Echoes of Lockdown in Brugge.

 

A dramatic handwave from a window
on the corner of Langerei 
and Goudenhandrei.

 Looking at my phone pictures I have realised that there are a number of images, never used, which amused, or entertained, or delighted me at the time of capture. A common  thread, generally, is that they were all taken during the early morning, or sometimes, The Very Early Morning, walks when I

One of the many delectable rewards 
of an early morning walk in Brugge!

plod onwards, pursuing the vague goal of reasonable health, with the image in the head of coffee and a compensatory read at the end. It virtually never fails. An early morning walk is not Quite The Same as the former early swim. The latter saw me happily, lazily, ensconced in tepid water, head below deck, joints moving slowly but rhythmically, for the half hour designated, while the mind wandered luxuriously and freely. The Walk is different. It involves more effort and much more concentration. I have to take a great deal of care over the gorgeous cobblestones which threaten to trip the unwary octogenarian, so my movements are generally slow and plodding accompanied with downcast eyes, scanning the ground ahead like searchlights. However, the aesthetic rewards of sun-dappled water; the canopy of trees above giving shade in summer and arboreal architecture in Winter, are many, There is a deep satisfaction to an early walk; a dearth of fellow walkers- cyclists though there are some; opportunities to discover little sights unnoticed before; the chance to take photographs when something small catches the eye; the never-ending pleasure of seeing familiar canals and cobblestones in different weathers and lights, and absorbing their beauties. There is the peace of the endeavour and the undoubted pleasure at the end when, almost exhausted, one happily acknowledges accomplishing a good deed in a naughty world.

My favourite photograph taken during these daily wanderings, is definitely of the words displayed
on a front door at one end of the Coupure: Attention. Chien de tres mauvaise humeur. This must be the most effective anti-burglar device ever and a similar deterrent for the door-to-door salesman if such still exist. It would be even better if the naughty dog turned out to be a peaceable Peke for example. A touch of bonne humeur goes a long way. It reminds me of a time when we had a Golden Labrador, an eminently good-natured breed of dog. Our Shandy was at the extreme end of the continuum, Mauvais\Bon; she was sweet and saintly. Once, long ago, a group of red-faced, apparently hungover, Irishmen looking for work drew up outside the gate to our rather isolated house and approached. Shandy raced to the gate to welcome them and I said, “Don’t open the gate till I’ve got her collar. She can’t be trusted.” [as my husband had suggested I do when I judged it necessary.] As they opened the gate, she broke free, such was her enthusiasm to meet and greet, and threw herself at their feet, on her back, paws raised, waiting for her tummy to be tickled. They looked both relieved and emboldened!! " Why, she's SOFT," accused the leader.

Moment of grace outside Sint Salvator

I also love the April photo taken during an early Lockdown walk; it is of a momentary shaft of light streaming through just one of the windows of Sint Salvator. It was stunning at the time, an illuminating moment of early sun and conveniently-angled stained glass in an unexpected conjunction of light and space. Dramatic and beautiful in the grey exterior.

Last week I noticed that the Coupure was full, presumably all boats parked up for the Winter when harbour fees in Brugge are more reasonable. I can’t now remember all the names though Esme was still there, for my sister, and Hilde, too, for my mother. There were others like Uit de Maelstrom and Grace a Dieu which spoke of stormy seas and safe harbours. I rather liked the regal Victoria, Victor and Imperial but loved the flirtatious, feminine Chouette! I didn’t know the meaning but it turns out to be great or very nice. Etre chouette a quelqu’un is to be really nice to someone. Think I will now remember that!!

And while being more of a dog person than a cat person, I enjoyed the notice in a window quite near

Chouette on the Coupure.

to where I live. “My cat is not a pet; my pet is family.”

Heartfelt. It is a long, long time since I had a dog but I do remember the strength of that feeling. My daughter in California and her family had a much-loved black Labrador, Charlie, who almost reached the splendid 14 years lifespan when, with so many things wrong with his system, he had to be put down. Family council decided to wait a while before replacing him but her nine year old daughter whose best friend had been Charlie for all of her life, remained sad and listless. Worried parents decided on action and the three of them went to an animal sanctuary and found Luna, a German Shepherd who is now, months later, pretty well in charge of the happy 

Part of that Forever Family.

household. I particularly liked the remark of the woman from the sanctuary who said, as they took Luna away, how delightful it was to see a lovely dog leave to go home with his Forever Family.

Not taken during the early morning walks, but  
 from the Carmerbrug in August, en route home
early evening.