Day 40, 22 July 2014, Bruges, Belgium - Final Day. Last but not least as they say... St Janshospitaal - 800 years since it was established, now, finally, a museum/art gallery. Fascinating stuff how Bruges was organised even in the late 12th C. This hospital took care of the sick, poor, pilgrims and travellers. The art of medicine was no great shakes at the time, so a lot of what the nuns and brothers provided was soul-care - and a clean bed and a meal - though as things developed doctors and surgeons were brought on. There was another establishment in town for the elderly, another for the lepers and another for the insane. Of course if you were a sick, old, mad, leper travelling from one set of holy relics to another - they'd probably flip for it. It was quite a feeling of time-warp to be standing in the old ward, now filled with the 800 year old history of the hospital, and looking down on a section of the original floor from around the 13th C. To think of the dramas and stories that had walked those cobblestones. The art was a special event as well. There were some massive religious panels by Hans Memling - big man in Bruges-town, but my favourite is the rondo above. Probably about 30 cm in diameter it just glowed - on loan from a private collection via Christies NY, there are only known to be two in existence. Having spent 10 days or so in Belgium now there is one thing to say for sure, the Union of Breastfeeding Mothers should set up world headquarters here - there is barely a painting that doesn't at some point have feeding the son of god at its heart. Sometimes there'll be a good John the Baptist / Headless panel... but there'll usually be a bosom in the next. In any event, good visit to the St Janshospitaal - just a shame it's by and large staffed by the numpties who were adjudged to be too bloody rude to work in the Belgian Public Service... Moving right along, I headed to the Post Office in the main square. Having been a busy little possum with photographing and writing about the last six weeks, postcards have been languishing in my bag, hoping against hope to be written upon. Well today was the day, and in I went. Secured the necessary small mortgage in postage and then sat down to write. And write. And write. And then give up, hit the supermarket for a heat and eat, head to the hotel - heat, eat. And write... and six hours later my hand fell off. Shame that 800 year old hospital is shut up for the night. All set and packed and ready for tomorrow's adventure, it was midnight when I finally hit the sack. Wow. What a trip.