Danke, aber nein danke (part II)

Has Alemannia got wind of the discontent felt among Roda fans (see below)? No sooner had I posted my blog last week than these posters (in Dutch) started appearing all over Kerkrade and Heerlen, advertising Alemannia Aachen's inaugural match of the 2009/10 season at the new Tivoli stadium in the city (Alemannia currently plays in the 2nd division of the German Bundesliga).

A number of years ago, Alemannia qualified for the UEFA cup, but because of stadium requirements at the time, they were not allowed to play at the old Tivoli. In consequence, the club submitted a request to UEFA to have their home games played at the new purpose-built, 20,000 seater, Parkstad Limburg stadium, Roda JC's home ground - just 12 kilometres away. A logical choice it would seem. However, the request was turned down on the grounds that clubs representing their football association were not permitted to play outside the territory in which the association's jurisdication held sway. Instead, they played their home legs at FC Cologne's ground, over 60 kilometres away.

Talk about daft!

Danke, aber nein danke

Roda JC, the Kerkrade-based football club which plays in the top-flight of the Dutch league, this week issued a statement advising its fans to desist from singing German-language chants at its home matches. The club has been moved to issue the statement following the findings of a survey carried out by Club Positioning Matrix, which reveal that the club has a 'weinig sympathiek Duits imago'. The reason is primarily financial, the club say. Income from television rights is distributed on the basis of a club's positioning in the matrix and Roda come off pretty badly in the rankings, supposedly as a result of this 'German' image. More than anything, the management wants to develop its image as a mainstream 'Dutch' club (thus enhancing its chances of increased revenue) and ditch its regional identity: the insinuation is that a German image is bad for the club.

Traditionally, goals scored by the home club at Parkstad Stadion Limburg are celebrated in the German style, with the tannoy system booming out 'Danke', to be reciprocated by a 'Bitte' from those in the stands. Another favourite chant of the crowd is 'Viva Colonia', a song written by Cologne-based band De Höhner, popular at Carnaval as well as on the terraces in the Rheinland region of Germany (and in Dutch Limburg).

In a country where anti-German sentiment is often simmering just below the surface, perhaps one shouldn't be surprised to see the words 'weinig sympathiek' (less favourable) and 'Duits' (German) used in the same breath. Nevertheless, I find the juxtaposition of words pretty woeful.

Equally lamentable are the attempts by the club management to snuff out regional identity. Sadly, many Limburgers themselves are only too oblivious to the cultural and linguistic roots they share with their neighbours. After all, it is only by a quirk of fate that 'Limburg' became part of the Netherlands. If history had taken a different turn, Limburgers might well have become Germans or Flemings. The 'vernederlandsing' of Limburg has been a slow, gradual process.

Linguistically, the Limburg dialect is Ripuarian in origin, spoken widely in the region to the west of the Rhine. In the south-eastern corner of Limburg, German for a long time competed with Dutch as the Lingua Franca. Up until the 1930's, German was still being used in some churches. In Kerkrade, up until 1911, there was a German language newspaper (see above). In fact, culturally speaking, there's a whole raft of customs and traditions which connect Limburg more closely with the Rheinland than with 'Holland': food architecture, industry (mining), religion, culture (Carnaval, the schutterijen, brass bands, Schlagermusik, etc.)

The Roda management may do its best to stamp out the German chanting, but old habits die hard and thankfully traditional regional affinities persist, if only sometimes in a latent, subliminal form. (Ironically, the name Roda refers to the region known as the Land of Roda which straddles the border between Kerkrade in the Netherlands and Herzogenrath in Germany.)

As the addage goes, you can take the Kerkradenaar out of Kerkrade, but you can't take Kerkrade out of the Kerkradenaar.

Woldgate

A few days ago, I was driving along Woldgate in the East Riding of Yorkshire, in countryside not dissimilar to South Limburg, after spending a terrific afternoon at Flamborough Head. This C-classified road is as straight as an arrow and is marked on the Ordnance Survey map as a Roman Road, which supposedly linked York with the coast from where I'd just come. There are 'gates' aplenty in the North-East of England, most notably in York (Stonegate, Goodramgate and Skeldergate). These 'gates' have nothing to do with the gateways that are dotted around the ancient city walls of York, which are known locally as bars (Bootham Bar, Monk Bar). The names of these streets originate from the Viking word 'gata', meaning 'road' or 'way'. Presumably, the name Woldgate is derived from the same origin.

