The Netherlands, FOR SAIL

My wife, Liet, has a built-in compass. Blindfold her, twirl her, drive her in circles and she always knows where north, south, east and west are. Our daughters and I--who are directionless--tell her it’s in her genes, as well it might be.

Liet is Dutch and the Dutch, among the greatest seafarers of all time, managed early in their history to find their way around the world in stout ships, establishing themselves in Southeast Asia, the Caribbean and South and North America, while most of the world’s other people remained steadfastly at home. Indeed, Liet’s ancestors on her father’s side emigrated in the 17th century to the East Indies, today’s Indonesia, where Liet was born when the archipelago was yet a colony of the Netherlands.

Last summer, Liet and I, on a visit to Holland, had occasion to discover how important this seafaring past continues to be to the Dutch. Not only have they established a large maritime museum, on Amsterdam’s waterfront, tracing the country’s nautical history from earliest times to the present, but they have built two authentic replicas of the types of wooden craft in which they traversed the globe. Both of these can be boarded and explored. One is moored beside the museum; the other floats in an inlet at Lelystad, in the eastern part of the country, near where a third vessel is being constructed in an adjacent shipyard.

Actually, we began our exploration of Holland’s nautical past in the Rijksmuseum of Ship Archeology. We found it--after many inquiries--in a remote spot called Ketelhaven in the province of Flevoland, about an hour’s drive east of Amsterdam. A cold wind blowing off an inlet made us glad to enter its barracks-like interior. There, as we payed for our admission tickets, we learned that the museum would soon be moved to a more accessible location in nearby Lelystad, with its reopening scheduled for June.

Despite an unprepossessing appearance, the museum turned out to be a fascinating place because it contains thousands of relics retrieved on dry land from shipwrecks. No, this is not a contradiction. After the Zuider Zee and other similar bodies of Dutch water were drained in land reclamation projects that pushed back the sea (the new city of Lelystad has risen on an exposed seabed), more than 400 wrecks--dating from the 14th century to recent times--turned up. Most were buried in the muck that now constitutes the soil upon which luxuriant dairy farm pastures thrive.

We were amazed to see how many items the cold seawater and oxygenless conditions of the mud had preserved. Among them were the hull of a 17th century, 99-foot-long merchantman, a box of 400-year-old eggs, cargoes of wheat, a stack of leather hides, pots, pans, jugs, mugs and bowls of all kinds and ages, long-stemmed clay pipes, children’s toys, even full sets of clothing. We were touched to learn that 33 descendants of the owners of one small craft, De Zeehond (the Seal), which foundered and sank in 1886, caught up with their ancestors’ personal possessions when the objects were brought to the museum for study and conservation. An 88-year-old woman was deeply stirred by the sight of her parents’ and grandparents’ belongings and actually got to hold a pair of boy’s waterlogged leather shoes that had belonged to her brother, who had been dead for years.

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It was at the archeology museum that we learned of the Batavia, a reconstructed 17th century Indiaman ship, typical of the vessels that sailed the globe under the flag of the Dutch East India Co. In a mood to visit the ship, we took a 15-minute drive to Lelystad, where the archeology museum will be set up and the Batavia is moored. Begun in 1985 and launched in 1995, it is a near replica of the original Batavia that, on its maiden voyage, wrecked off the coast of Australia with 341 people on board, 38 of them women and children.

The three-masted, 186-foot-long ship makes a grand sight, with its growling lion figurehead and its carved and gilded stern rising high above the water like an elaborate windowed housefront of yore. Staggering to me was the fact that its modern builders had to proceed largely by trial and error, without benefit of original plans or historical documents of sufficient depth. (The 17th century shipwrights had relied on their store of practical knowledge and their eyes to guide them.) Only after innumerable experiments by the builders, who as much as possible used the methods and materials of the 17th century, did the contemporary Batavia take shape from the sturdy oak and pine logs stored in the shipyard.

To go below deck was to enter a massive and dim cave of wood. As one of the guides pointed out, an Indiaman such as the Batavia was “a warehouse, a fortress and a community.” Some of the 32 cannons especially cast for the reconstruction, poked through gun ports. Such guns were necessary; the Dutch had rivals in the lucrative sea trade, the English chief among them, and ships had to be prepared for battle.

As we wandered about the vessel’s dark belly, I had to stoop, lest I bang my head against a timber--evidence of how much shorter men were in the 17th century. Yet it was in such cramped quarters that the 200- to 300-man crew would have slept and eaten their abysmal fare. A round-trip voyage to the East Indies, around the southern tip of Africa, typically took two to three years, with as many as one-third of the men perishing before it ended. Nerves frayed easily and fights often broke out, leading to severe punishments, including the pinioning of a perpetrator to the mast by his knife stuck through his hand. But for the survivors of the voyage, the rewards could be great. Cargoes of spices, tea, pearls and gold fetched high prices in Amsterdam.

In the shipyard where the Batavia lay, work was proceeding on a reconstruction of the Seven Provinces, the flagship of 17th century Dutch naval hero, Admiral Michiel de Ruyter. The hull lay cradled in supports. Unlike the Batavia, for which the frame came first, the Seven Provinces is being built shell first, with the frame to be inserted later, a method common to the period. The hands-on experience gained by the shipwrights in the development of the Batavia will ensure accuracy, but the work is painstaking and goes slowly, with completion put at 2005, 10 years after the 1995 start-up date.

