Under the Sea to Bruges

Extremely doubting the wisdom of leaving the teenager in charge following the Halloween debacle, it was with great trepidation that we set off for a romantic weekend in Bruges.

When our girls were little we holidayed in France nearly every year, usually heading to Brittany or the Vendee, an easy drive from the western ferry ports. The crossing used to be part of the fun.  Our holidays were planned with military like precision, routes researched, the car packed with hundreds of euro's and supplies for every eventuality; those continental motoring necessities of headlight converters, first aid kits and warning triangles safely stashed on board.

Now, when he's home on R&R and it’s just the two of us, we can be spontaneous, just hop in the car and go. We had decided to take the Channel Tunnel. Despite the fact that there is something slightly unnerving about travelling in an enclosed confined space under the sea, half an hour as a submariner in November seemed a preferable option to risking a choppy cross channel ferry. 

To pass the time on our short train journey, we munched on a sandwich and studied the RAC European motoring guide, where the words fluorescent jacket jumped out at us – a new legal driving requirement in both Belgium and France. Did we have one? No! Failure to possess a jacket, which has to be clearly visible in the back of your car, apparently carries an on the spot fine.

Before you could say moules and frites we were driving off the train in Calais and heading in a Bonnie and Clyde style of lawlessness towards the Belgium border. What if we were stopped by the police?  

Let’s just get to the hotel and all would be okay, I urged.  In an uncharacteristic stroke of forward planning Mr Romantic had phoned ahead and booked an underground parking space – our car, and its lack of jacket, would be safely hidden away, out of sight. That was when we discovered that not only did we not have our jacket, but we didn’t have directions to our hotel either. It was fine, he assured me, he’d stayed at the hotel before, he could remember his way through Bruges many tiny cobbled Medieval one way streets...

Circling the city twice, more through luck than judgement, we arrived. The car was deposited in the elevator to the garage, we were safely installed our luxurious room overlooking the canal.   He had redeemed himself, until he checked the website of the restaurant where we planned to spend the evening indulging in an expensive gastronomic delight, to discover it was cash only on Saturday nights. We headed out into the pouring rain to find an ATM.  So much for spontaneity....