City Visits - Random Walks in the Low Countries

Up the River Stour, Christchurch

May 25, 2015 by Dave Hampton

Christchurch lies at the confluence of the Rivers Stour and Avon, just east of Bournemouth along the Dorset coast. With a secure harbour and easy inland access up the river, the town (originally known as Twynham) has always been an important trading, smuggling, and defense point.

I usually see the town only on side view as I zip past on the A338 to Ringwood. Occasionally, if meandering towards the New Forest parks, I’ll stop at Mudeford Quay, straddling the entrance to Christchurch Harbour, for crab sandwiches or stormwatching,

I’m overdue for a good exploration of the town, so took advantage of the Bank holiday and a walking map in Dorset Magazine to spend time walking. The areas along the rivers and harbour are nicer than the town itself, which seems crowded and common with the flea market dominating the main road.

A good walk begins at the Priory: the most visible landmark, an 11th-14th century monastery established where the rivers flow into the tidal estuary at Place Mill. The church is one of the larger ones built in England, and (with help) I followed the architectural changes where the nave was extended an additional story, and the addition of the Lady Chapel.

Outside, there is a nice walk along parks bordering the River Stour. It’s mostly high-end homes and boats along the north side, boardwalks through the southern marshlands are accessible via the Wick Ferry.

It became a walk/sit, walk/eat, walk/read, walk/coffee sort of ‘casual morning, relaxed and warm. I fiddled with improving the light and composition in my photos, ‘took some notes for the upcoming week.

On second visit, I’m most likely to explore further upriver, renting one of the kayaks and getting either further into the tidal marshes or up past the main bridge, where homes and sailboats give way to woodlands and wildflowers.

To the IoM

May 20, 2014 by Dave Hampton

It’s Pitch Week, traveling up and down the UK to describe the business and solicit investment from angel investment groups. I’m not quite to the “Fundraising is Fun” opinion yet, but I am coming to enjoy the events, telling our story, answering the questions, conveying our enthusiasm. Angels can be as aspirational as entrepreneurs, their interest in seeing a good idea reach market is just as strong, their pride in business success just as deep.

Monday means the Isle of Man (IoM), an hour flight across the Irish Sea (a good test question), and down into Castletown. Actually, twice: a shifting crosswind led to an aborted landing and much speculation that we were going to spend a couple of hours on the ground in Liverpool (Wind is to IoM what Fog is to Guernsey: endless cause of flight delays)

I took the bus to the venue in Douglas, a large-ish city midway up the east coast. At first glance, it’s a lot like the Channel Islands: lots of green fields, cows, and stately farms. IoM is a self-governing Crown Dependency, not really a part of Britain or the EU, more retreat than country. The local symbols are the Triskelion (a lot like Sicily’s Trinacria) and the Manx (a cat with no tail); they are everywhere (along with vaguely Welch signage and thick accents). The hotel was along the Loch Promenade, a gently sweeping curve of vaguely Llandudno-style hotels surrounding the harbour. Largely, today, obscured by pelting rain.

Then thunderstorms.

Then the sun came out.

I found a little hole-in-the-wall café to try a typical Manx dish: ham, egg, chips, leek soup with heavy chunks of bread and butter. Good energy food for the afternoon. The people remind me of life back in the Village: very familiar and set, a quick smile and greeting for friends and a dedicated place in the diner. (This was reinforced when I got a text message from one participant telling me he’d just seen me drive past in a car with another: a very small world.)

The evening was productive, the pitch was well received. There was even a bonus: a specialty coating company around the island with the plasma chamber of my dreams.

With a quality hospital, a credible biomed cluster, and a few good partnerships, it might work out for some future manufacture ahead of an exit.

Along the Jurassic coast

June 30, 2013 by Dave Hampton

It’s been a seriously difficult week. Stress and crisis filled every day: it started to interfere with sleep, digestion, confidence. Even I can realize when its finally time to step back and get some perspective before something worse happens. I turned to the window and dialed friends outside Bournmouth, asked if they’d mind giving me refuge for a weekend.

They live near Canford Cliffs, a lovely upscale village next to the Jurassic coast of sheer chalk walls rising straight from the cobalt sea, changing color with the light. The weekend weather couldn’t have been better: sunny and breezy, blue water and high thin clouds. The younger kite-surfers were out on the lagoon in force; other parents convoyed power and sailboats past the Chain Ferry and out to sea.

