Understanding Amsterdam – a visit to the Rijksmuseum

Amsterdam.  It is hard to distil any city to its essence, more so when it has more than one story to tell, when there is more than one truth.  To some, Amsterdam is a twee tourist destination of clogs and tulips and windmills.  To some a beacon of liberal tolerance.  To some an enabler of hedonistic darkness.  To some a crucible of creative expression.  To some a living monument to the spoils of colonialism and exploitation.

There is a place where you can go to attempt to untangle the threads, to unwind the skein and trail it through the labyrinthine alleyways, across bridges and along canals, to reveal the beating heart of the Minotaur.  The Rijksmuseum, found at Museumstraat 1, and open daily from 9 until 5, has told Amsterdam’s story for more than 125 years.  Closed in 2004 for major renovations, it reopened in April 2013 to expectations that had been building for almost a decade.  A lot to live up to but the Rijksmuseum delivers.

Entry is via an central archway, a tunnel cut directly through the building, and then down, out of the shadows and gloom in to a light filled atrium.  From here, pick a doorway and plunge in to the maze of exhibition spaces and galleries beyond.

The collection is extensive and includes artefacts from all periods of Dutch history, from home and overseas.

It is eclectic and well curated with good lighting, intelligent grouping, enough information to digest without detracting from the presence of the pieces, the beauty, variety and richness of which can speak for themselves.  Seeing these diverse objects, all equally treasured, all housed under one roof, all connected to the story of the Netherlands, is a reminder that history is complex and that a whole is formed of many parts, not all of which are positive.  Each make their mark and none can be ignored.  Sometimes, the Rijksmuseum tells us, it is enough to simply stand back and absorb.  We should not always be so desperate to define.


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Finland – flashfoward and flashback

Second only to travel itself, I love the anticipation of travel: the building excitement as a long awaited trip draws nearer; the adrenaline of a last minute decision to book; the pleasing intricacies of itinerary research; lying awake at night picturing yourself in that place and what you will do.

In the last week the first steps towards a late summer sojourn to Finland have been taken. A good friend, long bright nights, saunas and crayfish await.  Thinking about things to come has put me in mind of things past.  Reminiscences come as powerful as expectations.

The last time I visited Finland it was deep winter; our island home reached by snowmobile, the forest blanketed in snow, the dark falling early, icicles as long as my arm.  It is hard to imagine arriving by boat, swimming where I have skied, gladly jumping in the lake rather than a tentative post sauna dip.

What is to come and what has been. Memories made and still unformed. The day count has begun, fortunately it’s short.

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Flashback Friday – Exploring Chichén Itzá, Yucatán, Mexico

Two hours and hundreds of years away from the all-inclusive beach resorts of the eastern Yucatán lies the ruins of the Mayan city of Chichén Itzá.  At the heart of the complex, the pyramid of Kukulcan squats, brooding and massive.  It is named for the feathered serpent god (kin to the Aztec Quetzalcotal) who, during the Spring and Autumn equinoxes, casts his shadow on the temple’s monumental staircase, slowly edging and extending from the top of the platform to the ground.  The Spanish Conquistadors’, with a blunt literalism befitting them, named the structure El Castillo, the castle; an understandable title but one lacking in the magic and power of the original.

Kukulcan is one of the New Seven Wonders of the World but there is much more to Chichén Itzá than its central goliath.  The whole complex is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and large enough to spend more than one visit exploring.

All is on a grand scale.  The photograph above is of the Great Ball Court where a variation of a ballgame, common in the region, was played by competing teams.  The rules are not known but the presence of stone hoops indicates an element of goal scoring.  It is believed that the sport was closely linked to ritual, with the captain of the winning team earning the honour of sacrifice to the gods, a theory supported by stone carvings of decapitation on the walls of the court.

The macabre theme continues with the Platform of the Skulls, a carved representation of a tzompantli, a wooden rack used by both the Maya and the Aztecs to display the heads of sacrificial victims and those taken in war.

When life is hard and death is ever present, in childhood, in childbirth, in sickness and injury, in war, the end loses its fear.  We dream of a better place to come and sacrifice becomes logical.  Who wouldn’t want to hasten death when to do so is to bring forth peace and riches.

At Chichén Itzá there is a clear reverence, as in so many contemporary cultures, of nature.  It is the bringer of life and the bringer of death.  Animals are worshipped for the abilities they have that we desire, the flight of the eagle, the stealth of the jaguar, the strength of the snake, the freedom of them all.

Representation of these animals can be found throughout the city, including on the Platform of the Eagles and the Jaguars, where they are depicted devouring human hearts and in the carved jaguar of the Jaguar Temple and its secret, red painted twin, hidden in the depths of Kukulcan and no longer visible by the general public.

As well as looking to the earth, the Maya looked to the sky.  They mapped the movement of the stars, the passing of the seasons, the coming of the rain.  As well as the great pyramid, other buildings on the site reflect this relationship.  El Caracol, named by the Spanish for the snail they saw reflected in its roof, bears a remarkable resemblance to the domed observatories of modern science.

