23rd October 2005 Brugge, Belgium......to Calais, France......to London, England. Whether it be due to aftereffects of the marjuana, the minuteness of the country itself, or a general weariness from the endless travelling of the past twelve days, I remember little of Belgium. What the terrain or the architecture consisted of, I cannot tell you. Of Brugge, where we stopped mid-morning for a very brief walking tour, I remember only quaint stone bridges over swan-filled streams, cart-and-pony traps, belgian waffles, lace shops, stone architecture that possibly looked medieval, and an enormous ancient square surrounded by tall hulking effigies by stone. We were gone almost before we'd arrived, hurtling towards Calais in France and our ferry across the English Channel. The day passed fairly uneventfully, and again there was enough fog in Dover to put paid to any
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