In their deep red robes, two monks saunter past me. Are they drunk? Probably. Everyone else in Belgium seems to be inebriated.
Belgium is to beer what Brazil is to football
And the monks are fuelling it, the most religious of the country’s inhabitants run Trappist breweries that rarely settle for beer under the eight per cent alcohol mark.
Bruges’ monastic grounds offer me a brief respite before I re-cross the bridges and return to the maze of cafes and drunken opportunity in the centre.
Belgium is to beer what Brazil is to football. It conjures up images of beauty, style and quality. You don’t ask for a beer, you browse the menu and try something different.
This small country is responsible for producing 1,132 different varieties of the good stuff. That’s a different beer for every 10,000 people that live there. And that’s just the beer currently in circulation.
The old city drawbridge hangs limply on my left, two horse-drawn carriages clunk along the cobbled street, and I dive out of the way, into Charlie Rockets, an American-themed bar that regards serving Budweiser in Belgium as simply obnoxious. A strawberry Tiemermans this time, 4.5 per cent of sweetness, and enough bite for the early afternoon.
Into the tangle of streets I go, past 15th-century brick houses with large wooden shutters, a church spire popping over the rooftops.
In the market square, foreign guests sit beside the statues with their carry-outs. Mine’s a Westmalle Triple, tough and spicy, the perfect complement to the delicate lines of the Provincial Court, a unique example of 15th-century brilliance from when Bruges was the world’s chief commercial city.
A dozen cafe terraces look onto market square, where a bottle of Hoegaarden washes down a bowl of fresh mussels.
Cars are banned from the city centre, ensuring a safe onward stumble. I’m never more than a hundred metres from a new cafe, and another concoction to impress the palate.
But beer isn’t Belgium’s only famous product. Bruges has a different museum for each of its celebrated exports.
The Choco Story and its cocoa fairy invite me to “discover the extraordinary story of chocolate”, but I decline, the temptation of distracting the assistant’s attention and dipping my head in the humongous chocolate fountain too great.
Past the Basilica of Holy Blood, a gothic chapel dominated by intricate murals, and onto the Friet museum, where I can “discover the history from the potato to the fries and... taste the real Belgium fries”.
Did Belgium really invent French fries? I’m sceptical, and the flyer I have from De Halve Mann Brewery has me changing direction: “45-minute brewery tour, includes a free beer.”
On the ground floor, computers and digital displays control the next batch of their 3.5 million litres annually produced, while the other dozen cramped floors reveal how treacherous brewing was before modern technology.
The smallest young teens were required to crawl through manholes and into huge steel vats to ensure the quality of the brew, often passing out from the alcohol fumes.
From the brewery roof, Bruges’ splendour is revealed. Quaint red rooftops slant in incongruous harmony, taking the eye around the city, from the narrow canals to the giant masterpiece of Bruges, the iconic Belfry, a 13th-century bell tower that rises 83 metres.
While the direction of streets is haphazard and without logic, the buildings complement each other, different earth tones creating a refined synchronisation.
The centre of Bruges managed to retain its ancient architecture through its own incompetence. After being one of Europe’s most important cities, five centuries of economic decline resulted in the locals not having sufficient money to demolish and rebuild. Once inside the city walls, it’s rare to see a misplaced building or a 20th-century fabrication out of place.
The uniformity of style helps preserve the quaint atmosphere. Or is it the beer? Everything looks better after a few drinks, especially of the 10 per cent alcohol variety.
The second tallest brickwork tower in the world guides my passage along the canals, towards the elaborate entrance of the Church of Our Lady. A marble sculpture of Madonna and Child stares at me, Michelangelo’s art indecipherable after a day’s supping.
With the sun fading into a jaunty dusk, I follow the enticing signs, around a corner, and I’m seeing double, triple, multiple. Over 30 metres long and three metres high, I am standing in front of the holy grail of beer: the Bruges Beer Wall.
Behind the glass is every single one of Belgium’s 1,132 different brews and its unique glass. From a distance it’s a piece of art, an ode to Belgium’s most loveable product.
Up close, every glance brings a new reward. A few names jump out, Kwak, Maredsous 8, or Malheur Biere Brut, words that encourage investigation. Then there are the labels to admire, including Delirium Tremmons, the winner of World Beer of the Year that suggests psychedelic inebriation.
Next the glasses; there are the oversized round bottoms that create a frothy head to greet the drinker. Others aim for novelty in their shape, the wooden clamps and testtubes reminiscent of school chemistry experiments, and the pointed horns for the ultimate in Viking revelry.
As I gape in disbelief, admiration and bewilderment, I realise Bruges’ success. The whole city could be walked in a day. The famous buildings can be experienced in a single afternoon.
But Bruges is a city that encourages you to linger, because after so much beer, what happens in Bruges today will be forgotten by tomorrow.