Antwerp is the centre of the global diamond industry, and has been for centuries, which is quite a boast.
Over 85% of the world's supply passes through the city on the way "from the mine to your finger", thanks to a concentration of skilled diamond cutters and four separate trading exchanges to help sell them on. The diamond district lies immediately alongside the central station, literally across the road, where dozens of tiny jewellers offer the ultimate in window shopping. Their shelves sparkle, their jewellery is generally unpriced, and every so often a pair of hands appears behind the glass to tweak the display. A lot of the businesses are Jewish, as the occasional burst of Hebrew confirms, but everyone is welcome to browse and buy if their pockets are deep enough.
A lot of the most important trading places are in Hoveniersstraat, an otherwise insignificant backstreet except that it's barriered at both ends, a double dogleg ensures that nobody in any connecting street can see what's going on and the army have two trucks parked in the centre just in case. I decided against taking any photos. The district is branded with 'DnA' banners, this supposedly standing for 'Diamonds & Antwerp', and was amok with ring hunters scouting for a good deal. And OK, because it was the middle of August a lot of the dealers were on a fortnight's holiday and their shutters were firmly down, but even a diamond geezer like myself could sense I'd only scratched the surface.
In order to capitalise on the city's reputation and attract more fashionista tourists, a brand new museum called DIVA opened last year halfway between the cathedral and the river. It describes itself as "a cocoon of luxury and extravagance, filled with diamonds, jewellery and silverware", or in other words it's a museum of bling. Visitors are offered a headset on the way in, indeed it's essential, with instructions to point and click at the special symbols beside the cases to discover more. Sometimes the audio tracks deliver factual content and sometimes contextual fiction imagining who the wearer might have been. A digital butler called Jerome butts in and talks to you every time you enter a new room. Essentially you're here to look and listen, not to read.
The first room was full of dazzling jewellery in tiny cases, so I listened to a few stories but thought I'd better press on in case I ran out of time. The second room purported to be a Workshop but was really just half a dozen sit-down touchscreens explaining the tools of the trade so I walked straight through. I listened to one of the international stories in room 3 but baulked at a nine and a half minute playing time on the next so moved on. The Dining Room was beautifully laid out but mostly silverware, and then... oh, it turned out there wasn't much upstairs. The Vault only really looked the part from the entrance, and the final Boudoir ended with an opportunity to take a quiz and email myself a selfie. I got very little out of my DIVA experience, and suspect that even at half speed I'd still have left disappointed.
That's the 'Museum By The River', but in Dutch, or MAS for short. It too is a recent creation, born in 2011 when the city sought to close two musty old museums and erect instead an architectural statement to revitalise the dockside. What they created was a ten-storey block clad in Indian red sandstone, with a spiral of curved glass panels winding upwards level by level. The exterior looks equallystriking from any angle, and the contents outweigh DIVA any day of the week... Mondays excepted.
Between floors two and eight every level is its own huge exhibition gallery, with the former Maritime Museum having decamped to the sixth floor and the Etnografisch Museum to the seventh. Other layers major on sustainable food, rites of passage and Pre-Columbian art. My favourite by far was the temporary exhibition across Level 3 devoted to Le Corbusier, specifically the new town he wasn't allowed to build in Antwerp and the thriving city he bequeathed to Chandigarh in India. It closes today, sorry. Generally you're only allowed inside the galleries if you've paid for a wristband, but one or two have free admission, and it's also free to walk up inside the building to the roof.
The pathway to the top is fabulous, each set of escalators leading to an long atrium, three walls of which are ripplingglass, presenting a different elevation across the city with each quarter rotation. But the best panorama is from the open rooftop, Antwerp having very few other tall buildings to get in the way. From here you can fully appreciate the sweep of the river, the vast extent of the adjacentport, a few spires in the city centre and suburbia spreading to the horizon. I thank the designer with the foresight to drill one small porthole in the centre of each glass barrier to allow non-reflective camera shots in each compass direction. Of all Antwerp's museums, I spent the longest time here.
Not the White Star Line, owners of the Titanic, but a separate American company which shipped passengers across the Atlantic between 1874 and 1934. The Red Star Line chose Antwerp as their European base and the museum is housed in their former offices close to the northern dockside. But if you're expecting the exhibits to be about ocean liners the true story turns out to be something distinctly more human, the flow of migrants from Eastern Europe and Russia to the United States and Canada. It's a fascinating (and familiar) tale, not least America's changing point of view from 'as many as you like' to 'we need to screen everyone in advance' to 'no more immigrants thanks'. Many of those rejected ended up staying in Antwerp and changed the city forever.
