I did not sleep well. The mattress should not bear the name. It’s so thin, with a hard wooden bed underneath that only allowed me to lie on my back. The pillow smells like the many people who used it for me and the beetles outside kept roaring. I also heard a lot of mice walking over our roof and Yuri had to go to the toilet several times. A typical night in Papua New Guinea.
So we are a bit tired when we are served delicious scrambled egg for breakfast. We arrived yesterday at Lukwanda lodge . It was dark and wet when we arrived. It is still wet now but oh how green it is here. And what birds I heard this morning. The lodge is very simple but it is fine. These days we will have to do with little because our luggage is still in London thanks to British Airways. Who then makes little effort to get our luggage here in Papua New Guinea. But we are now in Tari and the chance that the luggage will be brought here is nil.
We quickly throw in a cup of tea before we set off. We don’t really know where to go, but we do know that we are going to eat Mumu, a local delicacy. At least, we assume that.
Introduction to the mud trails
The trail to today’s village starts near the lodge. Because there is a war going on between two families, we cannot go too far into the wilderness because we may run into people we don’t want to meet. So we stay close to home, but even that makes for an adventure.
And that adventure begins with our introduction to the mud trails of Papua New Guinea. We slide down a kind of hill before balancing on a thin tree trunk over a large river. Then we climb a mud path to walk a bit through fields. We end at a cabin on a hill overlooking the Tari River. A large river where the water has risen considerably due to the amount of rain in recent days. We always bring rain with us, so that will probably not decrease in the coming days.
Actually, we were supposed to cross the river to eat Mumu in the village across the street. But due to the amount of water and the strong current in the river, we decide to make the Mumu at this house. Not a problem for us. It is fun and the owners of the piece of land take us around their land.
The family
The piece of land belongs to two brothers. Their father, who says he’s 120, is now enjoying his old age. There is no longer a mother. The two brothers are the owners, but the sisters, from another mother, are the ones who work the land. Along with a number of pigs. The sister, Ruth, who now works here shows us with hands and feet what she does. English is not spoken here, so we rely on sign language. And that’s fine. I understand that they grow sweet potato and broccoli, that the pigs are helping to turn the land, and that they are glad we are here.
Ruth, one of the sisters
After the small tour we go back to the house on the hill. Here we are going to make the Mumu. A typical dish from Papua New Guinea, and something they are very proud of. First they heat up stones on the fire. Then they dig a hole in the ground. In the meantime, a chicken is killed, vegetables and fruits are cut. Incidentally, I was not allowed to call it slaughter. That is so Western. Here in Papua New Guinea they just call it killing. And they are right.
Hugging a chicken that’s soon gonna be our meal.
The hole in the ground is first filled with the heated stones, on top of that are banana leaves in which the food is placed. The banana leaves are also put back on top to protect the food properly, followed by more warm stones. To close it well, the soil is shoveled on top of the stones. And so the food remains for more than 1.5 hours.
Picking chickens
Family quarrel in Papua New Guinea
With us a little longer because just after preparing the Mumu a small disagreement arose between the family members. At least it starts small, with some shouting and screaming. But soon, much to my delight, a machete is brought in. There are also sticks and the family members start to hit each other fairly hard. The machete is mainly used as a threat, but I still think it is dangerous. A number of times I am reassured with “don’t worry, family problems” and big smiles from everyone who does not belong to the family. Thomas tries to appease it several times, to no avail. I just keep a safe distance because even though they won’t attack me, the waving with the machetes doesn’t look very safe. After all, an accident can happen in a small corner.
They are an explosive people and that shows how this quarrel suddenly started. One moment we are all making Mumu and the next moment we are waving machetes. Of course this also concerns pieces of land. Some people have more than others and jealousy plays a big role.
And just as suddenly as it began, so suddenly it ends. The Mumu is ready and it is a shame to waste the vegetables and two chickens because of a pointless argument. So soon we are all enjoying the Mumu again. The banana that went in is very dry, the pawpaw (kind of papaya) is delicious, the sweet potato is also fantastic and I even enjoy eating the chicken.
