Dordrecht

A day out in Dordrecht, the oldest city in Holland. Walled, moated and gated at one time, now only two gates are left, and there is water, even in abundance.

Why Dordrecht? Too many reasons to list:

-  not to let my free train travel ticket expire

-  To see an exhibition,

-  to attend an organ recital.

-  last but not least, although there might not be enough time to do it all, to see the choir stalls in the old church, a church painted and photographed by so many through the centuries.

Old houses near the Museum

Since we celebrate the fact that the Netherlands became a kingdom 200 years ago, there are events and exhibitions everywhere, mainly about the first three kings: William I, II, and III. The exhibition in Dordrecht was about William II, who married Anna Paulowna, a sister of Tsar Nicholas I of Russia, and a lover of art, as was William. He collected paintings and objects of art. His paintings and parts of his art collection were exhibited in the Museum of Dordrecht, a former monastery. Many pieces of art came from St Petersburg where they ended up after Wlliam’s death. He left huge debts, and so his collection was sold to museum in various countries.

Celebrating 200 years 

The back of the Augustinian church...

...and the houses opposite

Another part of the exhibition presents the visitors with a history of William and Anna’s life together, the palaces they built, their lavish life style, and especially Williams history, connected with the Battle of Waterloo in which William fought as well. After that battle in which he was wounded, he was hailed as the hero of Waterloo, at least in the Netherlands.

The organ recital was in a historic church as well, the Augustijner Kerk (Augustinian church). The programme presented us with “royal” music: music played at courts throughout Europe, courts which were connected with the Dutch court, and music of famous musicians who played at court in The Hague.

Seeing friends, starting the day having coffee with them, spending time together in the Museum and meeting again at the organ recital was good.

 Organ and interior of the Augustinian Church

Dordrecht was quite an experience. As mentioned before it has been painted by many artists because of its dominant position on the busiest European intersection of several main rivers and waterways. The main church with its stump tower is a very impressive landmark. Paintings and later photos are always taken from across the wide expanse of the rivers. It is as if the church rises out of the water, sitting on its surface. Dordrecht used to be a very important staple town, and the names of the numerous old warehouses remind us of that time of prosperity: Russia, German princedoms, English place names. 

 Some gable stones

The historic harbour with old steamers, still in working order but no longer used for freight, the many canals, and beautiful gables of the houses of the VIPs, the ship owners, patricians and other wealthy and influential people, are worth seeing and testimony of a rich past.  

 The historic harbour. Below, a very grand warehouse

There is however a “but”. Although Dordrecht was mainly spared during the war and not bombed as so many other cities, unlike Rotterdam its heart was still intact. A heart consisting of small and characteristic houses, alleys and tiny squares. But that heart was nonetheless ripped out wilfully in the name of progress and replaced by an intersection of several wide pedestrian streets lined with shops behind modern facades, the kind of shops which can be found anywhere in the Netherlands. The streets are very clean and very neat but have no character whatsoever. It could be anywhere. During the day the streets were bustling with people, and a big street market was in full swing which lent it some character with its varied display of fresh fruits and vegetables, all kinds of fish, cheeses, and cured meats. But in the evening after closing time the streets were empty and deserted, except for the cleaners in their vehicles, cleansing the smooth pavement of any nasty smells of rotting fruit and fish, disinfecting them more or less. No heart, no people enjoying drinks in small establishments. 

 Looking into and out of the city through one of the gates

 The "main" gate, the entrance from the river crossing

 Around this emptiness, this neat black hole, there are still many old streets, squares, gateways under houses leading to a canal, steps down towards the water, house fronts leaning over, beautifully decorated gables and sky lights over the front doors. Even the modest old houses look nice. Apparently they were built with love and care. Walking towards the main gate giving access to the river and wide vistas, big ships coming, going and crossing, I see most interesting houses, gable stones, inscriptions. Dordrecht had many religious houses, and also for protestants it is of historic importance.

