In which my family wanders off the path, I scold them, and they tell me I am too Germanified. I am not even kidding.
Yeah, I’m pretty sure my mother is gonna kill me for half of these shots!
I realised at some point that I took just too many photos in Bruges to make them reasonably fit into a post.
Easter is kind of a strange one for me. Way back in the day, we used to travel to our great-uncle’s house, eat tons of food, play four-square and hide-and-seek with our second cousins (or first cousins once removed?) and gorge on sweet, deep fried bombolotti (because, let’s be honest, if your cultural event doesn’t involve some sort of deep-fried or other calorifically horrific treat, you probably need to rethink things).