Belgium

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Let me stoke your travel dreams by sharing some of my favorite European experiences, roughly from northwest to southeast. Maximizing the experience is a dimension of smart budget travel that’s just as important in challenging times as saving money. Imagine these…

Nobody does chocolate like the Belgians. There’s something elegant about dropping in on the most expensive chocolate-maker in town—there’s one in every Belgian burg. Find a place that’s family-run, where locals buy their chocolate fresh, and people expect the shop to close on hot days because quality chocolate can’t survive the heat. Skip trendy “gourmet chocolatiers” who serve their chocolates with gimmicky flavors from gorgonzola to ginger—go for the purists.

A big percentage of American tourists visit Belgium as pilgrims…beer pilgrims, traveling all the way to that country to savor its plush and creamy beer. Hang out with devotees for a few nights and became a believer. My favorite Belgian evening is spent in an upscale pub, savoring a monk-made Trappist Blauwe Chimay (for example) with a rustic plate of bar food with locals who are both patriotic and evangelical about their Belgian brew.

In Holland, the “pilgrims” are more likely focused on the marijuana scene. Even if you’re not interested in smoking, drop by a “coffeeshop” for a whiff of its ambience. Baristas are patient in explaining to awkward Yankees how things work. Then, make an education out of the experience—talk to a local policeman, getting his take on why the Dutch stopped arresting pot smokers in 1976 and why this approach works. (I know, I just can’t pass up an opportunity to talk drug policy. To see the interesting “America’s Top Ten” list I just made in Coed Magazine, click here).

In Germany, my favorite castle experience is at Burg Eltz. Nestled in an enchanted forest just above the Mosel River, the Eltz castle is lovingly cared for by the aristocratic family that has called it home for centuries. The noble lady still puts out fresh flowers for her many visitors. Hike in from the train station and the experience gains a kind of magic. After an hour climbing under gentle trees through an ancient forest where you’d expect Friar Tuck and Martin Luther to be hiding out, the castle of your fantasies suddenly appears.

Every traditional German beer hall or Bierstube has a table for regulars—just look for the Stammtisch sign. To sample German conviviality at its best, make friends with the Stammtisch gang and get invited to join them at their table. Alternate between sniffing snuff (snorted from the “anatomical snuffbox” created by lifting your thumb high above your first finger) and drinking local schnapps. Before you know it, you’re leading the gang in a rousing rendition of “Country Roads.”

While perhaps the most touristy thing to do in Germany’s most-touristy town, following Rothenburg’s Night Watchman around on his evening rounds is a medieval hoot. Walk the town’s dark and evocative back streets with Georg Baumgartner, the wildly entertaining character whose delivery makes you forget what century you live in. While mobbed with tourists in mid-day, Rothenburg empties at night, when its flood-lit ramparts are all yours.

Climb the shiny glass dome that now caps the Reichstag (parliament building) in Berlin—for me, the most energizing thing to do in Germany’s most-energized city. From the top, look down on Germany’s legislators at work. You’re surrounded not by tourists but by Germans, who are determined to get politics right from now on.

I’m a little drunk after an evening of research in Belgium (so forgive the wordiness of this long-winded entry). A good percentage of the tourists you meet here are beer pilgrims — on a quest. For two nights in a row, I’ve shared a table or bar with American couples here specifically to enjoy the fine local beer.

The Belgian love of fine beer shows itself in mini-markets dominated by bottles of the finest monk-made brew.
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Tonight, at my favorite Brugge bar (‘t Brugs Beertje — a favorite here…famous and even beloved for stocking over 300 Belgian beers), I sat with Chris from San Diego. Chris actually brought a bottle of Speedway Stout by Alesmith all the way from San Diego to give to Daisy, who runs this local pub.

I was a bit down on Brugge (a.k.a. Bruges) after a long day of visiting every sight in town. The place is inundated with tourists, especially when a cruise ship is in. It seems nothing is possibly “untouristy.” I’ve been in Belgium, the Netherlands, Britain, Denmark, Turkey, and Iran lately. With the high price of things here (with our dollar down) and the predictability and homogeneity that comes with the new affluence in northern Europe, I was thinking how much more challenging and rewarding travel in places like Iran and Turkey is. It took staying out late and enjoying a couple of beers to jolt me back into a positive mindset.

