Krakovski?, Krakakovski, maybe?….Definitely ends in “ski”. For the life of me I cannot figure out what the signature on the shadow cut-out I paid 10 euros for says.
Nice guy, he caught me off guard and I said OK. Having just ascended the 366 steps to the top of the Belfry, mistiming our arrival to that of the hourly peals and then being momentarily distracted by the Georges Rodenbach stairway, I think that’s understandable. Afterwards I asked if I could photograph him, focussed, opened up a couple of stops (it was dark next to the stairs) and clicked, wound on: damn, last frame, moment lost. Luckily I think it came out all right, but I wish I could remember his name.
We’d arrived in the outskirts of Bruges along with a whole train full of tourists, so the taxi queue snaked on and on. After a few minutes we decided to walk it, dragging our “oh so sensible, wheeled flight size suitcases” behind us- it wasn’t hard to find the town, the belfry dominates the skyline. It’s famous for beer, chocolate and lace. Oh and the cobbles, the endless cobbles, the pavements are cobbled, the roads are cobbled and even the few bits of smooth concrete at the top of steps had little metal bumps on them. Half an hour at least of rattling and crashing of tiny-wheeled suitcases later we got to the hotel a couple of blocks of the main square. Checked in, went out.
Trix X at 250, not so sunny something or other (honestly I don’t know- I just opened up a bit), Sonnar 50mm