The Huli Wigmen
After dinner it is time for the fortune teller. We are in the Huli Wigmen area. A tribe that I have wanted to see since 2005 when a colleague from MinBuZa went to Papua New Guinea. And now I am here and I have time to meet the Huli Wigmen. The Huli is the largest tribe in the country and is known for the wigs they make from their own hair. There are different wigs for different occasions.
A common wig takes about one year to make. It is the first wig that boys grow when they become men. For a year they sleep with a wooden block under their neck to shape the wig, they do this with a kind of wire. The wig as above is a special one, it takes about 2 to 3 years to make.
On special occasions they color their faces with bright yellow clay (this is called ambua) and are considered sacred. Their bodies make them ocher red. When they dance, during the sing-sing, they do a bird dance. Not to be confused with the terrible bird dance that we know in the Netherlands. With this bird dance they imitate the bird of paradise.
The Huli also do fortune counting. In this region there is one fortune teller left and we are going to meet him. His name is Erebo and he is dressed in his most beautiful Huli costume. Before we can enter the sanctuary, the forefathers must first be awakened. That happens in less than a minute.
Erebo
The fortune teller
We walk through a piece of woodland to finally arrive at a small clearing between all kinds of beautiful green trees and plants. In this clearing is a structure of wooden posts and planks on top of each other. I don’t know what it represents, but when we walk around it we suddenly see a number of yellow painted skulls in a row. Thomas knows how to tell us these are the ancestors. Nine generations of skulls lie ahead of us.
Erebo has now started the ceremony. It is a kind of song with words that cannot be understood. Thomas occasionally encourages him to continue singing. And when he stops, it’s time for Yuri to ask a question. He wants to know how the future of his love life is going. Erebo then asks the question to his forefathers. They don’t take long to answer; it stands in front of you
Erebo makes it a bit more exciting and indicates that the person with whom Yuri grows old might be traveling with him. Maybe she’s here. What do you think?
We say goodbye to Erebo and return to the lodge. To rest because tomorrow we are going to make a long trek to a village somewhere in the middle of nowhere.
As always we have to wait. This time not on a non-working ATM, not even on our forgotten lunch, but on our driver. At half past eight we have arranged to meet at the guesthouse, now it is half past nine and no trace of Crazy Steve. The name should have warned us, but hey, we like a bit of silliness. Wait, we don’t like that a bit. And especially since it is already the third day in a row that we are waiting for at least an hour. But this is Papua New Guinea, not the Netherlands.
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Our goal for this entire trip is of course Saint Helena, an island about 4,000 kilometers from Rio de Janeiro and 1,950 kilometers west of Angola. Saint Helena is, of course, known as Napoleon’s exile, and he was not allowed to complain.
As with Tristan da Cunha, Saint Helena does not have a deep harbor, so we cannot get off the boat directly on land here either. But unlike Tristan da Cunha, the sea is a bit calmer here and we don’t have to use the rope ladder. Instead, a walkway is lowered onto a platform from which you then step into a boat. This boat does not hold 12 but 24 people. So unloading the passengers is a lot faster.
One last time I turn around and look at the Royal Mail Ship St. Helena (RMS) where we have very nice memories. I will never drink a beef tea again without thinking about the RMS. It was a special trip, because this trip was the second-last trip of the RMS. After this she will sail one more time from Cape Town to Saint Helena, to Ascension Island and back again. Unlike the British and the Saints, it doesn’t do much to me, for them it’s a tradition, a heritage. For me now and then doom and gloom.
Finally we are there! After 12 days at sea we are finally at our final destination: Saint Helena. We soon leave the customs office behind and start discovering Jamestown at our leisure. A beautiful town with artistic buildings dating back to the 18th and 19th centuries. Jamestown is built in the shape of a V in a narrow valley between 150 meter high cliffs. There is a wide street through it called ‘Main Street’ and a number of small streets that often lead to a dead end. Several restaurants and hotels can be found on the Main Street, as well as two small souvenir shops and two supermarkets, which are closed on Wednesday afternoons. There is a post office and a local hangout located in front of ‘the Market’. There are two pubs in the village, diagonally opposite each other and a little further on is a school.fish cake by the way ”.
Dutch on Saint Helena
On our travels we often encounter a history that is less known to us in which the Dutch more often than not played a leading role. Similarly, on Saint Helena.
