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| Rotterdam's strangely stunning train station. |
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| Rotterdam's market hall. The windows on the sides and the top are flats. |
Architecture is a city’s body language. It say the things that cities want to say, but it also conveys things a city might not want to reveal about itself.
Do the glittering glass condo buildings along Toronto’s lakefront demonstrate that it’s a modern, densely-populated international city? Or does it show that developers have so much influence that they can build cheap glass buildings in a wintery city and cram in as many small apartments as they want?
European cities and the people that ruled them had a lot to say after World War II. Their cities had their own architectural body language.
The Soviets erected grand monuments to show off the glorious socialist dream. But also built massive, identical apartment blocks to house workers like tools on a shelf.
West German cities rebuilt their old towns from the ruins, as if to get something back from before the war. Beyond the old towns, low-rise buildings with the same flat plaster facade were built – functional, unostentatious, unromantic, German efficiency.
Then there’s crazy, eccentric Rotterdam. Whose old downtown was obliterated by the Germans in 1940 and faced a choice to rebuild its old commercial centre as it once was or try something else.
Rotterdam commissioned some of the most loopiest, high concept designs it could find. Skyscrapers in odd shapes or don’t even look like skyscrapers. Windows not shaped like windows. Glass, brick, and concrete jutting out in odd directions.
So, what exactly is the city trying to say?
What does a train station that looks an inverted check mark convey to people arriving? Or a market hall with a barn-like, sloping roof made of apartments? Or houses shaped like cubes?
I have a guess, but in order to get to it, I couldn’t look at Rotterdam’s architecture in its totality. You have to look a little closer at specific buildings, like the Cube Houses.
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| House of Cubes. |
As the name suggests, they are houses shaped like cubes. They’re set atop brick pylons and hover over a concrete courtyard. The idea was to open up land below for community use by raising people’s living space above the it.
It’s a cool solution to a serious urban problem. The design is striking, and divisive. Some find it ugly. Others like it. But since it was unprecedented, there were flaws.
The houses themselves are cramped and there’s a lot of lost space from the slanting walls and ceilings. The interior design is clearly what people in the 1970s thought the future would look like.
The Cube Houses say, “We’re going to try something new. We might get some of it wrong, but why not give it a shot?”
And that is what Rotterdam is trying to say: “Why not?” It’s the busiest port in Europe. Holland’s business centre. It was never a big draw for tourists. Yet, the city has enough civic courage in itself to say “Why not?” to ideas that would make other cities pause. And it has enough civic confidence not to give a shit if anyone else doesn’t like it.
Maybe other cities can learn from that mentality. Maybe we all can.
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| Inside the House of Cubes. |
There are two reasons to make the trek out to the Delfshaven, Rotterdam's old harbour. One is the old church where the pilgrims prayed before setting off on the dangerous trip to the New World. The other is the Pelgrim Brouwerji, where the pilgrims might have gone for one last drink before setting off. We spent a sunny afternoon outside, sipping all their fine brews on the quiet street.
One reason I enjoy Holland -- it isn't just my Dutch heritage -- is the cosy bars. Holland can be a windy, rainy place and it's nice to get indoors, drink a strong beer, and nibble on a plate of snacks (also a great Dutch thing). We really liked Sijf and its neighbour across the street, Thuis Bij Schell.
Almost every meal we ate in Rotterdam was great, so Bagel and Beans, Picknick, and Nieuw Rotterams Cafe all deserve honourable mentions. In conclusion, go to Rotterdam and eat in Rotterdam.
