The City That Time Forgot

What will parents do for their children?  Anything!

For Martha it meant typing checks for Fireman’s Fund for $4.00 an hour and other low-paying jobs for five years to pay for her college tuition.  For David it meant climbing 365 steps up a bell tower in Bruges, Belgium. 

After leavings Paris I drove to Belgium specifically to see Bruges – or Brugge, as they call their city.  I remembered an article in National Geographic that I read many years before as a teenager. It described Bruges as “the city that time forgot.”  A major commercial center in the 15th Century, other cities became more important.  Bruges became so insignificant that it was not worth bombing during World War II.   The magazine pictured “the Venice of the North” with canals lined with picturesque late Medieval buildings

The Geographic was right.  In the center of town narrow, cobbled stoned streets and the old, half-timbered buildings looked as if nothing had changed since Maximilian I was Holy Roman Emperor.  David and I boarded a little flat-bottomed boat which chugged through the narrow canals, making great “photo opportunities” at every turn.  This was one place which lived up to the hype.

The tourist bureau, where we booked our canal ride, was in the center of the old town just off a large, cobbled-stoned square.  Next door was the town hall, an imposing brick building with an extremely tall bell tower.

“Let’s climb the tower,” said David.
“Go ahead,” said I.  “Have fun!  You climb right up there.”
“I want you to come with me.”
“Oh, no!  Not me.  I don’t want to climb that thing.”
“I won’t go unless you come with me.”

I felt guilty about dragging this poor kid all around Europe, going to places I wanted to see, while he probably would have preferred to stay home in Illinois playing board games with his friends.  I climbed the tower.

The wedge-shaped stone steps wound round and round in tighter and tighter circles as we climbed higher and higher.  After about 150 steps I was exhausted.  David got behind and pushed.  “You can do it, Mom.” 

Finally, just before noon, we emerged through a trap door onto a platform.  Breathing heavily, I leaned on the waist-high brick railing.  The view over the tile roof-tops of the old city was beautiful. 

Then the bells, just above our heads, began to ring the noon hour.  Clang!  Clang!  Clang!  I covered my ears.  Big bells made a deep, loud noise which could be heard miles away – and they were just six feet over my head.  Bong!  Bong! Bong!

Finally the bells fell silent, but the ringing continued in my ears as David and I slowly – very slowly – climbed down the 365 winding, stone steps.   For David, climbing the Bruges bell tower was one of the highlights of the trip.