We decide to take a look at Jamestown’s only museum ‘The Museum of St. Helena’, which is located next to Jacob’s Ladder (a staircase of 699 steps that Jamestown with Half Tree Hollow). The pleasantly and conveniently arranged museum opened in 2002, five hundred years after the Portuguese discovered the island, and can be visited free of charge. “The island was in Dutch hands for a while,” the museum’s curator tells me. “There is no evidence of this, but it is said that the Dutch came here in 1633 and left in 1651. After all, you already had the Cape of Good Hope. ”
Jacobs Ladder (699 steps).
Right at the entrance of the museum is a huge eye-catcher: the cannon of the White Lion, a Dutch VOC ship that went down here. De Witte Leeuw was built in 1601 in Amsterdam and sailed to Asia and back many times. In 1603 the ship was on its way to the Netherlands with three other Dutch ships, loaded with spices, jewelery and other goods from Asia. As the ships approached Jamestown, they saw two Portuguese ships. The Dutch attacked the ships but did not know the waters of the Jamesbay. And one of the Portuguese ships was soon able to sink the White Lion, after which the other Dutch ships fled.
In addition to The White Lion and the Boer War, we also find a painting about Willem Merk. Willem Merk was a drug trafficker and is the only person who ever escaped from the island in a self-made boat. In the painting, which he painted himself, we see Speery Island, in the south of Saint Helena, and a sailing ship sailing away. The painting is also accompanied by a newspaper article from July 31, 1994: ‘Fleeing Dutchman’s 2,000-mile escape. Jailbreak drug runner sailed alone across Atlantic in makeshift dinghy. ‘ With the help of the Dutch embassy in Brazil, he was able to fly back to the Netherlands and was not extradited to the British. According to the article here, this was because in the Netherlands the possession of soft drugs is punished less severely and he had already been imprisoned for three years for the smuggling.
We leave the museum and walk through the photogenic Jamestown. I decide to buy some souvenirs and immediately send some tickets. Of course, after two weeks without WiFi, an internet moment at Anne’s Place cannot be missed. This turns out to be a super nice spot in the castle gardens.
Diana’s Peak, highest spot on the island (823 m). Photo: Milene van Arendonk
The dependent island
Then we decide to go for a drive with our rental car. Driving across the island by car is great, from bare steep cliffs we suddenly end up in a paradise tropical area. Suddenly, a strip of flax plants along the road obscures our view. At the beginning of the 20th century, a new economic function was found for the island: the flax plant. Introduced from New Zealand, it dramatically reduced native plant species. Rope was woven from the flax, which was used, among others, by the British postal service to bundle letters. The flax industry was the main source of income for the island until 1966. The island’s economy collapsed when the British postal service switched to synthetic rope. Brian, who we know from the boat, tells us that no new source of income has ever been found since then and that Saint Helena is heavily dependent on British support. “Every year we receive about sixteen million euros in subsidy” says Brian. When asked whether the fishing industry can improve the economic activity of the island, Brian indicates that very little is being caught around the island.
The flax plant on Saint Helena.
But in addition to flax and fish, there may be another economic highlight on the island: coffee ! Napoleon once said “the only good thing about St Helena is the coffee” . On February 10, 1733, the first coffee beans were brought to the island. These came from Yemen with Captain Philips’ ship the ‘Houghton’. Brian’s wife Brenda is convinced that the coffee is the best in the world. “Our coffee has won several awards,” she says proudly. When I enter a souvenir shop to buy this award-winning coffee, I soon find out that the St Helena coffee is not only national pride but also quite expensive. “It is the most expensive coffee in the world”says the saleswoman. I will soon taste whether it is worth this price. But I doubt whether this can become a stable source of income for the island.
But perhaps the airport, formerly known as the ‘ most useless airport in the world ‘, can attract a new economy: tourism. The Saints are quite reserved about this and despite wishing everyone a good day and waving to everyone, many Saints would rather see tourists go than come.