To watch the sky on this flat plane requires height, and El Caracol reaches above the trees to give unobstructed views and is aligned with the path of Venus and the summer solstice sunrise and winter solstice sunset, a feat not achieved by accident.

There are representations of the human here too.  Amongst them are a number of Chac Mool, a recurring image in Central and South America, a reclining, perhaps injured warrior on whose flattened stomach ritual bowls would once have rested.

One of the largest Chac Mool lies at the top of the staircase on the four tiered Temple of Warriors, named for the bas-relief carvings on its platforms and columns.  In places paint and plaster have survived, a reminder that at one time the city would have been a vibrant, colourful place, very different from the sombre austere grey the years and the weather have left behind.

More faces look down from the walls of La Iglesia, or the church, highly decorated and part of a larger complex that archaeologists have identified as a place of government.

The scale of Chichen Itza is hard to absorb, each structure both intricate and monumental.  That one place can hold so many treasures is staggering and more than a little humbling.  Despite the heat, despite the crowds, a visit is highly recommended.

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Flashback Friday – Cave diving in the Yucatán, Mexico

Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsular is full of holes, a veritable Swiss cheese of limestone, eaten away by water, weather, wind and time.  Some of the holes are big enough for a person to squeeze through, some don’t even require much squeezing and, if there’s room, you can guarantee someone will have been in to have a look around.

Caves have a peculiar hold over humans, a complex dualism of safety and danger.  They offered our early ancestors a place of shelter but extended the same hospitality to bears, wolves and big cats.  They have preserved our art, our writing, our artefacts and also our bones.  They are places where both gods and monsters dwell, entrances to the underworld, sacred subterranean spaces where new lives can be brought forth and old ones come to an end.

It is no wonder that caves speak to us of adventure and those of the Yucatán offer a particular kind of thrill, the chance to explore underwater.

There are numerous sites to choose, dependent on ability, experience and bravery.  In June 2010 we decided upon Dos Ojos, or two eyes, a two cave system linked by a network of tunnels.  As beginners to cave diving we would never be more than 6 metres from open water, where access to the surface would be unrestricted.  As regular divers following a pre-set line and accompanied by a guide, we were aware that the dangers had been mitigated as far as possible.  In places such as this limits are to be respected and there were plenty of reminders of what awaited those who did not pay due deference.

One of the attractions of cave diving is the clarity of the water.  There are no currents or waves to cause poor visibility, and all that limestone acts as a super filter of particles.  Here the only culprits are divers lacking control of their buoyancy or with careless control of their fins.  The water is so clear as to be a little unnerving.  Whereas, in the open sea, you can expect to see 20 metres or so in excellent conditions, here, if your view is unobstructed, it can be as far as 50 or more.  Depth and distance become difficult to decipher and divers can experience a sensation akin to vertigo as they hang in the stillness.

Whether you bring your own equipment, as we did (less the aeroplane unfriendly tanks and weights), or rent from your chosen dive operator, a good torch is a must have.  I had wondered whether I would find the darkness oppressive but experience of diving in the murk of Scottish lochs is good training for low light and, examining the rock formations under the focused beam of the torch was oddly restive, an opportunity to calm the mind and block out the noise of the world above.  An experience I would highly recommend, though perhaps not to the claustrophobic.

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Pictish stones and sacred wells – the secrets of Scotland’s Black Isle

The Black Isle is neither an island nor black.  The peninsula lies 10 miles north of Inverness, with the waters of the Cromarty Firth to one side and the Moray Firth to the other.  For a small, sparsely populated place it is full of history.

Those seeking a base from which to explore the area would do worse than to choose the pretty village of Rosemarkie which sits in a wide bay.  Walk out to the far end of the beach, to the lighthouse at Chanonry Point, and your chances of seeing bottlenose dolphins will be high.  This remote place is one of the best in the whole of the UK to spot them and they particularly enjoy riding the waves created by the strong currents at the Point, caused as the sea narrows on its way towards Inverness.  They will stay and play for hours.

As well as a large population of dolphins, Rosemarkie is also home to one of Scotland’s most significant collections of Pictish stones.  The carvings were all found in and around the village’s churchyard and are now on display at the Groam House Museum.

A short drive, or even walk, from Rosemarkie is the small town of Fortrose where you can find more carved stone, this time in the grounds of the ruined 13th century cathedral.  The red sandstone with which the cathedral was built lends it a rusty air, adding to the sense of decay that hangs over the ruin.  The roof of the main building is gone, but that of the western chapel remains, and is an interesting vaulted structure, the red stone here creating the impression of the wooden hull of a ship.

Further along the road, towards the motorway that takes you south to Inverness or north to Wick and the ferry to Orkney, is another special place, Munlochy Clootie Well, which is looked after by the Forestry Commission Scotland.