The whole thing's really well presented, and the English language handout which enables you read some of the Dutch information panels doubles as a gorgeous souvenir. I finished my circuit feeling educated, enlightened and engaged. And then I walked up the observation tower via six loops of spiralling concrete steps to an open platform (or you can be dull and take the lift). From up here you get a fine view of riverside cranes and warehouses, but also ongoing demolition as the dockland periphery regenerates. It was also from here that I finally got to glimpse Zaha Hadid's startling Port House, a 100m-long crystallineoffice block dumped on the roof of a former fire station to shimmering effect. The diamond city now boasts another gem.
By yomping round Antwerp and not stopping for anything as unnecessary as lunch, I managed to fit in visits to five museums and one cathedral during my seven hour stay. That's six admission fees saved by buying an Antwerp City Card, plus no need for a one-day travel pass, meaning I got €59 of value for a €27 outlay. At current exchange rates that's £25 spent and £30 saved, which is top touristing (but come soon before sterling slips too much further).
I wanted to make the most of my seven hours in Antwerp so bought an Antwerp City Card. This allows free admission to 15 museums, discounts at others and free travel on the city's bus and tram network. The price is €27 for one day, €35 for two and €40 for three, so it's not for everyone, indeed a daytripper might struggle to get value. But I reckoned I could cram in enough visits to make it worthwhile, so bought my card on arrival at the Central station (at the top of the stairs), and what a lot of goodies they handed over.
The plastic card is dated by hand, and has to be scanned at each venue because you can only use it once. It comes with a sturdy book of vouchers, attractively branded, and a leaflet explaining where you can go for nothing and which stingyattractions will only offer 10% off. I was also given a free Visit Antwerp guide, recommended retail price €3, plus an almost-useful map of the city (which is free to anyone, just ask). I had my itinerary planned in advance, of course, because only a novice wastes the first hour of their €27 allocation ploughing through the paperwork. But good show, Antwerp, indeed everything about their marketing was sparkily professional.
Of all Antwerp's cultural accomplishments, its proudest boast is that the Baroque painter Peter Paul Rubens lived and worked here. Not only that but he thrived and became enormously wealthy, so was able to rebuild a Flemish townhouse in palazzo style on the banks of a canal, add a spacious studio and gardens, and generally lead a fabulous life. His home is now a walk-through gallery displaying his works and those of his Flemish contemporaries, as well as several of the Italian artists he admired so much. Pick up your ticket (and seriously good little guidebook) from the pavilion in the street outside. Try not to read the smallprint on page 2 which says the building was "fundamentally altered" in the mid 17th century after Rubens' death, because then you'll believe you're about to walk round his actual rooms, which alas you're not.
Expect a lot of wood panelling, a lot of doors to push open and a lot of art. Significant works of art are numbered, so you refer to your 80-page guide to see what it is, who it's by and a paragraph of information about it, which is a clever solution to gallery display in a country that speaks multiple languages. It takes until the second room for a painting actually painted by Rubens to appear, but you won't complain. In the chief ground floor gallery look out for number 19 - a Tintoretto altarpiece David Bowie liked so much that he bought it for his private collection back in the 1980s. The current owner wanted it displayed here, so many anonymous thanks.
Your wanderings bring you close to the outdoor portico, one of the few original structures to survive, and also into a lofty artist's studio hung with some of the larger works of art. Adam and Eve in oils confirms Rubens mastery of the skill of obscuring genitals with drooping foliage. The self portrait on the darkest wall is one of only four he painted. Enjoy the Breughel with monkeys dressed up as humans. And finally head out to the Italianate garden, which at the moment is a riot of mostly purples, to get some idea of just how contented Rubens must have been. Moved in 1610, passed on 1640, still marvellous 2019.
While we're doing Golden Age Antwerp, head to a small square by the river to find this unique museum. Christophe Plantin was a highly successful 16th century printer who made his name by publishing a single edition of the Bible in six languages. On his death the business passed to his son-in-law Jan Moretus who upheld these high standards and diversified further into scientific publishing. So integral was their printing to the Renaissance, and so well preserved the building, that Plantin-Moretus is now the sole museum on UNESCO's World Heritage List. It is a book lover's dream.
Unsurprisingly for a museum of this type you go round armed with a beautifully printed map, plus a thick guide book it's probably too dark to read before you have to give it back at the end. Once round the ground floor to explore the printworks and once round the upstairs to ogle the books. The wood panel count is satisfactorily high. The feeling that it might still be 400 years ago is ever present. A brief foray into the central courtyard garden is very pleasant. The temporary gallery is currently hung with Grotesques, in an exhibition which introduced me to the works of Hieronymous Cock. But I was unprepared to meet the world's two oldest printing presses in the long workshop, plus racks and racks of gorgeous metal type, the epitome of how things used to be.
