Museum Kaap Skil, Texel

Museum Kaap Skil

Texel has long been a popular tourist destination and it's bound to become even more popular now that international tourist guides seem to promote it. In many aspects, Texel is indeed a special place but in others it's just like the rest of the Netherlands. The village of Oudeschild must have been an interesting place in its heyday in the seventeenth century but today it's not the most attractive of places. It's just like any modern Dutch village, with a tiny centrum comprising the usual shops for the locals and, if there's a chance of tourists coming along, a couple of shops for them to buy souvenirs.

The surprise in the centrum of Oudeschild is the striking yet simultaneously discrete facade of Museum Kaap Skil. A few hundreds of wood slats placed vertically in front of a curtain wall, cut in an irregular shape that reminds of a roofline manage to attract attention without imposing the building on its immediate environment. The inside is similarly pleasant and quite understated, with lots of light coming in filtered by the slats. Nothing much happens in the building itself, although it's worth a visit, especially with children. Just don't get into details on the exhibits: the system of ledgers and drawers they use in the museum doesn't work well.

The open-air part of the museum, comprising a few cottages, workplaces and an interesting collection of flotsam and jetsam is a nice touch and contrasts with the rather cramped and chaotic interior of the museum but in all, the building itself is probably one of the better designs by Mecanoo.

Statte, Solwaster

Statte, Solwaster

There are lots of places for a walk in the Ardennes. One that remains memorable was the path along the Statte stream, near Solwaster. Solwaster is a good-looking Ardennes village but like many others in the area doesn't open itself to the visitor. I guess it might be different if you're local or know the locals; as it were I constantly felt that I was just a tourist, someone who should leave some money to the local economy and leave as soon and as unobtrusively as possible.

The woods around the stream were a different matter: everything was in its reddish autumn colours, the water was trickling down quietly between small waterfalls and the trail was inviting - not too easy, not too difficult. It was a perfect setting for a stroll, along the Rocher de Blisse, the cave of the trolls (Sotals), along the stream, past a dolmen and the waterfall of the trolls (Cascade des Nutons - are there many names for trolls in French or were the translations poor?). One can walk for hours here, hidden among the pine trees, trampling on pebbles and red or yellow leaves, skimming and crossing the streams, going from one insignificant landmark to another, trying to find the promised vantage points that afford views of the local hills and villages, without thinking 0 just walking and listening to the ever-present water.

The return from a great hike like the doesn't make the village seem any friendlier. It seems even less friendly and quite indifferent about all one has to tell about its magnificent environment. It's a pity but thankfully one can leave with little delay.

South Bank, London

South Bank, London

When I first went there is 1986, it was an unloved and underused area. The concrete terraces exposed the clumsy side of Brutalism to both people and the elements. Under the overcast London sky, it was a desolate and uninviting landscape. People expressed negative opinions about it. Concrete, Brutalism, Modernism were all out and the empty terraces suggested that the complex was well past it prime. If I'm not mistaken, there was talk of demolishing it back then. Still, I must admit I like it. It's not just that I have a soft spot for Modernism (provided that the building is not just a collection of morphological elements), I actually liked the space it offered.

A couple of decades later, the South Bank was completely transformed into a lively area, full of people and activities. The same spaces that used to be empty and looked rather forlorn now accommodated them apparently well. How can one explain the change? I double that people's perceptions of exposed concrete have changed. It remains a material that ages ungracefully and feels rather unfriendly. Granted, Modernism and even Brutalism have now entered the retro sphere and so have become more acceptable. But I suspect that above all people care less about all that because they can bow focus on what is happening, join in and enjoy themselves. The built environment no longer oppresses them; it becomes a fuzzy background to their lives - and this can be a great compliment to any design, regardless of style.

Prado revisited

Prado revisited 

Back in 1978 I'd spent a couple of joyous days at the Prado Museum. It was my first time at a major art museum and the opportunity to study at close proximity (they used to be less protective of artworks back then) so much stuff I'd seen only in small, often greyscale photographs was fascinating. This autumn I went back to Madrid and took the opportunity to revisit the Prado. The visit gave rise to mixed feeling. On the one hand, the collection still enthuses me. Being able to observe the real paintings reveals so much. Once again I admired how Greco makes me look towards the heaven with his multitiered religious compositions but also how he worked the outlines of his figures. Goya is an undeniable master of composition and mood but there seemed to be something wrong with the foreshortening of some arms and thighs, as if the limbs were slightly dislocated. Above all, Velazquez was the star of the visit: what a painter! I couldn't help admiring practically everything he has made.

On the other hand, the building could have been much better. It's not only that the crowds are not facilitated at critical points like the thoroughly disappointing entrance where brusque staff herds and hurries them, there were also few rooms in the museum where visitors could form some overview of their meanderings in relation to the galleries. Everyone relied too much on their little floor plans and still managed to pass the same rooms again and again. Of course, this gave opportunities to see stuff one might have missed the previous times, as the worst with the museum was that so many great works of art were positioned too close to each other, making me feel uncomfortable. There was precious little room and time to really appreciate each magnificent painting. One pace was often enough for something different to enter my field of vision and distract me from what I was enjoying, and in a crowded museum one can't often pick the perfect spot. So, while I'm thankful that they've gathered so much and made it available, I wonder why museums have grown into non-places: physical catalogues for quick browsing or physical swiping and do not afford a leisurely stroll through art.