After making the rounds of 12 or 14 restaurants last night, I wanted to actually eat in one high-end little place in my book — Bistro in den Wittenkop. It’s a cool, candlelit, jazzy place serving $30 plates (the going price for a nice dinner place these days).

I was mad at them last night for insisting that no one in Belgium served tap water in restaurants. Then I asked at all the other restaurants and learned it’s true. Germany, France, and the Netherlands have no problem serving free tap water. But in Belgium, it’s just not done. They claim all their water is “recycled,” and a few years ago a bunch of people got sick drinking tap water here, so — apparently — the government doesn’t allow restaurants to serve tap water.

I tracked down three places from reader feedback, and all were good. Two were characteristic pubs — focus on beer with cheap bar food (€7 spaghetti), allowing the poor American tourist to have a great night out for cheap (two great beers and a basic meal for $17).

The third place was a real winner. I just loved it. The local guide who was tagging along with me pointed to the medallion outside the door and said, “Yes, Hotelschool Koksude — one of the best cooking schools in Belgium…this place has got to be good.” My gut feeling was that this was a good value, but recognizing where the chef had studied…that was way beyond me. I wish I was more sophisticated about these things.

I had a fine meal, affirming my take on the place, and then popped over to the ‘t Brugs Beertje pub to check the intro material I had on Belgian beers. I sat at the bar planning on picking Daisy’s brain. But I was surrounded by beer experts — all happy to clue me in. Soon I had a chemistry lab of four different beers in front of me — each with its distinct beaker (a critical part of the beer culture here is that the glass must fit the beer). I had one called Zot (“the fool” — the last beer actually brewed in Brugge and considered one of Belgium’s best), Kriek (made bitter with cherry), an apple Lambic (what you order for your friend if they “don’t like beer”), and a complex and creamy Chimay brewed by Trappist monks. Licking my lips, I thought that Chimay would almost make celibacy livable.

As a beginner, I was extremely steep on the learning curve (and did my best to stay there as I walked home).

As I busily took notes, the gang on stools around me marveled at what a cool job I have. A couple stools down, a girl recognized me and said, “My mom loves you.” (I don’t know why, but I get a lot of that lately…lots of moms love me.)

Two stools beyond her was Astrid. She’s a guide at the local brewery that makes the Zot beer. (She wasn’t drinking Zot.) For years I’ve recommended that brewery tour in my book, raving about Inge (a guide there who I like and who’s a friend of mine). Today, Astrid rather than Inge was my guide. She had to mention, “There’s more than one guide here.” And I realized how it was wrong for me to favor one of seven guides just because I happened to know her. For six years, the other guides have had to hear American tourists ask, “Are you Inge?” I thanked Astrid for the nudge, apologized for the oversight, and assured her that in the new edition she won’t have to tell people she’s not Inge. Loosened up by a few Zots, my Belgian stool-mates explained to me how money-oriented the Dutch are. They said, “The Dutch have the worst beer, Heineken — but sell it all over the world. Belgians make far better beer, and it is barely exported. The first thing the Dutch ask you is about money (how much people make and how much things cost), which is taboo here in Belgium. Those Dutch could sell a fridge to an Eskimo.”

I’ve been in Belgium for 24 hours now. I’ve learned they “have nice weather 20 times a day.” And it occurs to me that old people speak English now. This is really a switch. I have been conditioned to find only young people able to clue me in on things; consequently, I get a young perspective. Now, enough years have gone by that I need to remember that the era of Europeans speaking English is long enough so that even the semi-retired people helping out in museums will likely speak English. They may be old, but they are from the modern age.

Speaking of the modern age, I just passed a threshold. Yesterday in Antwerp at the train station, I had 15 minutes between trains and wanted to get a SIM card for my cell phone to work in Belgium. I asked where the shop would be, and the information person directed me not to a shop but to a machine. I popped a ten-euro bill into the SIM card dispenser, and got my chip with a Belgian phone number and €7.50 of credit.

Destination: Belgium

Euro Experiences from NW to SE — Part II

Beer Pilgrims in Belgium