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There are places one visits, and then there are places one inhabits – if only for a short while – yet they remain part of you forever. The Van Cleef is such a place. To enter this house is to cross a threshold into history, into walls that once welcomed carriages and noble families, and to feel at once that the story now continues with you.||From the moment we arrived, there was no sense of transaction, no formality, only the quiet grace of being welcomed home. Benjamin unfolded a map not as a guide might, but as a storyteller, weaving Bruges into our hearts with every mark of his pen. His words were not hurried; they carried the weight of pride, of belonging, of love for his city. In those moments we realised that Bruges was not merely to be seen, but to be revealed, and what we received was more than information – it was connection.||Our Junior Suite, offered as an unexpected gift, looked out over the canal as though the water itself were an old companion keeping us company. Each morning the light spilled across the room with a softness that made time hesitate, and the terrace, hidden away for guests alone, became a stage where the city’s rhythm slowed to a whisper, where boats glided past like actors in a play that seemed written only for us. On the desk, a small box of Belgian chocolates awaited us – a simple gesture, yet in its sweetness it seemed to contain the very essence of Bruges: delicate, rich, and unforgettable.||The reason for our journey was my wife’s birthday, and it unfolded like a day set gently to music. The morning began with the promise of celebration: breakfast served with quiet elegance, the table touched by a candle whose flame danced in honour of her day. Later, the Green Room was ours alone, a haven of calm where Afternoon Tea became an unhurried ritual, with delicate sandwiches, warm scones, and the soft murmur of the canal beyond the windows. And then came the moment that no one could have planned – the sudden appearance of the family’s dachshund, rushing across the room, only to pause as if he, too, had come to offer congratulations. My wife gathered him into her arms with such joy that it eclipsed every other gesture; it was a gift of pure serendipity, and it lit her day brighter than any grandeur could. As the evening descended, we stepped onto a boat waiting at the hotel’s own jetty. The city stretched before us in silence, the canals glimmering beneath a soft sky, and we glided together as though Bruges had been reserved for us alone.||To leave the Van Cleef was not to check out of a hotel, but to close the pages of a chapter we had lived within. It is a sanctuary where elegance breathes alongside intimacy, where history and heart are inseparable, and where one does not simply stay, but belongs. Bruges may be the stage, but it is the Van Cleef that writes the memory — one we will carry with us always.