Going Dutch

For the last ten months, I've been publishing posts on my backpacking odyssey through Europe in 1990. This is my twenty-third post, covering the final leg of this epic journey from Paris to Delft in the Netherlands. This was to be our final stop in Mainland Europe, before travelling to London, where we'd activate our working holiday visas and spend a year or two in the UK.

On 19 October, we caught the train from Gare du Nord to Rotterdam, where we transferred for the final leg to Delft. After more than five months on the road, it was a bittersweet moment watching the conductor stamp the final flexi day on our Eurail Youth Pass. However, our last Eurail journey didn’t go as smoothly as planned. While waiting for a train in Rotterdam, Dean’s daypack was stolen.

Our trusty backpacks came with detachable components, including day packs. Dean had removed his to grab a few items. As he momentarily turned to talk to me, an opportunistic thief swooped in and whisked it away. Fortunately, nothing of real value was lost, unless you have a fetish for used socks and underwear. However, we did lose a sentimental souvenir, namely some small, colourfully painted chunks we’d chipped off the Berlin Wall months earlier.

Despite this setback, we made the most of our brief stop with a walk into town to explore central Rotterdam. The port city was badly damaged by heavy bombing during World War II. As a result, the inner city is relatively modern, filled with largely uninspiring, functional buildings. There are some exceptions, including a series of colourful, cubical homes built in the mid-1970s, and a house designed to look like an upright pencil. Go figure!

We based ourselves in Delft, rather than Amsterdam, for easier access to some of the nation’s most iconic sights. This included its traditional windmills, its endless dikes and canals, and its famous Delft porcelain-ware. Delft was the last time we pitched our pup tent. Although we soon discovered that camping season was well and truly over. The campground was nearly empty and scheduled to close the following week. We also endured rising damp that penetrated the tent’s porous fabric floor every night.

Our first full day in the Netherlands was devoted to a day trip to Kinderdijk. This quaint village is known for its iconic 18th-century windmills, many of which stand aligned along a picturesque waterway. In all, 19 mills and 3 pumping stations, plus dikes and reservoirs that control flooding in the polder (low-lying land) surround the village. If ever you want to see lots of old-fashioned windmills, this is the place to go. Although, it took several hours to get there and back by public transportation.

The following day, we caught another bus south along the coast to see one of the nation’s most ambitious engineering feats. Just four years earlier, the Oosterscheldeking, or Eastern Storm Surge Barrier, had been  completed. This massive nine-kilometre-long structure spans a tidal opening across the Rhine-Meuse-Scheldt river delta. It was originally conceived as a closed dam. However, after public protests, a four-kilometre section was converted to open sluice gates that only close during adverse weather conditions.

We got off the bus at Neeltje Jans, one of two artificial islands built along the barrier. Here we toured the visitor centre and enjoyed a stunning view of its sluice gates disappearing across the open sea. It was pure geek heaven. On the way home, I picked up a treat for Dean’s birthday, a chunky uppercase letter D-shaped chocolate.

Our last full day in the Netherlands was spent exploring Den Haag. We started the day with a tour of De Delfse Pauw, the largest of Delft’s porcelain factories. These distinctive blue and white products were developed as more affordable alternatives to Chinese porcelain in the 17th Century. 

Dean and I watched as clay was moulded into plates. These were then kiln-fired, dipped in an opaque, white tin glaze and hand-decorated, usually with cobalt blue, before a second and final firing. The factory’s skilled artists hand-paint just four plates a day. No wonder Delftware is expensive!

On the way into Den Haag, disaster struck again. This time it was my turn. My wallet fell out of my pocket on the bus. I didn’t realise it was gone until the bus drove away. Fortunately, I kept large domination banknotes and my credit card in a pouch around my neck. 

As a result, we lost some loose change and a few small banknotes, but nothing of significance. In hindsight, this unforced error, along with Dean’s daypack theft, was driven by fatigue. Six months of relentless travel was clearly starting to take its toll.

Den Haag is a relatively compact and quaint coastal city filled with traditional buildings. We ticked off its main sights in a single afternoon, including the Hague and the iconic Peace Palace, house to the International Court of Justice. A note I made on the back of the photo above referenced the constant stream of bicycles we encountered everywhere we went. The Dutch really do love their bikes.

On outskirts of city we toured the Flora Holland Naaldwijk, a satellite branch of world’s largest flower auction house. Flower auctions take place most days in a building resembling a lecture theatre. As bidders watch from tiered seating, auction lots trundle past on motorised pallets in quick succession. Overhead, a giant clock with a single hand counts down to zero. The successful bidder is first to stop the clock. The pricing setting hand moves surprisingly fast, taking less than 20 seconds to reach zero. However, it’s a surprisingly calm, almost silent affair, yet breathtaking efficient.

On 23 October, we packed up our tent for the final time, made our way to Rotterdam, and caught a bus to London. You can learn more about our rather unusual crossing of the English Channel here.