“Welcome to the remotest place on earth, welcome to Tristan da Cunha” she says cheerfully and shakes my hand. We introduce ourselves and “Oh I know you, Milene!” she shouts and gives me a hug. Kelly is a young girl from England. A few years ago she fell in love with a Tristanian when she visited the island. She is now married, has a daughter and has lived on the island for a year. We spoke on Facebook before leaving.
Tristan da Cunha is the most remote inhabited place in the world, to the delight of its inhabitants. But not for Kelly, she likes it when a boat full of tourists comes. Nine times a year a freight or expedition ship comes along and a little more often a private sailing ship, but (almost) never the RMS St. Helena comes along with so many tourists. The island is then flooded, and some like that too much.
Conrad Glass. Photo: Milene van Arendonk
Like the only police officer on the island: Conrad Glass. He is a descendant of the very first inhabitant of the island ‘William Glass’ and has his hands full with the hordes of tourists. Although there is only one road on the island, it does have a fairly sharp bend. He must also check and stamp all passports. Not only the police but also the post office are busy. Here you can buy nice souvenirs that are also made by the local population. From hand-knitted sweaters to postcards with seabirds on them and stamps of island traditions (sheep shearing, potato paws) to crocheted penguins. Whatever you spend your money on here, it goes straight back to the population.
The Albatross pub. Photo: Milene van Arendonk
There is no airport here. Not a deep harbor either. To get ashore we had to go via a rope ladder that was attached to the ship. Then we came ashore with the help of a boat with fishermen. From the boat we could already see that Tristan da Cunha is little more than a 2060 meter high volcano surrounded by the great emptiness of the Atlantic Ocean. Edinburgh of the Seven Seas, also known as ‘The Settlement’, consists mainly of low buildings with red and blue corrugated iron roofs. There are also three churches and a pub: The Albatross. Inside, the resemblance to an English pub is striking. The English flag hangs prominently above the bar, some fishermen are already having a drink and the British news is read aloud on the TV in the corner.
On the way to the potato fields
We decide not to waste all our time drinking in the pub and start a short walk. We follow the three kilometer long ribbon of coarse gravel that leads through the peaceful landscape with the mountain on one side and the ocean on the other. Soon we come across the Hottentot Shelter. The name of the bus stop, a small van drives up and down to the potato patches, refers to the African soldiers who camped here in 1816. They had to stop any French who wanted to liberate the exiled French Emperor Napoleon on Saint Helena via Tristan.
The island has some crazy names, and on the way to the potato fields we encounter Mile Stone and Red Body Hill, we also heard about Ridge-Where-the-Goat-Jump-Off. Places with interesting stories, Kelly tells us later. The road ends at the potato fields. These fields consist of a bunch of fields surrounded by stone walls. Small houses can be seen here and there, some built of volcanic stones. We climb a steep hill to have a nice overview of the potatoes. “These are the best potatoes in the world,” says Joe, who spent 9 months on the island as a vet. Each family has its own way of fertilizing the potatoes. One does it with remnants of the lobsters that are caught and the other does it with sheep’s wool.“For the Tristanians, potatoes are a kind of insurance,” says Joe. “If the money loses its value, they will always have their potatoes” . Not only Joe loves the Tristan potatoes, the Saints (Saint-Helena) also love them and like to import them.
On the way to the potato patches. Photo: Milene van Arendonk
Shed at potato patches. Photo: Milene van Arendonk
The potato patches. Photo: Milene van Arendonk
Dutch blood on Tristan da Cunha
Once back in the Settlement, I meet up with Kelly. Kelly belongs to the ‘Green’ family. Green is the largest family on the island and consists of 33 men and 33 women. In addition, the family has a link with the Netherlands. Peter Groen was born in Katwijk in 1808 and was shipwrecked off the coast of Tristan da Cunha in 1836. He stayed there for the rest of his life, got married and eventually became spokesman / governor of the island. Groen changed his name to Peter Green and made himself useful, among other things, by rescuing drowning people. In the ‘News of the Day’ in 1897 he was even referred to as the ‘uncrowned king of Tristan da Cunha’.