Clootie wells are places of celtic pilgrimage.  Traditions vary but, in essence, someone who is unwell  visits the well with an item of clothing belonging to them.  The cloth or cloot is dipped in the sacred water and then tied to a tree.  Often the material is white to symbolise purity, although that is not strictly adhered to.  As time fades and wears the fabric so the ailment will be cured.  I was alone when I visited.  Woods always bring with them a certain feeling, a combination of ancestral fear at what might lurk there and a peace that comes from deep-rooted familiarity, but Munlochy has an atmosphere all of its own.  There is certainly something about the place.

A final recommendation for any trip to the Black Isle is to make a visit to the town of Cromarty.  This is the largest centre of population on the peninsula and there a number of accommodation options for those wanting to linger.

Historically a fishing port, with the fine architecture that comes from rich fish harvests, Cromarty is now home to galleries, bookshops and cafes as well as a dolphin watching centre that offers trips out on to the Firth.  Of particular note is The Emporium Bookshop, whose walls and ceiling are covered with the signatures of visitors.

For the previous post in the Scotland’s secrets series click here and stay tuned for the next insight coming soon.


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The real Westeros – Scotland’s Secrets #12

Wester Ross is the informal name for that part of Scotland where the Highlands meet the west coast.  Its borders are not precisely defined, running from somewhere close to Skye to the vast expanse of rock and moorland north of Ullapool.  It is a wild and remote place; what it lacks in people it more than makes up for with mountains, lochs and white sand beaches.  A road trip along its length brings vistas to rival  California’s Pacific highways, bookended by Applecross in the south (more about which you can find here) and Achmelvich in the north.

Achmelvich campsite is without doubt one of the best located sites in Scotland (vying for top spot with Horgabost on the Isle of Harris).  It lies in dunes, a short walk from a spectacular bay which you can have all to yourself with some canny off-season travelling.  As the sun goes down and the shadows play on the sand, the sea turning quickly from blue to silver to gold to black, and the deafening sound of silence drifts on the breeze, it is hard to imagine anywhere more beautiful.

Many an hour can be passed on the beach, exploring its rocks and coves, fishing for your supper, taking a trip out on to the water in a boat or kayak or simply sitting and taking it all in.

When you want to stock up on supplies, or fancy a meal sat at a table under a roof, the small fishing village of Lochinver is just three miles away and happy to oblige on both counts.  Lochinver is also the starting point for those hiking to the foot of Suilven, one of Scotland’s most distinctive mountains, a sharp ridge that rises high above the treeless landscape, dominating the skyline.

More than one route leads to the base, each providing the walker with a different face of Sulivan.  From some angles it is a steep pyramid, from some a wind smoothed dome, from others it appears as the silhouette of a sleeping giant.  The terrain is rough and the way is long, particularly if you want to include an ascent of the mountain itself.  I was satisfied with the view from below.

For the previous post in the series click here and stay tuned for more of Scotland’s secrets.


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Surrounded by stones – Ring of Brodgar, Orkney

First, the facts.  At 104 metres in diameter the Ring of Brodgar is the third largest circle of its kind in Great Britain.  It is so large that it is hard to fit all of the 27 surviving stones in to one photograph; people on the other side of the circle are difficult to make out, particularly in the wet and misty weather that is prevalent on Orkney even in the summer.  Little is known about the ring, how it was made and what it was used for, the centre of the circle has never been fully excavated and stone is notoriously hard to date.  The best estimates put construction at between 2,500 and 2,000 BC making Brodgar one of the last Neolithic monuments to be built on the island.

Now to the feelings.  Even on a cold day, with the rain falling at just the right angle to penetrate the hood and cuffs of your waterproof, with puddles to avoid, low cloud masking the horizon and dull greyness flattening the light, the presence of the stones is undeniable.  They are not monumental in height, most a head or so taller than the average person, and, across the distance of the circle and through the gathering gloom, it is easy to mistake them for figures standing solemnly in the landscape, hunched against the weather, stoic protectors of this sacred place.

Access to the stones is unrestricted (though at the time of writing it is understood that the circle is fenced off whilst repairs to the footpaths are carried out).  You can walk amongst the stones, touch their time worn surfaces, feel the residual heat from sunny days and the deep cold of the wild winters.  This is a good and rare thing but it is a privilege that is sometimes abused.  Many of the stones have been marked by graffiti; visitors to the site attempting to make the stones’ immortality their own.  Reassuringly, much of the carving is old, dating from the nineteenth century when fascination with the past was at a high.  As I traced my figures over the inscriptions, the names of men long since gone, I found myself conflicted by the marks, now themselves objects of history, and wondering what the tipping point is, when does vandalism turn in to something worthy of protection itself?

Standing apart from the circle, a watchman staring out to sea, is the enigmatic ‘Comet Stone’.  If we anthropomorphise the stones of the circle, view them as a gathering of elders, of celebrants, of protectors, who is the Comet Stone?  Guard, reject, a worshiper on their way to or from the ring?  This mysterious place offers many possibilities and it is rather nice that so little is known of the truth.  Room to exercise our imagination is a valuable thing.

To read more about the ancient world of Orkney click here.

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