The City of Light

Time for another retrospective post. Visiting Paris for the first time was the fulfilment of a childhood dream. For as long as I can remember, I was mesmerised by images of the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe. I finally got to see them with my own eyes in October 1990.

At the time, I was nearing the end of a three-month backpacking odyssey through Europe. Dean Keiller, a sheep-farming friend from Victoria, and I had leveraged a Eurail Youth Pass and travelled as far north as the Arctic Circle in Norway, and as far south as Morocco. Our final two weeks on the road were devoted to visiting Paris, the Netherlands and then making our way across the Channel to London.

Getting to Paris was another bucket list moment. On 13 October, we caught the 15:52pm TGV service bound for Paris in Avignon. As a civil engineering geek, I’d always dreamed of riding a high-speed train. The TGV had entered service just nine years earlier on a new high-speed line from Lyon to Paris, reaching a top speed of 270 km/h.

As a result, the train we caught travelled on a regular rail track until it reached Lyon, where it transitioned onto its dedicated line. You know immediately when the transition has occurred as the train’s speed increased dramatically. Dean and I were like kids in a candy store as the French countryside began to blur past the window. It was definitely worth the extra surcharge we paid on our Eurail tickets.

However, this wasn’t the only unique rail travel moment we experienced. Earlier in the day, we’d crossed the border into France after catching a train from Barcelona. Back then, Spanish trains ran on Iberian gauge tracks (1668mm width), while France used standard gauge (1435mm). As a result, when the train crossed the border near Perpignan, it had to transition onto the narrower French rails.

Carriages on the Spanish train featured an adjustable boogie that allowed their wheels to be slowly pushed together or pulled apart using a gauge-changing device. However, the train engine’s wheels were always fixed, so it was always swapped at the border. Converting the entire train took about ten minutes. These days, the high-speed train network in Spain runs on standard gauge, so its trains travel seamlessly across Europe.

After travelling continuously for almost 18 hours from Seville, we finally arrived in Paris mid-evening. Here we transferred to the local rail network and made our way to a campsite in the outer suburbs. For the next five days, we explored the City of Lights from top to bottom.

Naturally, our first full day in Paris was devoted to visiting its most iconic sights, including the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower. We climbed both structures. The Eiffel Tower was particularly challenging. You could climb the stairway from the ground to the second level for seven francs or spend 11 francs and climb the stairs to the third level. As budget-wary backpackers, we elected to climb the stairs all the way. I’m glad we did, as it gave us a more intimate look at the tower’s structure and engineering. I loved it.

I had the same reaction to a scale model replica of the Statue of Liberty standing on an artificial island in the Seine. The original statue was designed by French sculptor Bartholdi, and its innovative iron skeleton by Gustavo Eiffel. It was built and assembled in a workshop in Paris before being shipped to New York as a gift to the American people in 1887. The local replica was one of the workshop's working models. Parisian expatriates living in the United States bought it and gave it to Paris in 1889.

Our remaining days were filled with many highlights, including a trip up the hill to Basilique du Sacré-Cœur de Montmartre, the iconic white-domed church offering uninterrupted views of the city. At the base of the hill I still recall my first glimpse of the faux windmill atop the equally iconic Moulin Rouge cabaret hall. Although we never ventured inside.

Dean and I also visited Hotel des Invalides to see Napoleon’s tomb, marvelled at the crazy pipework cladding on the Pompidou Centre, and gazed in awe at the interior of Notre Dame Cathedral. A note on the back of the photo above reminded me that I took it while sitting on Dean’s shoulders. It was the only way to get a shot with plenty of Autumn colour in the foreground.

The collonaded building shown above is La Madeleine. It’s actually a regular Catholic Church, surrounded on four sides by soaring Corinthian columns. This rather unorthodox design reflects its origins as a royal showpiece. Louis XV commissioned it as the focal point of the new Rue Royal, leading to the new Place Louis XV, the present Place de la Concorde. It’s easy to understand why the French eventually overthrew their king when you see one indulgent building after another around the city.

We spent at least half a day exploring the Louvre from one end to the other. Like all good tourists, we stopped to admire La Giaconda, better known as the Mona Lisa, and like so many before us, came away surprised at how small and unassuming the portrait really was. I also loved seeing the Venus de Milo sans her arms and the equally iconic Winged Victory of Samothrace.

Once again, much like our experience in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, we couldn’t believe the endless stream of iconic artist names on display throughout the museum. As an aside, Dean and I visited the Louvre long before its glass pyramid entrance opened. This famous structure didn’t start greeting guests until 1993. 

On our final full day in Paris, 18 October, Dean and I ventured out of town to explore the Palace of Versailles. This former royal residence was easy to reach by train, about 18 km from the city centre. Commissioned by King Louis XIV in 1661, it became the seat of the royal court the following year and remained so until the French Revolution.