Not a day without wind on Tristan da Cunha. So the laundry dries quickly but the line needs some help. Photo: Milene van Arendonk
Tristan’s internet cafe. More often closed than not. Photo: Milene van Arendonk
“Living on Tristan is like living in a bubble,” says Kelly. Your wallet will not be stolen here. You don’t see everyone posting photos on Instagram here. You will not see the latest films here immediately after they come out. You celebrate birthdays together here, and for a whole week. Very different from, for example, England. But she does not regret her adventure. On the contrary. “Everyone here cares about everyone, everyone helps each other, that’s the great thing about living on an island with only 250 people” .
After a few hours I leave the island again. I wave to Kelly and tell her we can keep in touch via Facebook. People here today live less isolated from the rest of the world because of the use of the internet. A day on Tristan da Cunha is of course far too short, but another special island awaits.
The water is very restless, causing the ship to sway back and forth. Naja rocking. Do you know that boat in Drievliet? Well that’s how this boat goes back and forth. It is dark below us. The captain said this morning that the water is about 4,874 meters deep. Not even David Attenborough has been there. When I think about what is going on there, I get goosebumps on my arms.
On deck it is about 16 degrees and there is a lot of wind. The water is 22 degrees, yet I took it out of my head to jump in. We haven’t seen any marine life yet, but I’m sure there are scary animals swimming under the boat. By the way, we see enough birds. They don’t seem to have lost sight of us since Cape Town.
Today we met Helena from Oslo and Aniket from Bristol. Helena has lived on St. Helena for two years. Her grandmother is from there and when she was on vacation she thought; this is where I have to live, this is where I belong. She celebrated Christmas in Norway, but she can’t wait to be back on St. Helena. Aniket has a completely different story. He was a vet at Tristan da Cunha for four months. So for him it is like coming home to Tristan. We hear from him that we are staying, if we can land, with the only police officer on the island. Unfortunately the weather is not looking good to land on Tristan so far. There is too much wind and this will not change in the coming days.
Fortunately it gets a bit quieter at the end of the day. The wind seems to have died down and the waves are happily participating. It is December 31st and at 6pm it is time for a cocktail party with the captain. With a beer, what do you mean cocktails ?, I get into a conversation with two officers. They tell me about life on board and how not to get seasick. A little too late for me, but thanks anyway. According to them, alcohol is the answer. Chah when not?
Everyone came to the cocktail party in their finest clothes. The one even neater than the other and some a bit raunchy. Of course we knew that we had to bring nice clothes, this is what we have been told before the trip. A generous amount of alcohol is served and that produces beautiful images when the boat laps over large waves. The tall men hold a drink with one hand and the ceiling with the other so as not to fall over. The women hold on to each other, chairs, the bar, etc.
After the party it is time to eat. We are of course back on the first shift and still have a great time with Brian and Brenda. When I look around us I see tables where people are not enjoying themselves. You just need to have a nice table partner. Brian and Brenda tell a lot about the islands. Brian knows an incredible amount about it. Every dinner we become wiser and every time my desire to visit the islands increases. Ok, this also has to do with the fact that after three days on the water I am already quite fed up with the sea and can not wait until solid ground under my feet.
The frograce starts at 10 pm. A race in which people pull strings to pull a frog over the line as quickly as possible. It looks hilarious and they are very fanatic.
And then it is time for the New Year’s Eve party. A large bell is driven into the ‘main lounge’. The oldest and youngest members of the crew can each ring the bell 8 times. Then the confetti cannon spurts into the air and there is toast and dancing. A typical Scottish dance is started where everyone puts their arms together and jumps back and forth. Nobody watches from the side, everyone participates. In the meantime, balloons are kicked and the boat makes sure that everyone moves.
The champagne tastes good and really where everyone is dancing. Well, almost everyone. Me, Yuri, Andrew and Mr. Foo are nice at the bar drinking a beer. On the New Year. And if it starts like this, this will be a great year.
For a moment I think about the world around us. The great sea, the Atlantic Ocean, the endless amount of water that surrounds us. And there, like a tiny dot on that great sea, we celebrate New Year’s Eve.
Unfortunately, things quickly go wrong again after a good night’s sleep. My vestibular organ does not seem to be able to get used to the power of the Atlantic Ocean. The sea laps against the boat, causing the boat to go up and down considerably. Just like a wooden roller coaster, where the cart goes up and suddenly crashes down, turning your stomach upside down. So take a pill and lie in the sun on the Sunnydeck.
