On saturday we went to Brugge and then to Ostende, a city along the coast of the North Sea. Brugge was so beautiful and picturesque. They call it the "Venice of the north" since it has canals running throughout the city, although in my opinion the canals in Amsterdam were better. We spent the afternoon walking around Brugge and then got a fresh Belgium waffle off the street to hold us over till dinner. The waffles in Belgium are perfection. Not only is the scent to die for, but they are so sugary and gooey in the center that they make the absolute perfect treat for a cold fall day (or any day really!). Enough about the waffles though.
So later in the afternoon we took the train the rest of the way towards the coast and ended up in Ostende. We walked around the town for a little bit and then walked out onto the pier. However, we didn't even end up walking to the end of the pier because it was so windy and cold so we had to turn around and make our way back. It was pretty much exactly how I imagined the North Sea to be; choppy, cold and windy. For dinner we grabbed a bratwurst with grilled onions from a street vendor to save money and it changed my perspective on bratwurst forever... since it was so delicious. The pictures of the beach and the video are Halee's (my camera batteries died on me).
A OSTENDE
ReplyDeleteA Ostende l'onde est un songe, la lumière une vague, l'écume une bière âcre.
Là-bas les mouettes se lamentent et les hommes ont l'âme lourde, ce qui est hautement réjouissant car à Ostende tout ce qui gémit est béni.
On vient à Ostende non pour y mourir mais pour voir mourir : dans cette ville en perpétuel automne la mélancolie est un spectacle intime. Les nuées y sont sombres, les âmes brumeuses, les flots lumineux.
A Ostende au casino face à la mer on joue, on perd, on pleure : on est heureux.
Dans cette capitale de la nostalgie l'amour est lunaire, la mort intermédiaire, la vie un interminable regret.
L'existence y est pâle, sereine, quasi funèbre. C'est la chose la plus délicieuse d'Ostende.
A Ostende il y a plein de vieilles en rouge à lèvres qui traînent leurs secrets d'amour glorieux et désuets : dans la ville flamande une tendre poussière recouvre les coeurs séniles.
Ostende est une ville égarée entre la mer et les étoiles, figée dans un siècle de naphtaline.
Raphaël Zacharie de IZARRA