The palace is an extraordinary complex. Its statistics are mind-boggling. The palace itself sits on an estate of more than 800 hectares (8 square kilometres). The main building boasts 2,143 windows, 1,252 chimneys and 67 staircases. Within the grounds sits an equally impressive building, a French Baroque-style chateau known as the Grand Trianon. It served as a less formal retreat for the royal family.

Without doubt, the most famous room in the entire palace is the iconic Hall of Mirrors. This 400-metre-long gallery links two wings of the palace. It features 17 windows facing west towards the formal gardens and parkland, while the opposing wall has 17 equally large mirrors. These mirrors reflected the king’s wealth as mirror glass was an expensive luxury in the 17th century. It could only be made with considerable effort, which took time and money to complete. 

As you can see from the image above, which I’ve pulled from the web, the ceiling in the Hall of Mirrors is also richly decorated. One final fun fact: the infamous Treaty of Versailles, which ended the First World War, was signed here. It was the most opulent palace that Dean and I had ever seen. Decades later, I’d get to explore royal residences in London, St Petersburg and Vienna that rival Versailles. However, as my first experience of European royal decadence, it made a lifelong impression. 

On 19 October, Dean and I packed our bags and headed for the Netherlands. This was to be our final destination in continental Europe before making our way to London. However, we decided to base ourselves in Delft, rather than travel further north to Amsterdam. 

We chose this southern town for its proximity to iconic locations, including Kinderdijk and the nation’s dike system. In particular, we were keen to see the engineering marvel that is Oosterscheldekering, the enormous storm-surge barrier which had opened just three years earlier. Not sure what I’m talking about? Follow this post, which explains everything.

To London by Hoverspeed

Riding a hovercraft across the English Channel was always a childhood dream. As an engineering fanatic, I simply loved the futurist look and feel of hovercraft transport. I finally fulfilled my dream in October 1990, when I caught a Hoverspeed craft from Calais to Dover. This trip was the final leg of a six-month odyssey travelling through Europe. At the time, Dean Keiller and I were on our way to London. We’d just finished a three-month Eurail backpacking adventure around Western Europe and were running out of time to validate our UK working holiday visas.

On 23 October, we caught a bus from Rotterdam to Calais, passing through Belgium along the way. We’d just completed a four-day whirlwind tour of southern Holland, exploring its dikes and windmills. I’ll share more about this experience in a separate post. We’d bought a combined ticket that included a bus to France, a hovercraft crossing, and a bus to London.  

The bus we caught to Calais had originated in Amsterdam. At the time, much like today, this Dutch city was renowned for its liberal regulation of marijuana. As a result, the French border guards in Calais took one look at Dean and me with our heavily laden backpacks and casual track pants and decided we were prime drug-smuggling candidates.

They searched our backpacks from top to bottom, quizzed us relentlessly about our assumed drug habits and our potentially illicit intentions in the UK. They were understandably flummoxed by our stories of travelling through Eastern Europe preaching the gospel and the Bibles in our bags. They eventually let us pass, stamping our passports and directing us into the Hoverspeed departure lounge.

The arrival of the Princess Anne, a Mountbatten-class (SR.N4) hovercraft, was an awe-inspiring sight. Watching it glide up the hoverport’s gently sloping beachside ramp was simply breathtaking. At the time, it was the world’s largest commercial hovercraft, powered by four massive Rolls-Royce engines that drove four equally impressive propellers. It could carry up to 418 passengers and 60 cars (loaded from the front) and cross the channel in less than half an hour. You can see her in the opening photo above.

Dean and I were booked on a slightly smaller vessel, the Swift, which carried 278 passengers and 36 cars (loaded from the rear). I recently learned that it was taken out of service and scrapped less than a year after we rode it. The Princess Anne continued operating until 2000, when it was finally retired, thus ending all hovercraft services across the channel. Apparently, the Swift held the record for the fastest crossing until Princess Anne surpassed it with a 22-minute voyage in 1995. That's the Swift arriving in France, shown above.

The ride across the channel wasn’t as expected. We’d anticipated a smooth ride, gliding, effortlessly across the water on a cushion of air. The reality proved very different. The day we crossed, the sea was rather choppy with small white-capped waves. As a result, the hovercraft bounced, or rather crashed, its way through the cresting waves, resulting in a bone-jarring trip across the channel. It would be fair to say that a fast crossing that was this uncomfortable wasn’t something I wanted to repeat anytime soon.

Upon arrival in Dover, we transferred to another bus that took us into central London. We then transferred on the Tube to London Bridge station and caught the train to Catford Bridge to stay with my Auntie Shirley and Uncle Tony. Dean and I based ourselves on their lounge floor for the next few weeks as we explored London and debated our working holiday plans. I’ll share more about our time in the UK in future posts.

One final observation.  Our bus to Calais stopped for a mandatory driver's rest break in Belgium. This was my first time in Belgium.  However, the stop didn't meet the minimum criteria required for me to mark it as a country I've visited. It would be another 18 years before I'd finally return to Belgium.