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We were recently in Belgium, so inevitably we visited Bruges. You have to don’t you? Missing out Bruges in Belgium would be like omitting London when visiting England or not bothering with Paris while getting to know France. Bruges dominates Belgian tourism with about 8.3million visitors per year. That’s a lot to cope with for a small city of only about 120,000. I mentioned our Belgium trip to various friends and they all asked “Are you going to Bruges?” It’s as if no other places in Belgium exist.

Why is Bruges so popular? Well, it’s simply one of the most perfectly preserved medieval cities in Europe. Often dubbed “The Venice of the North”, it combines picture-postcard facades, scenic bridges and a delicate web of glistening canals.

Its golden age was back in the middle ages between the 13th and 15th centuries when, along with Ghent, it dominated the textile industry, turning high quality English wool into superior clothing that was exported all over the known world. It was a leading member of the Hanseatic league, a huge, pan-European trading organisation centred on the North and Baltic Seas, which , in effect, was a forerunner of today’s European Union. Goods from all over the world were traded there. The city and its merchants became immensely wealthy and many fine buildings were erected which reflected that.

However, the good times did not last. By the late 1400s, its river, the Zwin was silting up, severing Bruges’ vital link with the sea. The city slowly slipped into decline as other ports such as Antwerp were favoured by the powers that be. For centuries Bruges wallowed in obscurity. World events passed it by as if it was asleep. It didn’t get swept up in the Industrial Revolution. In the 20th century it remained miraculously untouched by both World Wars although the Germans invaded their tiny neighbour on both occasions. Taking over a medieval back-water was not on their list of priorities. It was as if the once proud city had fallen between the cracks. Eventually though, it reinvented itself as a tourist destination, packaging and selling its glorious past to modern day travellers.

The turning point came in 1892 with the publication of a French novella: “Bruges-la-Morte” ( Bruges-the Dead City). Its author was George Rodenbach. The book ignited curiosity amongst French readers in this forgotten time-warp on their doorstep. They started visiting to catch a glimpse of a forgotten age.

When I first travelled to Bruges in the early 70s, it was popular but still relatively comfortable to visit. Tourist numbers were manageable and no area seemed over-crowded. It was the same in the early 90s when I revisited on a trip with my daughter. However, by the time I went again with a friend at the end of the noughties, I was shocked to see the huge crowds swarming around the main squares and most picturesque spots along the canals. What had happened in the meantime? Well, we had now entered the age of mass tourism. Budget airlines had made long distance travel cheaper and easier. People from eastern Europe, China, Japan and the Far east were now on the move. Travel was no longer the privilege of the wealthy West. Films such as the comedy thriller “In Bruges” had helped to put the photogenic city on the map. Since then, in two subsequent visits in the 2020s I have witnessed Bruges increasingly become a major tourist honey-pot. That is thanks to social media, and You-Tube video makers ( everyone thinks he/she is Stephen Spielberg these days) Then there are Tik Tok influencers and increasing numbers of people pursuing their Instagram bucket lists.

This recent visit with my wife Chris was my 5th time in the once sleeping city. Now it has fully woken up to the great rewards to be had by courting the tourist dollar. The trouble is that it is starting to become a victim of its own success. Is it in danger of killing the goose that laid the golden egg? It’s a worrying thought. Despite all this though, Bruges still remains an outstanding place to visit. We just had to be prepared to duck and dive a bit to avoid most of the hordes and the worst of the commercial excesses. Prices are quite high of course but you just have to accept that and get on with it. To avoid the football- like crowds at the height of summer, it’s best to visit in spring or autumn or even in winter. When there, it’s best not to follow the sheep- like procession along the main drags but try diving down side streets or venturing into lesser known parts of town. That way one might get a quieter, more authentic experience and perhaps even cheaper prices. It’s difficult but not impossible to drag oneself away from the often artificial attractions of “tourist land.”

