It’s true what they say: Bruges is like a fairy tale, and, walking the streets on a recent afternoon, I could imagine what the Flemish city might have been like 500 years ago, when it stood at the centre of European trade, a hub to rival Paris. The carillon in its famous belfry, overlooking the central square, still tinkled pleasantly every 15 minutes. A bag of glossy eels—a local delicacy—sat on the doorstep of a restaurant. In the nearby Bloedbasiliek—the Basilica of the Holy Blood—I joined a small queue to inspect a phial that is said to contain the blood of Jesus Christ, collected by Joseph of Arimathea and brought back from the Crusades by Thierry of Alsace, Count of Flanders. The phial is presided over by a clerk whose face was inches away from mine, though we were separated by a screen. For perhaps a minute we both stared quietly at this mystical vessel. The blood—dried on a cloth—has occasionally been observed miraculously to liquefy, but that didn’t happen for me. Still, it was reassuring to take part in a ritual that has been going on for hundreds of years, as countless pilgrims have peered in at the revered relic. There’s a comforting sense of continuity in Bruges.
There was also a tension in the air, though. “High season begins tomorrow,” said the man in Tourist Information, and he didn’t seem thrilled about it. That’s when thousands of tourists descend on Bruges for the ultimate romantic seasonal experience. They float up and down the canals on boats, try out the beers, visit the museums and buy tonnes and tonnes of chocolate. The season comes has its climax on 24th December, with Midnight Mass at Saint Saviour’s Cathedral and a carillon concert in Bruges’ famous marketplace.
That market, which runs until 8th January, is at the heart of the whole experience, although the traditional wooden huts (an aesthetic so popular that it’s now been imported to many other parts of Europe, British towns included) are all gone this year. They’ve been replaced with more utilitarian metal stands. “It’s the new mayor,” said Helene, who runs a restaurant, as she brought us smoked eels on toast (delicious). “Politicians always want to make their mark, don’t they? The old stalls were perfectly good, and the new ones are ugly.” She felt other parts of town could have been allocated a bit more festive joy: “this year the Christmas lights stop halfway along our street.”
Why do we love a Christmas market? The festive psyche has two aspects, and this shopping experience, German in origin, appeals to both of them: the consumerist and the traditionalist. An evening under twinkling lights, perusing lovely crafts while juggling gluhwein, bratwurst and a slice of stollen—what could be more delightful? We hope to be transported back in time, to a folk scene painted by Pieter Bruegel in the 16th century, perhaps. Ideally we’d be skating on frozen lakes, if the winters weren’t so warm.
But tourists can’t help killing the things they love. Bruges, a city of nearly 119,000, has struggled to accommodate the eight million annual visitors who habitually descend on the city (pre-pandemic, at least). There are fears that the city could become like a Disney attraction, with tourists queuing to photograph the most beautiful view in Europe, then queuing again to take selfies on the beautiful bridge, before strolling down the beautiful streets lined with chocolate shops. There are just too many of us chasing this wintry dream.
Or was it in fact a nightmare? On closer inspection, the Bruegel scenes are not idyllic. They were painted during the “Little Ice Age”, a time of intensely cold winters. Take The Hunters in the Snow (1565), which looks like a lovely scene at first glance; actually the hunters are returning almost empty-handed, trudging despondently through the snow. Witchcraft was blamed for the extreme weather and disastrous shortage of food at this time and in the 16th century thousands of women were executed. As far as we know, Bruegel was the first artist to depict the archetypal witch, complete with broomstick and cauldron. We have him to blame for the cliche of an ugly old woman, mixing potions.
These days the offerings in the Bruges Christmas market are drearily familiar; the music is less Mozart, more Mariah Carey. “I take the long way round to avoid the smell of bratwurst”, said Helene, with a sigh. But when all’s said and done, perhaps our 21st-century version of a Christmas market is preferable to the medieval folk scene it hopes to evoke. Plus, in the 16th century you couldn’t get a chocolate-coated waffle with sprinkles on a stick.