We know that much of the region was under Viking domination prior to 950, where Danish law and custom were observed, hence the name Danelaw to denote the territory that split England in two along a line from the Dee to the Thames. To the south-west of the line, Anglo-Saxon law held sway.

The Vikings first invaded England in around 800 and over the next 50 years or so seized large amounts of territory in Northern England including the Northumbrian (Anglo-Saxon) capital of Eoforwik, which was renamed Jorvik (now York). Viking settlements were established in the fertile regions in the North and East Anglia (alongside existing Anglo-Saxon ones). The Danes divided Yorkshire into three parts called 'Ridings' (Old Norse for 'third') for administrative purposes and these three regions were to survive for many centuries.

It was not far from here, at Stamford Bridge, that in 1066 the Vikings suffered their final defeat on English soil at the hands of King Harold, who himself lost a more famous battle two weeks later at Hastings.

The Yorkshire Wolds abounds with strange-sounding place names: Wetwang, Thwing, Langtoft, Kirkby Grindalythe, Weaverthorpe, Ruston Parva, Fangfoss and Nunburnholme to name but a few. The exact origins of these place names is uncertain, but what is for sure is that they include common Viking elements: Toft (a plot of land or farm), Thorpe (a small farm, hamlet of outlying settlement), By (a farm or village), Holm (water meadow) and Foss (a ditch). It is thought that 40 percent of place names in the East Riding of Yorkshire owe their existence to a Scandinavian presence, even though these settlements might have already been in existence during Saxon rule. And Viking and Saxon settlements would have coexisted with each other.

Some language historians have theorised that the mix of the two languages was responsible for kick-starting the 'simplification' of Old English into Middle English. Until the arrival of the Scandinavians, Old English was a strongly inflected tongue (like modern German) where common words relied on word-endings to convey a meaning for which we now use prepositions, like 'to', 'with' and 'from'. And, for example, by adding an -s, plurals were made less complicated. Only a few old noun inflections have survived, such as geese, mice and children. The complications of the language, it is said, were gradually ironed out as a way for Anglo-Saxon and Scandinavian speakers to understand each other better, through an ongoing process of 'pidginsation'. Of course, this shift didn't take place overnight, but over a period of centuries.

In addition to their place names, the Vikings donated many words to the English language (common words like get, hit, leg, low, root, skin, same, want and wrong are all of Scandinavian origin) and even more words survive in dialect. The word 'laik', for example, still enjoys popular use by children throughout the North-East and Cumbria, where it means 'to play'. A famous Danish product that many people will have played with in their childhood is Lego, which comes from the Danish 'leg godt' meaning to 'play well'.

Two Men on the Bummel

The Westweg runs north to south for 285 kilometres in the south-western corner of Germany from Pforzheim to Basel. It is one of the oldest routes of its kind in the country and its traverse is not one for the faint-hearted or those who are short of time.

This long-distance hiking trail was mapped out more than 100 years ago. It crosses the western ridges and valleys of the Black Forest and takes in some of the highest peaks in the range, such as the Feldberg and Hornisgrinde, and some of the most fantastic scenery in the whole of Germany. Those who wish to trek its entirety in one go should allow at least 2 weeks for the walk, possibly more, since each stage of the journey averages out at 20 kilometres per day. Add to that the steep and circuitous ascents and descents, that amounts to a seriously tough challenge, not to mention all the forward-planning and logistics of overnight stops.

Some like myself, like to do it in more leisurely, shorter bouts covering one or two sections at a time. Doing it at different seasons can add to the charm of the experience and, of course, the organisation is a lot less complex.

As I write, my legs are still recovering from the excesses of a 60-kilometre hike along the final two stages from Wiedener Eck to Basel at the southern end of the route. I had covered 3 sections of the Westweg in recent visits, but my walking partner, and his four-legged companion, who live in the northern half of the Black Forest had already completed the 225-kilometre to Wiedener Eck in individual sections over the last 18 months, so, for him (and his Klein Münsterländer), the 'stroll' down to the Rhine on the Swiss border would represent the culmination of an epic traverse of this mountain range.

Wiedener Eck to Kandern (day 1) is one of the most elevated sections of the Westweg and includes the massive hulk of Belchen (1414 metres), referred to as the Crown-Prince of the Black Forest summits, and Blauen (1165 metres).