  The main church and the canal 

We had time to visit the main church. On one side it is flanked by a canal, the houses opposite built with their feet in the water, occasional staircases giving access to cellars or the streets on the other side of the houses. Beech trees line the canal and the green around the church, the young and just unfolding leaves a very bright and translucent green and coppery red, sunlight shining through them. Inside the church is light and spacious, the choir almost as long as the nave of the church. To me the big pipe organ and the choir stalls are the most interesting parts of this church. 

The choir screen made of brass

Two exanples of misericords

 The frieze in the choir stalls

 The beautifully decorated choir stalls

 The stall ends

The pulpit

 

 The main pipe organ

 

Especially the choir stalls are unusual. They have misericords which seem rather medieval like so many others elsewhere, and are also badly defaced, which isn’t unusual either although a great shame. But all along the choir stalls is a very beautiful frieze, sculpted in wood. It is a wide one over the seats with representations of what seem to be Roman or Greek battles. They are beautifully made and well preserved. They are in a neo classical style, which forms a contrast with the stalls and their misericords. I have only 45 minutes to look around the church, so there is no time for a closer examination. There is a splendid book about the choir stalls and its sculptures, and in the nick of time I buy it when the kiosk is already closed. But the ladies who are on duty are still around and only too happy to sell me this book.

With my treasure, which I accidentally leave in a restaurant so that I have to walk all the way back from the station to the other side of Dordrecht to retrieve it, we set out to explore the old part of Dordrecht, the harbour, canals, city gates and old houses, ending up at the uttermost point where we can enjoy a drink and some food while basking in the sun and watching the many huge cargo ships pass by. And here we end our day, very happy and content, till we discover I have forgotten my book!

  Along a quiet canal, and another view of the church

I should go back one day, to explore Dordrecht in more detail.

It was a memorable day, and although I did not get my money’s worth out of my free ticket as Dordrecht is only an hour away on the train, it was certainly worth it.

 Some impressive houses and front doors

 

One of many gateways

Freedom

A house made of glass. I don't feel exposed, as I did the last time I was here on my own. I feel liberated, safe, happy. I am surrounded by nature, fields on top of the hills, pines on the dark slopes of the river valleys. From my bed I see the star studded sky, clear and bright, not polluted by big city lights, the village opposite a string of Christmas lights. They seem within touching distance, but there is a rock faced canyon and a river between my bed and the village. I can bathe watching the sunset, candles on the bath end, enjoying the view through this glass wall. A stray dog walker, just below the house on the hill, can't see through these windows. Still, it seems scary. I feel like an exhibitionist. When I wake in the morning the village on the other side might be shrouded in mist, clouds still asleep in the river valley, oblivious of the rising sun which colours the underbelly of the higher clouds rosy. The mist creeps through clumps of trees, still bare, their branches a black and white pen drawing, bleeding like water colours into the foggy patches. It is a fascinating spectacle, different each morning, every minute. Slowly the clouds evaporate, columns of white steam rising and dissolving in the morning sun, revealing the dark cracks of the river canyons. 

In the evening head lights of cars line out their course, disappearing round sharp bends, then appearing again at a different level. It awakens the longing to go and explore, see what the winding stream looks really like. A glass house, the land open around it. In the evening I watch the sunsets over the hills opposite. The sky seems bright, but the light is deceptive. The fields below are still a vivid green but gradually receding into hues of dark blue, purple and lighter shades of violet and blue the further I look. What seems nearby in broad daylight and bright sunshine, now seems far away, the hills more layered than I thought. The narrow and steep river canyons darken quickly, become menacing, mysterious scars, colouring from purple to black.

And there are the birds, some awe inspiring birds of prey, hovering over the fields. It is still early in the year, food seems scarce. But soon abundance will follow. The small tits and other singing birds are preparing their nests. One tit trying to manoeuvre small pieces of straw through the tiny opening of a nesting box, undaunted. The cute bill and white and black head peeping out again quickly, ready to go in search of more soft nesting material. When I move around in my glass house, they don't seem to notice me at all and just go on with their business. It must be a trick of the window panes, which are triple layered.