I haven’t eaten much yet, but the fruit will go in. The people on the boat are nice. We have already met several people and all with their own story. Today we had lunch with Andrew, a Birmingham lawyer. He has a number of court cases on St. Helena and told us that the only person who ever managed to escape from the island was a Dutchman. That happened about 20/30 years ago. This Dutchman smuggled drugs and when he was caught he could not much later escape by boat. He sailed to Brazil where he took a plane to the Netherlands. In the Netherlands, different rules apply and he was not convicted.
A daily program is placed under the door of our cabin every day. Today it starts at half past three with a documentary about Tristan da Cunha. Almost everyone is present and listens and watches the interesting story about the way of life on Tristan da Cunha. I am curious if we can come ashore, but that is still the question.
The sea is calm today and it just keeps popping into my head what it’s like to jump in. I am terrified of deep water but somehow it looks attractive. The water is a beautiful dark blue, it doesn’t look cold but it will be solid. What will all be swimming underneath? We have not seen any animals except birds. Although I think I see a flying fish jump out of the water every now and then. Anyway, luckily we have a swimming pool on board.
The boat is one of two RMS ships in existence and the only one specially built for the Cape Town – Saint Helena – Ascension Island route. The ship was built in 1990 but, according to Brian, this ship was already written off after 20 years. The boat will now stop, not because it has been written off, but because St. Helena has an airport. Until recently, this airport was the most useless airport in the world . About 300 million euros had been earmarked for the airport to make more tourism possible. When the runway was ready, however, it turned out that large aircraft would not be able to land due to the treacherous wind shear. But in October 2017 the first plane landed. We will therefore also take the plane and not the boat on the way back.
By the way, we met Brian at lunch. A nice man from London who is now retired. He used to earn his money as a social worker. He travels as much as he can, does French folk dance and enjoys theater and going to the movies. Enough to talk about.
Many people on board think it is a pity that the ship stops with this route and are therefore now sailing along. According to Andrew it is a work vessel and therefore so different and unique compared to other cruise ships. The RMS – St. Helena can accommodate 150 guests, half of the ship is used to deliver mail and other goods to the islands.
The ship does not creak and rush through the waves too easily, yet I understand the grief. The ship has a certain atmosphere, it evokes a certain feeling. What will happen to this ship later? The island of St. Helena would like to buy it but does not have the money. According to Brian, that is an eternal sin. The ship is a piece of the island and it will soon be lost.
… Well not our last voyage, but from the Royal Mail Ship – St. Helena. The journey we’ve been looking forward to for so long is about to begin. From Cape Town we will sail to Tristan da Cunha in 6 days on the Royal Mail Ship – St. Helena (RMS – St Helena). It will be the final journey of the RMS. Tristan da Cunha is the most remote inhabited place on earth and it is hoped that we can enter the island. Weather permitting, we will sleep two nights with the only police officer on the island. Then we will travel on to Saint Helena where we should arrive on January 10th.
During our trip on the boat we have no internet, no connection with the world. But of course I have a notebook and a pen. Read in my series ‘ the last voyage ‘ about our journey to the end of the world.
Day Cape Town
Around five o’clock we leave Cape Town behind. A rough sea meets us. We soon meet a number of fellow travelers including Austen, a stamp collector from Malaysia. We also soon meet Bassel, a journalist from the Lake district who, quite coincidentally, writes stories about people who collect stamps. The two are not traveling together, by the way.
The dinner
We are on the first dinner shift, which means that we eat at 6.45 pm. Every day we had dinner with Brian and Brenda. Brian and Brenda live on Saint Helena, our final destination. They know how to entertain us with interesting and beautiful stories about the island. Dinner consists of an 8-course menu. Unfortunately for me, my stomach, like the boat, was in full blast. My appetite is nil, although the Kudu back tasted good. Tasty cheeses are served for dessert, but I thank them kindly. And with a concerned and motherly look from Brenda, I call it quits.
The captain of the ship also eats at table 16 every evening, the second dinner shift. Every evening, some of the guests are invited to dine with him at the table. You are then expected to dress formally. Not for us.