We were thankful to have left the oppressive heat and humidity of the Rhine valley behind us as we started the incessant, energy-sapping zig-zag climb up the northern flanks of Belchen. The view from the top was as rewarding as it is stunning, even though the haze blotted out the far-reaching panoramas to the Alps and the Vosges. Einfach grandios! screeched the guidebook, adding mundanely: if it weren't for the long stretch ahead to Kandern, it might be possible to linger there for an eternity. After the long slog uphill, a much flatter passage to the Blauen follows, with the path hugging the contours of the main ridge at a more or less constant level in a south-westerly direction. It required one final lunge to reach the summit of Blauen before the last downhill stretch. Here, at the restuarant, our dog, in an unprovoked attack, got embroiled in a fight with the proprietor's mutt ("Mein Hund kämpft aber nicht," he had told us beforehand) and it took all our efforts, not to say bravado, to separate the two canine combatants. We left hotfoot and made our way onto the path that slipped away into woodland and down the hill. Our descent to the town of Kandern was plagued by the sound of approaching thunder and we fairly ran the 10 kilometres to avoid the risk of any adversity.

The overnight stay at Hotel Weserei in Kandern was accompanied by some excellent Badische fare and ample beer, reviving not only our aching bodies, but also our spirits.

We set off on day 2 through the gently undulating lanscape of the Markgräflerland, 26.5 kilometres short of the southern terminus of the Westweg. At these lower levels of the Voorschwarzwald, we were glad of the woodland sections to keep us cool, for by the time we had reached Basel, temperatures had soared to 30 degrees Celsius. At Burg Rötteln, we stopped for some Radler in the shade of lime trees at what my walking companion declared was the best biergarten in Germany (some accolade). Sadly, the 285-kilometre trail ends in a bit of a whimper, skirting an autobahn near the town of Lörrach and concluding along a monotonous 5-kilometre stretch in Switzerland, before entering the city of Basel. Gone here were the familiar Schwarzwaldverein signposts and a single, inconspicuous plaque marks the end of this classic trail at the Badische Bahnhof in Basel. As we supped our refreshing Weizen in the station bar, our euphoria was tempered by the fact that the bill weighed in at a whopping 14 Swiss Francs for two beers!

Grounded (part II)

The circus has been and gone and after the invasion, our quiet little street is, well, quiet again.

I've been eating humble pie for the last two days and telling all in sundry how much fun it was. No, really. I've never seen the street so busy before - and I'm not just talking about the wielrenners and their entourage (the support vehicles that follow the pack of cyclists in hot pursuit, at breakneck speed). Many of my neighbours decided to turn their front gardens into party venues, others residents brought their garden chairs with them and parked themselves on the pavement for the duration, and some people just walked up and down the street and joined in the fun.

At the end of the day, I almost found myself wishing we could have another day of racing. There really is nothing like a cycle race to bring about some neighbourhood bonding. And more than anything, it was a lesson in Dutch culture.

So please, please, come back next year...

Grounded

I'm sure this happens elsewhere, but I'd like to imagine that this is the sort of thing that only takes place in Netherlands. Spring and summer are popular times for the Dutch to interfere with their traffic circulation system. If it's not roadworks - which seem to start when temperatures hit 10 degrees Celsius and end when the building contractors take their annual leave in July - it's the cyclists.

In Dutch they have two words for cyclist: one is fietser, a category into which I quite happily fit, and wielrenner. The latter are those who race around in packs, dressed in tight-fitting lycra emblazoned with an array of sponsors' names. In high summer, it's not unusual to be driving around, minding your own business, when all of a sudden you'll hear the whistle of an officious looking verkeersregelaar telling you that the road you want to follow is out of bounds for the rest of the day: the wielrenners have taken over.

Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating when I say it happens a lot, and I try to remain philosophical about it. I mean, I'm a foreigner who chooses to live here and should be tolerant towards my host country's predilictions. In general I am, but this weekend - when the Dutch professional cycling championships come to town - takes the biscuit. Not only are the races being held in Heerlen, but last Tuesday, when I received a missive from the council on my doormat, I discovered they're actually coming down MY street. We're talking about two whole days here: on Saturday AND Sunday the street is strictly off limits to car traffic - no bad thing in itself - but, worse still, there's a parking ban, and me and my neighbours who live in this peaceful side-road have been told that our vehicles will otherwise be towed away (presumably at our expense).

