different hotel nearby. They did not usually take dogs, but they made an exception for Cookie, and we got a room. I will be forever grateful to whoever was on the front desk that night.

We delayed the next day’s plans just to sleep, then packed up and left.

Would I Recommend Bruges? Absolutely.

Bruges really is beautiful, the kind of place that deserves its reputation. But if you ask me what I remember most, it will not be the canals or the light show. It will be walking through the Old Town at midnight in my pyjamas while a country celebrated a football win around us, and I was too tired and stressed to laugh about it.

I can laugh about it now, though. That is the whole point of trips like this, I think. The plan rarely survives contact with reality, and somehow the disasters end up being the story you actually tell.

What We Would Have Booked With More Time

One day barely scratches the surface. If we had stayed a second day, here is what I would have booked.

Next stop: Maastricht, Netherlands. Wish us luck!