After dinner I enjoy the sunset on the deck for a while. The sea is fairly calm. My lips already taste like salt and my hair feels rough after a few hours. Walking is still a bit difficult, but that will come naturally.
The boat creaks but seems to find its way through the waves somewhat. The water looks black and seems cold, icy. There is a light breeze and the moon is shining brightly. Cape Town has completely disappeared and all I see is water, water and water. The sea stretches out as far as I can see. The boat rocks back and forth on the waves, let’s see how I get through the night.
From New Utrecht to Harlem and from Fort Gansevoort to the New York Yankees. Everywhere in New York there are connections with the city’s Dutch past. Not only a city that never sleeps, but also a city with two names: New York and New Amsterdam. And I am looking for the latter.
My forehead is sweaty, my feet feel like I’ve walked for miles on a bed of nails, and a taxi is honking so loud that my ear snaps shut. But, here I am.
Sometimes the link with the Netherlands is obvious. For example, there is the very long Amsterdam Avenue and of course we also know the Holland Tunnel that connects Manhattan with New Jersey. But did you know that Broadway was actually Heere Straet, and Pearl Street was Parelstraat? Entire neighborhoods have also been named after Dutch cities such as Brooklyn to Breukelen, Bushwick to Boswijck and Flushing to Vlissingen. But to see what’s left of New Amsterdam I don’t have to be in these neighborhoods, I have to go to Lower Manhattan for this.
Lower Manhattan
It is 36 degrees and the asphalt reflects the sun so that not only my nose but also my double chin burned. Still, nothing prevents me from going to Lower Manhattan in this weather. Lower Manhattan is the region in the southernmost part of the island of Manhattan. It covers Chinatown, Little Italy, Lower East Side, Meatpacking District, Greenwich Village, Nolita, East Village, and parts of SoHo.
Lower Manhattan is the place where the Dutch founded New Amsterdam in 1626. Since then, the area has become the financial and tourist heart of New York. Fort Amsterdam once stood here, now the area is filled with towering apartments and businesses. In addition to typical Dutch streets and narrow houses, there were canals, windmills and a wall. A wall where Wallstreet can now be found.
Wallstreet
Despite the fact that tourists only photograph one thing on Wall Street, the Stock Exchange, New York has tried to give this place something historical. In addition to the name of the street, a number of extensive wooden plates in the ground indicate that a wall once stood here. A wall that separated the city from the rest of the island, then pasture. Without knowing it, hordes of tourists wear their shoe soles on the spot where the wall of New Amsterdam once stood.
They don’t look at the picture on the ground for a second that refers to the history of this place. Logical, of course, you don’t go to New York for its history. Then you go to Rome or Paris. You go to New York for the entertainment and a few holes in the ground that indicated a wall are of course not part of that. I get it.
Fort Amsterdam
After a somewhat disappointing start, my search takes me to Broadway. Ever de Heere Straet. I stare at the Broadway sign and wonder if the Dutch who came here in the 17th century could ever have believed that New Amsterdam would become what it is today. A lady taps my shoulder. “Are you lost, Darling?” “No”, I explain to her “and still a little”. She looks at me a bit distracted and I don’t blame her. I explain to her that I am looking for New Amsterdam. “Hmm, then you have to be on Amsterdam Avenue” she responds. I tell her that’s not the New Amsterdam I’m looking for and that’s how we start talking about where New York once started. Had it not been for the English, New York would still have been called New Amsterdam. Madam was so interested that she wanted to walk with me to Fort Amsterdam. And so it happened.
Fort Amsterdam was where Battery Park is now. A beautiful piece of green with a view over the Hudson. The Hudson is named after the English skipper who sailed for the Dutch VOC and discovered Manhattan. From here one sails to the Statue of Liberty, or another island. Fort Amsterdam was designed by Cryn Fredericks and was built from hard-packed earth (kind of adobe). Earthworks could absorb the cannon fire without collapsing, like stone walls. Much of the construction was probably done by victims (slaves) of the Dutch West India Company. Here too, almost nothing can be found about the Dutch history of New York, except on a flagpole donated by the Dutch government. Madam promises to read me more about New York history and leaves me alone again from here.
