2013. I still remember stepping off that plane at Heathrow, my heart pounding with a mixture of terror and excitement. London wasn't my first taste of living abroad, but it was my first European adventure – and everything felt different from what I'd experienced before.
Those early London days were a whirlwind of emotions. The accent that seemed so elegant in movies suddenly felt impossible to decode in real conversations. I remember sitting in lectures, frantically scribbling notes, half-understanding, half-guessing, completely overwhelmed. The English I thought I knew from Nepal felt like a different language entirely when surrounded by Cockney, Scottish, and Irish accents all blending together in the corridors.
But London became my teacher, my friend, my second home. Those university years didn't just improve my English – they transformed me. I remember the exact moment I realized I'd stopped mentally translating. I was arguing with my flatmate about whose turn it was to do dishes, and the words just flowed in English, heated and natural. That's when I knew I'd crossed some invisible line.
My European Journey: 2013–2026
Between the bustle of London and the quiet beauty of Brugge, my journey took me through the sun-drenched streets of Portugal in 2016 and the crisp air of Denmark in 2022—each place adding a new layer to the person I was becoming. I look forward to sharing the stories of those chapters in my upcoming posts.
Life took another turn. Then came Belgium, with its promise of new adventures and opportunities in the medieval fairy tale that is Brugge.
Brugge isn't just a city – it's a living museum where every cobblestone tells a story. Canals wind through centuries-old buildings like liquid history, and church bells mark time just as they did when this was one of Europe's wealthiest trading cities. Living here in West-Vlaanderen feels like being embraced by history while trying to build a future.
The weather felt like coming home to London – that familiar embrace of clouds and gentle rain I'd grown to love. The culture didn't shock me either; European rhythms had become my rhythms. But there was something I hadn't prepared for, something that caught me completely off guard.
Here in Brugge, everyone speaks beautiful English. Shop owners effortlessly switch languages the moment they detect my accent. But you know what nobody tells you about this situation? Sometimes being accommodated feels like being kept at arm's length.
Six months ago, I walked into SNT Brugge for my first Dutch lesson, and suddenly I was that nervous 2013 student again. Staring at words like gezelligheid and uitspraak, I felt that familiar knot in my stomach.
The Challenge of West-Vlaams:
And West-Vlaanderen Dutch? That's another beast entirely. The local Brugse dialect makes standard Dutch feel like a foreign language all over again. When my neighbor cheerfully calls out Azo meugen zie! (That's how it should be!), I'm lost. The soft 'g' sounds I learned at SNT suddenly become something completely different in local conversations.
Last week at the Thursday market on 't Zand, I confidently asked for tomaten and got a rapid-fire response in dialect that left me blinking in confusion. The vendor, bless her heart, switched to slower Dutch, then English, while I stood there feeling like my six months of lessons had evaporated.
The irregular verbs are killing me slowly. "Zijn," "hebben," "kunnen" – these little words that appear everywhere but follow no logical pattern my brain can grasp. And don't get me started on "er" – that tiny word that seems to appear randomly in every sentence, changing meaning like a linguistic shape-shifter.
Finding Connection in De Garre:
But something magical happened last Tuesday. I was at De Garre, that hidden pub tucked away in one of Brugge's secret alleyways, and an elderly local started telling me about old Brugge in slow, patient Dutch. Suddenly, I understood! Not every word, but the story – about how these canals once brought wealth from across Europe, how his grandfather worked the docks when boats still carried goods through the city. My broken response in Dutch made him beam. Je Nederlands wordt beter elke dag! (Your Dutch gets better every day!) That moment, surrounded by 800-year-old walls and connecting through stumbling words, felt like home.
Every failed attempt at ordering "witbier" without sounding like I'm asking for white bear, every successful chat with Mrs. Van Der Meer about her garden roses, every Dutch word that finally clicks into place – they're all building something precious.
Learning Dutch here isn't just about language. It's about unlocking the real Brugge, the one tourists in the Markt Square never see. It's understanding the jokes at the local café, catching the announcements at community events, feeling the warmth when someone realizes you're not just another temporary visitor.
The vulnerability of sounding like a child again while your mind holds decades of experience is both humbling and beautiful. Some days I want to cry when "de," "het," and "een" still confuse me. Other days, I feel victorious for understanding a complete conversation at the bus stop.
They're building home. Again.
Just like John Lennon sang about having courage to start over, language learning requires the beautiful bravery of being a beginner again and again. And trust me, every stumbled word is worth it when you finally feel like you belong.
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| The Writer standing in the Markt square of Brugge at night with the Belfry in the background. |
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