The local authorities are also trying to tackle the problem of over-tourism. Cruise ships docking at nearby Zeebrugge have now been reduced from 5 to 2 per day. Groups having guided walking tours are being restricted to 20 and are being told not to stop at the most obvious places for explanations and photo opportunities. The idea is to keep tourists flowing instead of being clogged up in a human log jam. They are also thinking about increasing the tourist tax and key attractions are introducing timed tickets. That may cut down on spontaneity but will ease the frustrating problem of overcrowding.

So, how did Chris and I get on? Well first of all we visited in April rather than July. We came as independent travellers rather than as part of a large tour group. We travelled by train disguised as “normal people” instead of being ferried in from an enormous cruise liner. We also ventured into areas away from the main squares and most obvious sights. Did we succeed? Well , partly yes and partly no. In the case of the most compelling sights, we just had to take a deep breath and go for it. If you cannot beat them, then join them. But we didn’t climb up the 366 winding steps of the enormous belfry on the market square, we didn’t go clip-clopping over the clattering cobbles in a horse and carriage and we didn’t queue to get on a crowded boat tour with a canned commentary. We also resisted the temptation of Choco-Story ( about chocolates) and the Frietmuseum ( about chips.) We even avoided the relatively new Harry Potter experience even though Potter fans swear that ancient Bruges is a real life recreation of Hogwarts. Finally, we missed out on any sampling of waffles although their warm, sweet scent seemed to permeate the air wherever we went in the main areas..

We travelled across country on a slow train from Mechelen in the east of Flanders to Bruges in the west. We passed through flat, agricultural countryside with lines of graceful trees and neat and tidy little towns. It was nearly 11.30am when we got to Bruges. Descending from the platform we joined the tourist throngs on the busy station concourse. The first voices we heard were English. Some people from Newcastle were remarking on what a small world it was as they had just bumped into some visitors from South Shields! After crossing a busy bypass, we soon reached the Minnewater, a pretty, willow lined pond dubbed the “Lake of Love.”

We walked on to Bruge’s Begijnhof, a former community of single, religious women and still inhabited by a handful of Benedictine nuns. As we were part of the daily tourist invasion, we didn’t see any habits floating by. The complex is an oval of pretty, white-washed houses from the 17th century, arranged round a green and surrounded by a protective wall. In the centre is a Baroque church. On the green were swathes of fading daffodils. It must have been wonderful there just a few weeks before. Notices requested “Quiet” but unfortunately that was a vain request as several tour groups were congregating there including noisy bunches of bored teenagers.

We left the Begijnhof through an elaborate, 17th century gateway , straight on to a picturesque bridge over a canal. Swans basked on its green banks and a pair of coots with their 5 fluffy chicks, fussed around in the water below us. Views from both sides of the bridge were ( are) beautiful. We ducked and dived amongst the selfie-takers and got a few decent pictures ourselves.

A medieval wonderland now beckoned us into its midst — gabled merchant houses, quaint bridges, shining waterways and impressive, stone churches lined the way. The most common buildings had attractive crow stepped gables. Inevitably many of the venerable buildings had been turned into tourist-trap shops selling souvenirs, lace and especially: chocolates. There were also numerous cafes and restaurants to tempt us in. We stopped at an English-style tea-shop. Bizarrely it was decorated with paintings of uniformed generals and admirals with dog’s heads! The food was lovely. We succumbed to cakes with our coffee and tea and they came with ice-cream, squirty cream and a small selection of delicious Belgium chocolates. Very naughty but very nice! The couple who ran the cafe also owned owned a chocolate shop across the street. ( one of many.)

We meandered on through a tangle of narrow streets lined by gabled houses, their facades pointed to the blue sky. ( we were lucky with the weather.) Above them all reared the belfry of the Market Hall, a soaring 3-tiered tower dominating all around. Like a magnet it draw the crowd, including us, inexorably towards it, until finally, we were in the square itself. It’s a huge cobbled space, lined with photogenic guild houses, now turned into pavement cafes packed with diners. Many of the gables are crowned by golden figures of people and animals. Unfortunately a flower market was just winding up. Stalls were being dismantled, crates and boxes packed away and vans and small lorries were strewn around in what usually is a pedestrianised area. It was all a bit messy and detracted a little from the majesty of this medieval showpiece. Understandably though it is a working market place and not just an attraction for tourists. We still managed to enjoy the people- watching and the delicate carillon tunes coming from the bell tower every quarter. Bruge’s carillon has 47 bells of different sizes.