A little further on I find a small piece of New York history. On New Amsterdam square there are a few stones on the ground with stories about the creation of the city. We wipe the stones to read what it says. The stories are beautiful, from Peter Minuit who turned New Amsterdam into a real city to the exchange with the English who renamed it New York. According to the stones, New York would never have become so multicultural without Dutch influences. The Dutch had their own way of governing, they let everyone in. In addition to the Dutch, French, Germans, English and Norwegians were also invited to come and live in the new country. This soon created a mixture of cultures, but also religions and languages. The English were not used to this and found it difficult to live together with different religions and cultures. Yet they succeeded. But would New York ever be what it is today without the Dutch?
There is also a map with houses, canals, Fort Amsterdam and a windmill. But this one also looks like it hasn’t been looked after in years. Gravel and sand fill the streets and canals of New Amsterdam. And again it hurts a little bit to see this.
The beginning
Even now I will not give up and a few meters from New Amsterdam Square is perhaps the most important place in New York. On the corner of Pearl Street and Coenties Alley, a city inn was converted into Stadt Huys. The city of New York takes February 2, 1653 as the date of its political foundation and that happened in this city inn. This was New York’s very first City Hall, and so it became the center of government and political life in the colony. The inn has always functioned as a town hall until it was declared unsafe in 1697. Now only some lines have been drawn on the ground that indicate where the Stadt Huys has stood, a number of wells have been opened and there is a stone with the story about the Stadt Huys. A small tribute to the beginnings of this metropolis.
New Amsterdam was only a small part of Manhattan and yet such an important beginning. Perhaps Manhattan would never have been what it is today without Dutch influences. And yet there is so little left of it. What if we never left. Would it have become as successful as it is now?
Sometimes spontaneous hunches are the best. Or at least the most exciting. For example, we decided to attend an information evening of Cycle for Plan. Cycling more than 600 kilometers in a country we hadn’t been to before, why not? Even if we only help a single child with my efforts; isn’t that worth it already?
Cycling 600km
Wednesday 9 November it was finally time! The adventure that we and the whole group have been looking forward to for months began. At 7.30 in the evening we gathered at Schiphol to leave for Zambia – with a stopover in Dubai. A long journey in which we also got to know each other better. After the group photo and the farewell to the home front, the time had come.
Zambia, here we come!
Cycle 4 Plan
Every trip, a group of sporty volunteers takes on the challenge of cycling hundreds of kilometers for a better future for girls and boys. Each participant collects sponsorship money in advance, which supports the work of Plan International. During the trip you will visit Plan projects to see the impact with your own eyes.
Zambia & child marriages
3 out of 10 girls are married off by the time they reach 18. Child marriage is a tragedy for the young people it affects, often the most vulnerable, poorest and marginalized girls.
Zambia has one of the highest child marriage rates in the world with 42% of women aged 20-24 years married by the age of 18. Under statutory marriage, child marriages are illegal, and considered a form of child abuse. The legal age for marriage under statutory law is 18 for females and 21 for males.
Enough reason for us to cycle through Zambia and create awareness for this issue. And of course, hopefully, change some opinions and views on child marriages in Zambia along the way.
A tough journey
It was tough, it was hot and it was fun. We laughed, cried and cursed. Fighting against the elements, climbing steep mountains, getting a heath stroke. But after 600km we reached South Luangwa National Park. It was a once in a lifetime experience and we are happy to be part of it.
Besides cycling we also visited projects of Plan Nederland, talked with village elders and had a sneak peek into local life of the incredibly kind and hospitable Zambians. Afterwards we enjoyed some days in South Luangwa NP, we checked out the Victoria Falls and took the train to Tanzania.
Zambia
Where
Lusaka – South Luangwa
We cycled from the capital to South Luangwa NP. Also visited the Victoria Falls in the South.
When
Our summer
We went in November – bloody hot! Better to go in our summer, their winter – bit more rain though.
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Hi there! We are Milene & Yuri. We are travelling the world together since 2015. Our endless curiosity and will to explore has resulted in many cool, and somewhat extreme, adventures. On MYgrations you'll read all about our adventures, you'll find lots of information about the countries we visit you won't find anywhere else and more. Enjoy!
We’re also grammin’
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