Fun fact about me – I love waffles.

A lot.

Back home, one of my coworkers even bought me a Texas-shaped waffle maker, and it was absolutely everything to me. So coming to Belgium, home of the Belgian Waffle, felt like stepping into a crack den. I would assume.

After doing a bit of research, my hostel friends and I headed to a waffle food truck in the center of Bruges. When I tried to pick which kind of waffle topping I wanted, I just couldn’t decide. So I naturally ordered two. The food truck chef looked at me with amusement in his eyes. He was very skeptical. He said that he would prepare the first one, and when I finished, he would make the second one fresh. I said deal.

After having a life-altering experience eating my waffle with melted cookie butter on top, I realized something tragic. I was full. How could I disappoint myself like this??

I went to the window, and with a head cast down in shame, I informed the chef that I could not eat my second waffle. He gave me a smile and a refund. What a sport.

After recovering from a waffle coma, I headed on a train towards Brussels. I had heard that Brussels was a business-based city, so I only scheduled one day there before flying to the next city.

I needed to do a bit of shopping since I had run out of shampoo, shower gel, and face wash all at once. As I sought out a drugstore, I stumbled upon quite a sight. A place called HEMA.

HEMA felt like a weird combination of Target and IKEA, but the size of H&M. People were losing their minds in this store. I would get pushed around so someone could snag a deal on socks and a stapler.

After paying and beginning to leave the store, a man rushed up to me and began speaking to me in Dutch. I gave a sad shrug and said, “English.” He went “ahh” and yet continued to frantically communicate in Dutch. Sorry, bruh. Still only English.

Turns out, someone left their credit card at check out, and he was trying to ask if it was mine. I did not lose it and had mine in my purse. I was mainly just happy that I wasn’t being accused of shoplifting. Dutch can sound a bit in your face.