Our first night in Bruges, we called WS (Wonderful Son) to see if they were still in town and wanted a beer. The reply was yes on both accounts.
Obviously all are doing well.
The guys picked a café/bar they had been to the night before, with cheap beer with the Euro-cup game on the big screen TV. We drank and listened to their stories of Amsterdam and Bruges, everything from flat tires on rental bikes to loving the VanGogh Museum. They already adopted other football (soccer) clubs because “Well, the US teams just sucks.” WS was sporting the colors of one of the local Bruges club, and his friend had on Holland. (This will be an important point later in the story.)
After the beer, I personally was starving and the guys said they were hungry too. So we went to look for a place that was still open. (Restaurants close early in Bruges. We barely got a table at 9pm.) As we sat down, the owner looked a little grumpy, I thought due to a large party of five late in the evening. We ordered, and tried to be as polite as possible. While serving the table next to us, the owner said something in English and the other table laughed. DH nudged me, “They’re talking about us.”
“Huh, why do you say that?”
“Trust me; I know they were talking about us.”
I wasn’t sure what to do. The guys weren’t being that loud; I was speaking French, so we weren’t being rude Americans demanding he speak English – what was ticking this man off?
It finally came clear when the owner came to remove our plates. He stared at WS’s football scarf, “You two are rooting for the wrong team.” The owner was a fan of the OTHER team in Bruges – the ones that have a horrible record, and the fans cheer louder the worse they do.
That’s why he was being cranky! The other tabled laughed, and the guys quickly took off their scarves. Nice to know Americans aren’t the only ones who go crazy over their teams.
Obviously all are doing well.
The guys picked a café/bar they had been to the night before, with cheap beer with the Euro-cup game on the big screen TV. We drank and listened to their stories of Amsterdam and Bruges, everything from flat tires on rental bikes to loving the VanGogh Museum. They already adopted other football (soccer) clubs because “Well, the US teams just sucks.” WS was sporting the colors of one of the local Bruges club, and his friend had on Holland. (This will be an important point later in the story.)
After the beer, I personally was starving and the guys said they were hungry too. So we went to look for a place that was still open. (Restaurants close early in Bruges. We barely got a table at 9pm.) As we sat down, the owner looked a little grumpy, I thought due to a large party of five late in the evening. We ordered, and tried to be as polite as possible. While serving the table next to us, the owner said something in English and the other table laughed. DH nudged me, “They’re talking about us.”
“Huh, why do you say that?”
“Trust me; I know they were talking about us.”
I wasn’t sure what to do. The guys weren’t being that loud; I was speaking French, so we weren’t being rude Americans demanding he speak English – what was ticking this man off?
It finally came clear when the owner came to remove our plates. He stared at WS’s football scarf, “You two are rooting for the wrong team.” The owner was a fan of the OTHER team in Bruges – the ones that have a horrible record, and the fans cheer louder the worse they do.
That’s why he was being cranky! The other tabled laughed, and the guys quickly took off their scarves. Nice to know Americans aren’t the only ones who go crazy over their teams.
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