This means that visitors to the Lelystad shipyard will have the opportunity, for the next few years, to see the Seven Provinces gradually taking shape and to watch various craftsmen applying themselves to such individualized tasks as woodcarving and sail making. When the need for their artistry arises, the woodcarvers will begin creating ornaments typical of such a fine ship, including Tritons and other figures, which will adorn the stern, and the sailmakers will sew large canvas panels together by hand, using an authentic 17th century stitch. (To give some idea of the immensity of the task facing them, they earlier provided 1,416 square yards of sail for the Batavia.)

The shipyard work force consists largely of apprentices, eager to learn new skills, who are supervised by master shipwrights. The aim--as in the case of the Batavia--is not just to create a near replica of the original Seven Provinces but a seaworthy ship that can be taken on long runs, with the apprentices as crew. Just how many individuals will be required to sail it remains a mystery; only direct experience will provide the answer.

Our exposure to both vessels kindled our interest in Amsterdam’s Netherlands Maritime Museum, which we might well have skipped, drawn instead to the city’s numerous other attractions. That, I realize now, would have been a great mistake.

Housed in a large, handsome building dating back more than 300 years, the museum long functioned as a navy storage depot. It stands on the waterfront, where once there were dozens of shipyards, including those of the Dutch East India Co. and the Dutch navy. From here, during its heyday, the company dispatched 30 to 40 ships a year to the Orient, sometimes getting a 400% return on its investment.

The museum’s collections--which occupy 25 rooms--range from three centuries worth of beautifully detailed, perfectly scaled ship models, large oil paintings showing sea battles and voyages of discovery, to a royal barge, old racing boats and a 1946 radar cabin. Also on display are the accouterments of seafaring: sextants and other navigational instruments, maps, much-used charts and antique uniforms. Here, if ever, was the proof that Holland once ranked as the preeminent nation of shipbuilders, world explorers and merchants.

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Confronted by these riches, I understood how Amsterdam, with its easy access to the North Sea, could emerge as the chief trading port of Europe in the 17th century, during Holland’s famed Golden Age.

Ah, but what a high price was paid in human life to ensure such success. Life aboard the ships was a living hell, the crews having been put together from the dregs of society and then subjected to the harshest of conditions.

This was brought home to us in a Dutch documentary we saw in the museum’s theater, recreating conditions aboard one such hypothetical vessel. (I used readily available earphones to listen to an English translation.) The movie depicted the shipboard cruelty and debased conditions in no uncertain terms, with the sweaty, stubble-faced actors clad in suitably dirty clothing and their teeth foully coated to suggest the poor dental hygiene of the day. Food that was nasty at the outset deteriorated fast and the water became undrinkable (yet it had to be drunk). Typhus-bearing lice crawled everywhere and dysentery was common.

This jolt of reality shaped our response to the Indiaman Amsterdam, which sits in the water just outside the museum. Aboard are actors who impersonate various members of the scruffy crew. On the upper deck we saw some of them busily preparing a meal, the air thick with smoke from the closet-size galley where a fire burned on a brick platform set directly on the planking of the floor. In the shadows we could see hammocks strung between posts; whoever occupied similarly placed ones in the old days would have been lucky, able to catch an occasional breath of fresh air while those who slept below deck would have passed their nights in a close and stinking atmosphere where diseases spread rapidly.

As a reminder that there were occasional moments of levity aboard an Indiaman, a costumed man and woman played sea chanteys on an accordion and recorder, with the man lustily singing the raucous words.

After leaving the ship to reenter the 20th century, we heralded a taxi and had not driven far from the harbor when we saw other evidence of Amsterdam’s seafaring past. Our driver took us right through the Red-Light District, spawned by the long-vanished sailors and--as we could see--still flourishing today.

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GUIDEBOOK

For Smooth Sailing in the Netherlands

Getting there: KLM flies nonstop from LAX to Amsterdam. Lufthansa, Delta, American, British Airways, Northwest, United and Air France also offer service, with one change of planes. Advance-purchase, round-trip fares begin at $535.

Maritime museums: The Netherlands Maritime Museum (Nederlands Scheep-Vaartmuseum), Kattenburgerplein 1, 1018 KK Amsterdam; local telephone 52-32-222. Open Tuesday through Sunday, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Also open on Mondays (same hours) from mid-June to mid-September. Closed on New Year’s Day and April 30, the queen’s birthday. Admission: $6.60 for adults, $4.25 for children 6-17.

The Batavia Yard, Oostvaardersdijk 01-09, P.O. Box 119, 8200 AC Lelystad; tel. 320-261-409. Open daily from 10 a.m. to 9 p.m., July, August and September; from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. the rest of year. Closed Christmas Day and New Year’s Day. Admission: $9.25 for adults, $4 for children.

The Rijksmuseum of Ship Archeology, Vossemeerdijk 21, 8251 PM Ketelhaven; tel. 321-313-287. Open Monday through Friday, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. and Saturday and Sunday, 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Admission: $2 for adults, 80 cents for children and $1.35 for seniors. It will reopen adjacent to Batavia Yard in June 1998.

Where to stay: Two of our favorite Amsterdam hotels are the Hotel Pulitzer (Prinsengracht 315-331; from the U.S., tel. 011-31-20-523-5235), 24 converted 16th and 17th century houses with canal views (doubles $245); and the Ambassade (Herengracht 341, Amsterdam; tel. 011-31-20-626-2333), where doubles are $165 with breakfast.

Where to eat: The cooking of Indonesia reached Holland by ship, and one Indonesian restaurant we enjoyed in Amsterdam was Sama Seboe, P.C. Hoofstraat 27; tel. 662-8146. A 20-course rijsttafel (rice table meal) is $27 per person.

For more information: Netherlands Board of Tourism, 225 N. Michigan Ave., Suite 1854, Chicago, IL 60601; tel. (312) 819-0300.