Belgium by Campervan: 3 Unmissable Stops

In this article we take you to discover 3 towns in Belgium that we reached aboard our van, together with Olimpia and Sakè, our dog and cat. Despite having little time, we still managed to find 3 destinations that caught our eye — let’s discover them together!

We entered the country from the Netherlands and were heading to France, which is why we only crossed this country, keeping our route along the Atlantic coast.

Ghent: Belgium’s most beautiful city

We parked twenty minutes’ walk from the centre. Bridges along the canal, we reach the main square. We walk under the 120 metres of arcade dedicated to street art, dotted with murals reaching up to the windows of the houses. We’re hungry. We decide to get a cone of fries. For weeks now this has been the most common walking snack we’ve seen. And here we were, used to slices of pizza.

We step into a place. They welcome us at the counter, we order. They fry it fresh. They’re incredibly friendly with everyone sitting in the place, and they save the same kindness for us. We understand each other, in imperfect English, but precision doesn’t matter to us. It’s enough to have something between our teeth, to fuel our brains, to go back to filling our eyes with details.

We reach a bridge, on the right a wonderful weeping willow. On the left two shy Italian girls wonder, without knowing who to ask, if someone could take their photo. I offer, bold, spontaneous. We laugh. They thank me. I capture their moment, I create a memory for them. They give it back to me. It starts raining. We head back to base, to headquarters, to the campervan, home. Parked next to a vehicle twice our length, we amuse ourselves imagining how many things could fit on board in so much space. And we open the door to smile at Olimpia and Sakè and look for a new spot for the night.

We leave the city, back into the countryside  , not knowing where we’ve ended up, just in time to admire the last rays of sunset.

Bruges: the capital of West Flanders

It’s raining. But a beautiful rainbow appears on our right. We park  and feed the animals dinner, before deciding to head into the centre. The wind is cold. The first houses immediately start catching our attention. We have a destination: a small place opened in 1515  and still open!

We cross the centre, and Paolo practically has to drag me away to stop me wandering until late at night. The kitchen closes early, and if we’re late we won’t get to enjoy dinner. I take photographs, more with my eyes than with my phone’s camera. When we arrive at the place, a curly-haired girl and a blond guy welcome us, both smiling. They let us sit wherever we like. The room is old. Wooden tables and chairs, a big fireplace, on the walls prints of vintage images and flights. Objects everywhere. Everything recalls the past. Everything seems to tell you to slow down, that even as time passes, beautiful things keep their scale. We order a beer, a fish soup and an onion soup with cheese croutons. Both delicious. Just right in portion, in flavour, in balance. We enjoy them in silence. Down to the last crumb of bread left on the table. It’s almost a shame having to leave, not being able to come back.

We say goodbye to the waiters, we thank them. As we walk out I turn back and smile. To those who came in before me, to those who’ll come in after. Certain walls know how to keep a bit of magic. Meanwhile the sky has changed colour, the city is silent, lit by the lights of the houses and street lamps. I catch glimpses of certain ceilings, certain decorations — some people decorate their homes exceptionally well. I envy their taste for beauty. We go back to getting lost in that maze of little streets on our way back to the van, before the rain starts pouring again.

Bruges is truly beautiful and delicate at every glance. We get a bit lost in the little streets until we reach the centre, heading straight for a chocolate shop recommended by a family friend  , Leonidas.

We decide to visit the cloister of a Benedictine monastery, home to lay sisters. We cross a maze of little streets and reach the quiet place, marked by white houses and centuries-old trees with trunks all slightly leaning. The atmosphere is nothing short of magical, mystical even, I’d say. We slowly head back, thanking the city at every corner.

We look for a place to rest peacefully, probably lulled by the sound of rain. We arrive in an almost ghost-town village. Low, tidy houses. A small pier from which we catch a single shy ray of the setting sun. We breathe. Silence fills everything. In the campervan, though, we put on some music while I cook salmon and a tomato salad, and cut the baguette to mop up the sauce. Steam covers the windows, music covers the silence and our thoughts. And another night of this trip flies away with lost time. Hello Proust, welcome to my dreams. I’ve never dreamed in English before — there’s a first time for everything.

Damme: the most romantic and famous village in West Flanders

A small hamlet 6 km from Bruges. A tiny village, spread along one main street and four side streets. We decide to pull up our hoods and take a walk with our animals. As soon as we step out of the van, a man parked a bit further on waves his arms to catch our attention. We walk over. He’s French. We manage to understand that he loves seeing the four of us together, and that he’s sorry the weather isn’t on our side today. We thank him and say goodbye, heading off on a brisk walk.

The wind gets in through every inch of fabric. We reach the main square. There’s not a soul in sight. We climb the steps of the town hall for a view from above. A woman comes out and locks the door. She notices us, smiles, amused, at the cat curled up on my shoulders. We turn left, then right. In front of us a tree, ancient, preserved. Instead of cutting it down, they turned it into a library. Or whatever you’d call an open-air library, since the books are entrusted to the sun, the wind, the rain, to nature, to people. I open one at random. Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time.

Right, time. And how to escape it. Hello fate, welcome back. How much do you want to challenge me? Next to the tree, a church. Part of its roof collapsed. You can see the sky between the walls of the nave. It always finds a way to show itself. Today it’s a painting of clouds.

Final thoughts

We spent far too little time in Belgium to give a constructive opinion. What little we saw, though, made a good impression on us: the towns are clean, the countryside well kept, the people extremely kind.

The cost of living is certainly higher than elsewhere, something we noticed both eating out and doing a small “survival” shop, and this factor also affected how many days we stayed in the country.

The climate is subject to Atlantic currents; in early September we experienced both good weather and downpours with high humidity within the span of 5 days.