I leave for my trip a few weeks later than planned, just as the weather takes a turn for the worse. Driving rain in Munich. As I head east, it clears but remains grey. Every car on the Autobahn overtakes me.
After Deggendorf the road takes a sharp turn and heads steeply up the mountain. I look for a place to park and take one last look down at Germany, but there’s too much fog to see anything, so I drive on.
Želená Ruda is the Czech border town. Hand painted signs advertise cigarettes. There are two gas stations and two casinos. There are four nail salons with pink, blinking signs, and a dozen columns of blue wood smoke rising from brown, low houses. To the left and right of the only street, shacks are propped up like theater backdrops. Ornaments, bird houses and woven baskets dangle from their beams. Owners sit outside, wrapped from head to toe against the damp cold.
I drive through Harmanice, past wet fields ringed with birches. The road follows the black, narrow Otava river through Střelské Hoštice, Předotice, Zvíkovské Podhradi. Towns pass by in an instant and are gone forever. Apple trees heavy with fruit line the roads. Apples roll into the street and under my tires.
I stop to eat in Jistebnice. By now it’s evening, and Jistebnice is tiny and all dark, except for the bluish light of a bank machine, and the small yellow windows of a restaurant. A group of teenagers lean against a wall near my car. We get to talking and they invite me to a rave. I’m flattered but politely decline.
The restaurant is one small, packed room with an unlit fireplace in the corner. People shout and laugh and play cards. Children prop themselves up on muscular little arms and swing between the tables, yawning. I order fried trout and beer. When I’m finished, I feel suddenly overcome with loneliness.
Voices and laughter follow me out into the street. The teenagers have left and the night is cold and quiet. I drive through the dark, and turn on the radio to keep from nodding off. The sky is as black as the Otava. No moon, no stars.
After getting married to Liesbet Scheltema in 1744, the merchant Sjoerd Hannema moved into the house they had just purchased. He had a new front wall constructed. The right side of the building can still be identified by this bell gable. Another member of the Hannema family, Sjoerd Jacobus Hannema, was responsible for the construction of the left wing of the house in 1825. This wing featured a cornice. Leendert Jacobus Hannema was the last descendant of the Harlingen merchant family to live in this house. He was known as Jacobus. In 1957, he established a museum in a portion of his home that he owned. He passed away in 1964, leaving the house as a bequest to the city of Harlingen, which carried out the terms of the will by maintaining the museum in the residence. Objects that are closely related to the history and art history of Harlingen are collected and displayed. These objects include Harlinger tile and pottery, maritime objects, centuries-old paintings (such as Granida and Daifilo by Jacob Adriaensz Backer), photographs, silverware, various old documents, and furniture. In addition to that, there is a room named after Simon Vestdijk. In this section of the museum, in addition to a number of other items associated with the Harlingen-born author, visitors will have the opportunity to view his entire body of work in its first edition form.
Entering the museum from the gift shop and passing into the original waiting room of the house suddenly made the reasons why I want to take this trip resurface. The meaningfulness of heritage sites and their impact on individuals and communities is invaluable, and the threat posed by climate change is real. Being Friday afternoon I did not manage to find a manager or senior employee of the Museum available to talk about its eventual adaptive strategies, therefore I simply enjoyed the visit.
After passing a beautiful garden containing statues by local artists, I reached the second room that was dedicated to a focus on the sailing traditions of the Netherlands and on their history in Harlingen. Skilled hands constructed ship models with fine ropes and miniature pulleys for both decoration and crew training. Shipowners also enjoyed having their vessels painted, preferably at sea with full sails. The ship portraits represent the owners’ pride. In addition to objects such as a figurehead and a foghorn, the maritime collection also contains stories such as that of Commander Klaas Hoekstra. According to his journal, he left for Greenland in 1825 in order to hunt whales. His brand-new galley ship shattered in the Arctic ice, but after a year filled with horrors, the crew returned to Harlingen despite being presumed long dead. Additionally, the merchant navy and admiralty are discussed, and sadly no information was available on the role of Harlingen in the slave trade.
provides an excellent representation of what Harlingen has produced in recent centuries, including loose tiles, tableaus, an earthenware colander with a harbour view, playful saying dishes, and much more. Harlingen was also one of the most significant centres in the Frisian silver tradition. I could see how much silversmiths had to offer in the silver room. Harlingen family Radsma served as “city clock players” for more than 250 years; they determined the daily rhythm in Harlingen. The museum’s clocks are true works of art: the dials are exquisitely crafted and painted, and the cabinets are glued with fine veneers, inlaid with flower and bird motifs, and topped by angels playing the trumpets.
The Museum, in conjunction with the City Council, is undertaking the project known as “Thoughts of the Sea.” At the top of the Zuiderpier in Harlingen is where you will find the city’s post box. Hikers are encouraged to share their own personal reflections, poems, drawings, and love letters by posting them in the red container. Anyone who wishes can write down their “thoughts by the sea” and place them in the former PTT’s red letterbox to share their thoughts (anonymously). The mailbox is emptied once a week. The initial idea was to create an annual booklet filled with beautiful, unique, or amusing letterbox contributions, but now some can be seen in the exhibition, which features a large number of very personal messages that, at times, can be quite moving.
After the visit, I stayed a bit longer in the quiet library annexed to the museum working on notes and pictures from the previous day. In the meantime, I realized it rained and the sky was back to its deep grey. Walking back to Tetide and Mosè I received a positive message from a friend, Allegra Grillo, who was just looking for something to do after her gradu ation in Law. She told me she would let me know, after having properly thought it over, if she would have joined me in Navigandum per hereditatem.