Many Limburgers will no doubt enter into the spirit of the occasion and watch the cyclists flash past from the comfort of their own front gardens with a crate of beer. Others will be bemoaning the fact that the organisers (including the local council) have decided to stage the event slap-bang in the middle of the south side of town and will be confined to their homes on what looks like being a warm, sunny weekend.

Right now, I'm thanking my lucky stars that I'd not planned on moving house this weekend or running errands that require trips back and forth to the shops. In fact, secretly, I'm looking forward to my street being a centre of attention tomorrow, but I won't be shouting it from the rooftops, nor will I have a crate of beer.

Who knows? Maybe in a couple of years when I've spent the majority of my years in the Netherlands, I'll give up watching cricket and head off to the nearest cycle store for some lycra - but I seriously doubt it.

Nieuw Amsterdam

When Henry Hudson weighed anchor off Manhattan Island in 1609 to sail up the river that bears his name in a vain attempt to find a North-West Passage, little could he have realised that this safe anchorage would develop into an iconic world city that celebrates its 400th birthday this year. Hudson was in the employ of the Dutch East-Indies Company, and later, a trading settlement was established here under the auspices of the newly established Dutch West-Indies Company. The anniversary is being marked by a number of events on both sides of the Atlantic in 2009, not least an exhibition at the Rijksmeuseum in Amsterdam: Return to Manhattan (Weerzien met Manhattan).

It was the last day of the exhibition on Whit Monday, so I took my chance and travelled up to the Dutch capital. Having been to New York 2 years ago and having read up on its history, I went in eager anticipation. It was a great day out but the exhibition itself was disappointing with just a handful of exhibits on display - even the Nightwatch covered more surface area - and no commemorative material whatsoever, but for a nostaligic, Dutch-centric Elsevier publication: Ons Amerika. 400 jaar Nederlandse Sporen in de Verenigde Staten. This despite the fact that Russell Shorto's best-selling and authoritative book on the early history of New York (i.e. Nieuw Amsterdam) had been published 5 years previously (and been translated into Dutch): The Island at the Centre of the World.

Perhaps a visit to the Henry Hudson 400 site would have sufficed.

Until recently, little had been known about this fledgling Dutch colony that marked the beginning of the Big Apple. Much of the early documents pertaining to Nieuw Nederland had been gathering dust in the New York State archives in Albany (formerly Fort Orange). What's more there was no one able to decipher, transcribe and translate the handwritten Dutch documents into English. That was until 35 years ago, when historian Charles Gehring decided to start examining these early records. Much of his painstaking research forms the basis for Shorto's intriguing insight.

New facts are being uncovered all the time about this fascinating period, which has so far been treated as a footnote of history. It can be argued that the founding of New York was of even greater significance than the landing of the Pilgrim Father's at New Plymouth, but it is this latter event (in 1620) which is marked by Americans in Thanksgiving as the founding of the American Dream (of course, there is a Dutch connection here too).

Even the vast majority of Americans are unaware that such time-honoured New York place names such as Harlem, Brooklyn, Jonkers and Flushing have Dutch origins (Haarlem, Breukelen, Jonkheer and Vlissingen), not to mention Stone Arabia in the Mohawk Valley, which may be a corruption of Stenen Rapen. Other place names, such as Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Rensselaer and Watervliet, in upstate New York are less subtle reminders that this was once a Dutch colony. A form of Dutch was spoken here until the end of the 19th century before it ultimately died out. In the meantime, English adopted Dutch words some of which are in widespread use today, such as cookies, boss, cole-slaw and stoop.

The pioneering Dutch rulers were eventually forced out of Nieuw Amsterdam by the English, who not only had expanding colonies to the north (New England) and south (Virginia), but who were probably more committed to investing resources in North America (whilst the Dutch focused on their East Indian possessions). Ultimately of course, the English themselves were ran out of New York by the revolutionaries, but that's another chapter of history altogether.

Perhaps more material will be unearthed in future which will shed more light on the subject. But one thing still seems to be indisputable: it was an Englishman who is celebrated as the founder of modern-day New York.

A Dutch book on the origins of New York is to be published shortly, the author having been responsible for the organisation of the exhibition at the Rijksmuseum:

Nieuw Amsterdam / New York by Martine Gosselink

Other popular histories have been written about other early American colonies, most notably:

Big Chief Elizabeth: How England's Adventurers Gambled and Won the New World, by Giles Milton, and

Mayflower: A Voyage to War by Nathaniel Philbrick