Bruges has not one but two splendid squares, attached to one another by a narrow passage. The second one, the Burg is even more eye-catching than the Markt. Its buildings are studded with statues, many of them golden. The Burg is named after the fortress that was built there by the first Count of Flanders in the 9th century. It’s now long gone. We sat down to rest and do more people watching — couples courting, parents playing with their children, workers snatching their lunch, friends meeting and parting. All the time, horse drawn carriages came and went, their wheels and hooves echoing on the cobbled surface.

In one corner of the Burg is one of my favourite churches — the moody, atmospheric Basilica of the Holy Blood. It’s been there since the 12th century. It’s named after the Holy relic that found its way to Flanders in the Middle Ages. Supposedly, it’s a piece of cloth stained by drops of Christ’s blood collected at the foot of the cross by Joseph of Arimethea. It was probably acquired by Crusaders who sacked Constantinople in 1204. It is paraded through the streets of Bruges every year on Ascension Day and is greatly revered. The basilica is actually in two parts. Downstairs is a gloomy, Romanesque crypt, while up 3 flights of stairs, the main chapel is decorated with colourful wall frescoes, painted in 1898. The centre piece shows Christ on the cross surrounded by angels and lookingdown on sheep, while below, pictures show monarchs bowing to bishops and other mock-medieval stuff. This late 19th century makeover was very controversial at the time.

To one side, a priest in robes sat on a raised platform guarding a silver phial containing the sacred relic. We were there on a seemingly normal day, but a constant queue of pilgrims shuffled reverently forward up a set of steps to view the precious relic.

We now walked away from the centre, heading north alongside a wide canal. Every now and then, packed tour boats passed by, but otherwise the area got increasingly peaceful. The crowds had just melted away. It was as if an invisible barrier had been erected, beyond which no tourist was allowed to stray. We passed a pretty confluence of canals and veered left. We now walked along virtually empty streets towards St Annakerk. We crossed a bridge over a canal and there was the church in front of us, sitting in its own quiet square. St Anna’s is an impressive baroque church from the 17th century. We almost had it to ourselves. There was only a caretaker, silently reading his book and a couple of other visitors came and went while we were there. It has a beautiful altar flanked by sinuously twisting columns. At the back is a huge fresco which is actually the largest painting in Bruges.

The area around St Anna’s is the former medieval, working class district. It is a lesser known part of the city, and is sometimes called “Quiet Bruges.” It is a charming, authentic glimpse into the city’s past, featuring: simple, 17th century brick cottages, scenic canals, local cafes and even a windmill or two. As we wandered around we almost had the narrow streets to ourselves. It was a peaceful atmosphere as we had left the crowds behind.

We were getting tired now. We had a snack and a drink at a canal-side cafe near the Burg. Then we started to make our way back to the rail station. Unfortunately, I got a little confused in the jumble of streets, as my map frustratingly only named the main drags. Luckily a kind local man helped us, giving clear directions in perfect English. He said he had lived in London and a local there had helped him when he too had got lost, so now he was paying off his debt to the English.

We caught our train on time and were able to rest our feet on the journey back. It had been an interesting and enjoyable day of contrasts:- crowded squares and deserted streets, busy basilicas and empty churches, tour groups following their guides and ordinary people going about their everyday business. We had played it by ear to avoid the worst of the crowds. Sometimes we went with the flow, while sometimes we swam gently against the current. Bruges is still a beautiful place but it has to be careful that it doesn’t sacrifice its soul on the altar of mass tourism. In our short time there we managed to glimpse both its past and its possible, overcrowded future. We had a great day though, along with thousands of others.