A modern amphitheatre

A modern amphitheatre 

At a concert in the main auditorium (Grote Zaal) of the TivoliVredenburg in Utrecht. It's the only part that remains of the original Vredenburg theatre by Herman Hertzberger. During the recent restoration it was spared much change: its morphology, furniture and furnishings remain rooted in the modernism and brutalism of the 1960s and 1970s. In comparison to earlier and later theatres it has an inexpensive, informal appearance that does little to endear it to the visitor, although it is deeply familiar, reminiscent of so many formative environments from that period - schools, libraries, hospitals, neighbourhood cafés.

The space of the octagonal amphitheatre helps one go beyond such matters: it's a large hall that nevertheless feels intimate, probably because many parts are dimensioned smaller than one would expect. This clever trick works admirably well in the auditorium but not so well around it. There, all one experiences is a labyrinthine network of corridors, lots of small, complex circulation spaces, with little room to stand and wait, except for a number of cute little niches. The number of the niches may be large enough but their size and dispersion make them seem more like incidental appendages to the corridors.

I admit to having a soft spot for this kind of architecture but I try to be objective about my darlings. The bottom line is that I'm glad they preserved the Grote Zaal; as a theatre it's worth having; as a monument of past Dutch architectural tendencies it's worth studying.

A few words on the TivoliVredenburg building

Montagne de Bueren

Montagne de Bueren, Liège, Belgium

Liège is not a city I've ever considered exploring, learning and appreciating its pleasures. I've passed it many times on the way to and from the Ardennes but it was only this autumn that I decided to stop and see something of the city. Having just six hours at my disposal, I'd made a note of a couple of apparently decent restaurants for lunch and a couple of museums with local themes. In the end I visited just one place, the one on the top of my short list: the Montagne de Bueren.

Liège did not disproved expectations as the car moved from the Ardennes highway to the city centre: everything seemed drab and tired; lively on a Sunday morning but uninspiring. I parked the car at the first available spot near my destination, much to the frustration of several cars behind me, who weren't thrilled at the good luck of a vehicle with Dutch number plates. For about five minutes I walked along a street that didn't even give a single sign of former glory but suddenly I saw to my right the 374 steps, bathed in the pale light of the misty noon.

Climbing the stairs was a transition in time, from the disappointing present to past decades reflected in the morphology of buildings that were often in poor repair but nevertheless quite joyful as they perched on their plots enjoying the sunshine and the view. The air remained misty but even so it was clear why people braved the discomforts of living along a steep stairway.

The Citadelle at the top of the hill was little more than a colourless urban park. With delight I left it largely unexplored and returned to descend the Montagne. The only thing I regretted was the growing number of tourists. Perversely, I always expect to be the only one among the locals.

Promenade des Artistes

Promenade des Artistes, Spa, Belgium

The town of Spa is a strange sprawl, probably the amalgamation of hamlets, possibly also in relation to the water sources that have formed the main attraction of the town for so long. There are many sources to visit, all strikingly devoid of tourists in the autumn. The water tastes funny, so it must be healthy, full of stuff that doesn't come out of your tap at home. Next to each source there's always a café or restaurant, often a bit worn out, with frequently indifferent staff, Still, they serve as a refuge from the mostly middle-aged visitors, usually hikers without great sporting ambitions and hence also without real hiking gear. There they can get a warm or cold drink, depending on what they need in the particular season, a snack or a hearty meal - an alternative to just drinking source water.

For these visitors there are many enjoyable routes around Spa, usually leading nowhere special - just an opportunity to stretch one's legs in the woods and get a tiny Ardennes experience. One that I have enjoyed was the Promenade des Artistes. I left the car on the side of the road and climbed down to the path next to a stream called La Picherotte. It's an easy terrain, comfortable even for city shoes. You can walk there without much care, just enjoying the scenery and your own movement through it. The path crosses over the stream many times, with picturesque wooden bridges, affording visitors many views of the trees and the mossy rocks.

I'd been walking for some times, lost in the mild, humid atmosphere of the Ardennes, when I started thinking it was time to walk back to the cart before it got too dark while I was deep in the woods but I still kept on going. Suddenly, I heard the sound of an ice cream van. Looking for such a wondrous meeting in the woods, I realised that I'd reached Spa. In fact, I'd been next to it all the time; it was just an illusion of the dense landscape that I was lost in nature.

A walk along the Promenade des Artistes

Tiger & Turtle

Tiger & Turtle, Duisburg 

On the flat top of a green hill with all the charm of a suburban playground, overlooking a rather drab industrial landscape but also affording a panorama dominated by dense trees behind which you can catch glimpses of the residential neighbourhoods of Duisburg, stands a strange and impressive sculpture: a staircase with varying pitch, including a couple of loops, that undulates along illogical lines like the ribbons of rhythmic gymnasts.

I stopped there on my way to Cologne, curious to see the amazing staircase with my own eyes, eager to climb its entire length - how many can boast they've walked upside down on a staircase, closing a full loop?

The ascent to the hill with various views of the Tiger & Turtle did not disappoint. The staircase itself was a different matter. You can walk around it, under it and start walking on it but when the pitch starts becoming really steep and hence interesting, you encounter an abrupt termination in the form of a closed gate that prohibits any attempt at upside-down stair-climbing. The loops are inaccessible - not a staircase but a mere sculpture, after all.

Disappointed I didn't even put a foot on a single tread.

http://www.duisburg.de/micro2/tat/