This is not only a place for birds, but also for wild flowers, foxes and deer, boars, butterflies and berries. The slate roofs of the few houses merge into the surrounding hills, which are pock marked by former quarries. Slate is everywhere. A place for nature trails, long distance walks and innumerable castles, either ruined or restored, on every strategic hilltop. 

One of many castle ruins

 The trails leads through tunnels

Sheer slate cliffs

The steep climbs in these hills tax my calf muscles which are used to flat land. Being alone, at the very end of a tiny village without any neighbours, doesn't frighten me but feels exhilarating. And there is the silence. I have known this house full of the bustle of people, a warren of adults and children, many of them new family units, ever changing like musical chairs. An abundance of food, of laughter, BBQ's, mad plans, fast drives into the nearest town just for an ice-cream after a meal of steak and salad, fish, burgers and sausages. Mountain bike trips, children splashing in the temporary swimming pool or screaming down the water slide, as the house is built on a steep incline; the roaring of quads tearing the mysterious silence of the woods to shreds. Bird watching, long walks, muddy boots, pop music, that is how I know it. Now all is calm. It took some time to make that large space my own, replace the emptiness with serenity, accept the continuous creaking and the little explosions of this house made of timber as friendly: the expansion and shrinkage of the wood this house is built of, the sturdy beams; the heavy thuds of snow sliding off the tiled roof and falling on the veranda or the ground, like the menacing footsteps of a giant. I have filled the house with my own music, the iPod for once coming in handy, my CD collection transferred to this small machine contains music for weeks.

The "Hahnenbach" with its muddy trail

There is no threat in walking these hills, woods and valleys alone. Nobody else is there, castles and fortifications are closed, former mines not yet open for tourists, neither are the small cafes. Nature is itself, unencumbered by day trippers. If I slip and hurt myself, there will be no help at hand.

Being retired should mean being free, without an agenda, without obligations. But I have taken on so much – of my own free will – that sometimes things get on top of me and there is no time to relax, to unwind. Planning to fit everything in becomes very tiring. At first it feels odd having no access to internet, no email, no landline. But gradually it feels as if a heavy burden has been lifted. No one can contact me easily, nobody can put demands on me here. I can think undisturbed, walk the steep and slippery trails, careful not to slide down on loose slabs of slate. Walking along the small stream seems easier, but is dreadfully muddy as the river easily overflows in its narrow river bed.

 Views from the house

I was very reluctant to come here. Lethargy had taken over. But once on the road the exhilaration of freedom took hold of me. A car is a small world, a bubble into which no one can penetrate. It was a lovely day, the promise of an early spring, the sun bright, branches of trees thickening. Once in Germany past the industrial area which the “autobahn” (freeway) skirts, the land opened up and there were wide vistas. The blue sky putting on an ever changing show of white cloud formations, each one spectacular. The rolling hills, scattered villages, the river valleys which I crossed, the pine woods and the vineyards, still bare, they filled me with happiness, especially as there are no sound barriers along the road but a free view of the countryside. Even the modern windmills looked like an elegant corps de ballet, in synchronised movements turning round, the tips of their three arms painted a glorious red, showing off their pointed finger nails. In this wide open landscape the tall windmills didn't seem to scar the landscape but added a beauty of their own. Is it the expectancy of the place one is heading for which gives such joy, or is the trip an end in itself, even if there is this nagging feeling of guilt, somewhere deep down. Another heavy footprint. But who can live life free of guilt? And I do need a car where I am going. There is no public transport to speak of, no village shop, not even for the bare necessities of life.

 Kirn Castle, another ruin

The walks are lovely. Although the trees are still bare, the undergrowth is a riot of subtle colours. Blue violets, some purple plumes of flowers I don't recognise, wild anemones and yellow cowslips. After an evening with hail and sleet and night frost, they just hang their heads and close their petals, as if hugging themselves. But when the sun comes out, they shyly open up again while still surrounded by diamonds of melting hail stones.

 Cowslips and wild anemones

And there are some very old and picturesque towns

 Herrstein