An insider guide to Ostend, Belgium’s uncut gem

I grew up in Ostend, a few blocks from the apartment I now run as Paradis – a showroom, gallery and a place to stay. The flat that I used to live in stood high above the North Sea like a shelf. As a child, I thought it was normal to wake up to the green sea and end every summer’s day with a blazing sunset. During the winter, the wind would rattle the windows. If it was stormy, you could hear the sea crashing against the doors. The beach has been artificially raised since, but Ostend is still right on the edge of the weather.

The city is a slightly rough place, full of faded grandeur, but I love that about it. It’s the biggest city on the Belgian coast and has long been known for its retirees. More recently, however, young creatives have started moving in, drawn by the sea air and (at one stage!) the low prices. I start my day with coffee at Et Alors. In summer you can sit outside with the sea in front of you, or lounge inside and still feel like you’re outdoors. When I’m working, I take my laptop to Café du Parc, a true old-Ostend spot. You’ll find everyone there, from locals with their morning coffees to young designers at their computers. If it’s sunny, the café is bright all day and nobody minds if you linger.

My friends and I will buy a bag of North Sea shrimps and peel them lazily over a glass of wine

For lunch, I head down to the Vistrap, the harbour-side fish market. It’s an alley of family-run stalls surrounded by wooden tables and chairs. Since the 19th century, family traders have been offering fish that have just departed the North Sea; there are royal statutes that guarantee the fish will reach the consumer within 24 hours. If I’m with friends, we’ll buy a bag of grey North Sea shrimps, an Ostend delicacy, and peel them lazily over a glass of wine.

The beach is the spine of Ostend, or maybe its heart. The boardwalk is lined with cabins and there’s also a surf club. I never surfed but my parents had a cabin where we’d sit for hours making paper flowers — it’s a very Belgian thing. All over the coast, children spend summers folding crêpe paper into Strandbloemen. My children like to dig big holes and open flower stalls in the sand like I did, laying the flowers across the top as if on a counter. The flowers are then traded for seashells, usually measured in handfuls; the aim is either to make the most beautiful flowers, or to amass the greatest riches in shells. When I was young we’d hoard shells all summer long, then agonise in September about whether to keep them for next year. 

Bar Bristol is an elegant restaurant opened by a Ghentian couple in a former pub that’s good for a proper sit-down dinner. I order the mackerel ceviche with leche de tigre if it’s on the menu. If you feel like staying out, Lafayette bar captures a raucous, ragtag crowd and the spirit of old Ostend. As a teenager, I used to go with my parents. Everyone dances late into the night together. 

I’m a big fan of Valerie Troost, the seaside outpost of Antwerp gallery Valerie Traan. It showcases design and contemporary art in an evocative and cleverly reworked space. Then there’s De Grote Post, once the city’s post office, now a cultural centre with concerts and exhibitions. A palatial modernist structure, it is a hub for culture — and a very grand monument to the postal service.

If Paradis Apartment is booked, I send visitors to Thermae Palace: the best rooms have big terraces over the boardwalk and a view straight out to sea. The colonnade on the seafront is crumbly but full of life. It’s where the essence of Ostend is concentrated and old and new wash together. It’s a bit rough, and at moments unexpectedly grand, but always somewhere I’m glad to return to.