We took the Yellow Ferry to Brownsea Island, famous as the founding home of the Boy Scouts and a big population of red squirrels. It reminds me of Maine, tall red-trunked pines and driftwood beaches, islands dotting the horizon. We walked the circumference, enjoyed tea, talked a storm comparing countries, peoples, customs.

Then over to Swanage to see the Corfe Castle ruins, drop their kids at horseback riding, on to Pimms and lamb with a chatty group of their friends. It was long ago, long forgotten, normalcy.

Poole’s houses are huge by British standards, but squeezed together like American developments. They are of two types, classic British country houses and Miami-modernist white plaster and blue glass.

My favorite was Emprio (£3.9 million, although the realtor confided that she’d take £3 million if I paid cash). The third-floor master bedroom had a glass wall with panoramic views of the harbor across the foot of the bed.

We all talked a lot about life, generally and in it’s particulars for the week; my worries and theirs. It really helped me to air out a bit; hopefully my stomach stays unclenched when I get back.

More pictures, of course, on my Flickr site.

Hangin’ at Heineken

July 19, 2012 by Dave Hampton

I don’t know how I missed this before.

Friends came into town to celebrate their 35th anniversary: they are taking a Baltic cruise departing Amsterdam for two weeks of city-gazing.

Their plane arrived at 6 am from Atlanta, so I stayed at the Citizen M the night before, still a funky delight at a reasonable price and great position. There’s something about taking tube showers under purple lighting that makes the day okay.

Sunshine was in sort supply so we swung into plan B and worked some covered strategies for seeing the city. The Anne Frank Huis, the canal boat tour, lunch met poffertjes, koffie, en appletaart, avondmaal at the Five Flies. Not typically Dutch, but kind of typical for me.

I demurred on the Coffeeshops, the Red Light district (too rainy for either, really), so the remaining sin was biertje. And that means Heineken.

The brewery tour comes highly recommended, and it was a cut above most. There’s a small museum with history and hammering home the tenants of the Brand before getting down to the serious business of brewing. First there is a lecture on making beer, with samples of roasted barley and hops. Then there are brewing vats and ore tasting of hops and barley. Then an interactive ride through the brewing process. I was becoming an expert in when and how much Yeast “A” to add during the process.

Finally, to the tasting. I’ve been through a lot of tours in Milwaukee, England and Ireland, and the Heineken tasting tops them all. First there was a tasting room with questions about the brewing process: we were rewarded with glasses of beer (2 glasses). Then a small bar where we traded tokens for beer (2 more glasses). Then interactive games for a chance to win more beer. And, finally, a shuttle boat back into the city and another round of beer (this time to appreciate the new plastic bottles: 1 beer).

By the time we rolled off the boat, I had Heineken stamped firmly onto my bubbled brain. It’s a fun tour and a good diversion for a rainy afternoon – allow two hours to see everything and a couple of more before attempting to operate heavy equipment.

Disclaimer: We purchased lodging and tickets ourselves throughout – I was neither asked nor incented to write this.

Once around Sint Pietersberg

April 27, 2012 by Dave Hampton

maastricht_image3 Maastricht sits astride the Maas river, as it has since Roman times. The river has a shallow section in this area that supports a crossing, otherwise the town lies in a bowl (the Maasvallei) surrounded by (not very Dutch-like) hills. And, to the southwest is a particular and prominent hill: St. Pietersberg.

On the surface, it’s famous for dominating, capped with Fort St. Pieter. This structure, thick stone walls surrounded by a deep moat, dates back to 1700. The French besieged the city from this hill (and others) in 1673, overwhelming the defenses in just three weeks. After the Treaty of Nijmegen returned the city to the Dutch in 1678, the fort was constructed as a (very) forward defense and was a major part of the city’s fortifications throughout the wars against the French through the entire 1700’s.

In 1987, I visited Maastricht to interview for a job with Diva Medical, a startup creating wireless diabetes monitoring systems. The company was lodged in a chateau donated by the city; engineers filled the turrets. I was offered the position of Engineering Director and we visited a gourmet restaurant in the Fort, now long gone, to celebrate. My son was due to be born in two months so I ultimately did not take the job, although it’s always been funny that life curled around to Maastricht again, decades later.

Today, there is a smaller café alongside the fort with a (pay) entry to the limestone caves that honeycomb the hills. These were used as refuges and hiding places through the ages, and tours are still given of the old storerooms and fortifications beneath. A large quarry craters the far side of the hill, due to be fully closed in a few years and then restored to a more natural state. Otherwise, the mountain is filled with forest and farmhouses, some converted to guest houses and offering wonderful views across the valley.

Further down the face of the hill is a former casino, now converted to the restaurant Buitengoed Slavante. The enormous terrace has wonderful views of the river and the city, a great place to sip coffee and swap stories after hiking over the hill.

And, coming back around the base towards the Fort, you pass Andre Rieu’s home (sadly, no sign of the famous musician, who’s been laid up with back problems lately). There were, however, some lovely exotic pigs in the nearby fields, eager to roll over for a belly rub.

‘really a nice tour for a sunny weekend afternoon.

Katrina and Nola

October 23, 2011 by Dave Hampton

Hurricane Katrina blew through the Gulf Coast six years ago. I had recently attended a heart meeting in New Orleans and was transfixed by the scenes of homeless and desperate people filling the Convention Center. I could trace my steps through the water on Canal Street, remembering a tour guide who warned that if the levees ever broke, water could reach second story windows across downtown. It seemed fantastic; now it was real.

I’ve been to New Orleans many times, from band trips in college through business trips to Tulane. The city is filled with memories, beignets from Café du Monde, oysters from Acme, the voodoo shop at the end of Bourbon Street, riding streetcars to see where the lines end. Karen had never been,so we decided to celebrate her birthday with a pilgrimage and and some fine dining (dinner at Bayona was superb).

Some cities were much worse hit – we stopped in Biloxi to find…nothing remaining. There were city blocks along the waterfront, borders of trees and cracked driveway pads to mark addresses, but no buildings. Not even “For Sale” signs. The casinos had returned, along with some of the shrimp boats, but, apart from a few damaged civic buildings, there was very little left. It may not all be Katrina, I think that casinos exert toxic effects on the surrounding town economies, whatever the promise of new jobs and tourism.

The outskirts of New Orleans were still damaged, roofs and siding torn from houses, tarps covering window holes. The downtown core is better, wash marks visible but the reconstruction complete. Bourbon Street is unchanged. The big news was that the Hyatt Hotel, blown out during the storm, was reopening after six years of renovation.

But the city retains a lot of charm and friendliness, the music playing late and the coffee served early. From a base at the Royal Sonesta, we enjoyed two days of food, drinks, and music. Krystal is still serving small, square classic gut bombs; Pat O’Briens pours bright pink Hurricanes (with no irony), the Café is still enveloped in a haze of chicory coffee and powdered sugar (we opted for a quiet bench in Jackson Square). The Funky Pirate hosted wonderful blues, the superlative “Big” underestimates both Big Al’s size and his Blues Masters group’s music.

The cheapest drinks along the strip are shots, delivered in test tubes and running about $2. Beers ran up towards $5 and mixed were above that, hustlers promised ever bigger glasses and higher proofs for half-price or less. Our running favorite was Everclear, served with a cherry and cheerfully illegal in 19 states.

The Louisiana State Museum has a good exhibit remembering Katrina – it’s frank about the scale of the disaster and the inadequacy of the response. The overriding theme is We can do better next time. Upstairs is a history of Carnival, interesting to contrast it with the Maastricht equivalent (nowhere mentioned on the list of worldwide celebrations). The musical organization and heritage is different; there is an emphasis to floats over costumes. But the spirit is the same (and the beads, still flying overhead even out-of-season).

I don’t think New Orleans will ever “come back”; it will endure and move on. I compared it to Yellowstone Park after the fires: The landmarks are still there, but it is otherwise smaller and humbler than it was, yet more rooted to its unique characteristics and heritage. With the tourists going elsewhere, there’s less need to be what people expect, more of a chance to be who you are. New Orleans is small discoveries in restaurants and shops, a slightly skewed French heritage jumbled with Southern gentility, and authentic music and relaxation.