The collection of books upstairs is comprehensive and extensive, from Latin classics to medical treatises and early Dutch dictionaries to arithmetical texts. The content and layout is invariably exquisite. Everything is viewed through the prism of the company's extensive history, for example when a new family member took over and prioritised the production of religious material. But what really comes across is the explosion in learning as knowledge was suddenly made cheaply and readily available, with parallels today to the rise of the internet. It made those in power nervous then and it does the same today. The Plantin-Moretus is a museum which stays with you. And bring a €2 coin for the lockers.
You can't miss De Kathedraal, its soaring tower being one of the few tall buildings on the city skyline. The original intention was for there to be two towers, but one was put on hold in 1521 when the building was consecrated and construction's been on hold ever since. Sorry about the scaffolding, but they're restoring the stonework and repainting the clock, which is also why you won't be hearing the carillon again until the end of next year. At least they haven't started on the interior yet so that's still stunning, as befits a major cathedral at the crossroads of northern Europe.
The people of Antwerp are in thrall to the Virgin Mary, not only dedicating their cathedral to her but also placing several shrines to her on street corners. That's her on the altarpiece, which was painted by Rubens, and three of his other masterpieces hang elsewhere. Further old masters are slotted into the gaps between the pillars in the nave where the city's guilds once had their own individual altars. The carved wooden pulpit is amazing, a huge structure resembling a forest scene, but was actually shipped in from an abbey elsewhere. Enjoy the stained glass. Always look up.
Unsurprisingly the cathedral sits in the oldest part of town, surrounded by twisting cobbled lanes, tourist-friendly waffle cafes and countless tablefuls of lager-filled chalices. The densest concentration of tall thin Dutch townhouses is around the Grote Markt, which doesn't look at its most picturesque with the Town Hall under wraps, the cathedral tower sheathed Big-Ben-style and truckloads of workmen setting up a stage for this weekend's music festival. The only building to almost match the cathedral in height is the Boerentoren, widely recognised as Europe's first skyscraper and home to the KBC bank since 1932, but alas the public's no longer allowed to the top of that.
Two museums and one cathedral down, and my Antwerp City Card has saved me entrance fees totalling €24. Throw in that tram journey under the Scheldt and my running total is exactly €27, so I've broken even on my investment. Everything on top of this is profit. Further reports tomorrow.
This means several posts about Belgium, sorry (plus an entire albumful of photos).
I'd purchased one of Eurostar's Any Belgian Station tickets. Lasttime I did this you recommended I went to Ghent, so I went toGhent. This time I went to your second-choice option. Cracking suggestion, thanks.
Antwerp is Belgium's most populous city. It's located about 30 miles north of Brussels, very close to the border with the Netherlands. It's a major port, an Olympic host city and the hub of the global diamond industry. In French it's called Anvers, but because it lies in the Flemish half of Belgium the locals call it Antwerpen because that's the Dutch. I got to spend seven hours in the city, which is pretty good for a day trip from London. And I arrived via what's sometimes described as the most beautiful railway station in Europe.
How often do you get to visit a triple decker station? That's properly triple decker, with the lines stacked up on top of each other and simultaneously visible? AntwerpCentral didn't start out that way in 1905, it was simply the terminus of the line from Brussels, but a very major upgrade began in 1998 to allow inter city trains to pass through without reversing. Engineers retained the original glass and steel arched roof, itself hugely impressive, and dug down to create additional platforms at lower levels. High speed trains and connections from Brussels arrive down in the depths, which are admittedly a bit Stygian, but that's where your grand ascent to the surface begins.
The first set of escalators leads to a crossover walkway deep within the station box, then a second flight leads up through the middle of an open atrium. I was in a hurry so took the adjacent staircase rather than queueing for the escalators, but I now realise that this was a rookie error. This particular set of escalators flattens out in the middle then rises again, which is properly unusual, but I have at least consoled myself by watching this video of what I missed. Four platforms on Level -1 host terminating tracks, then it's up again to an admin'n'shopping mezzanine and street-level exit, then up again to six further high level platforms (this being the elevation of the original station). In central London only St Pancras comes close.
Step through the intricately imposing facadewith the clock and you discover... another intricately imposing facade with a clock. The ticket hall is an entirely separate space, complete with marble tiled floor and lofty dome, perhaps more reminiscent of a cathedral or concert hall than a city station. I confess I wowed a little. And the entire Antwerp Central complex is free to explore, even all the way back down to the lowest platforms, because Belgian stations aren't blighted with anything so restrictive as ticket barriers. Just remember to leave and take a look around the rest of the city too, else you'll miss the most diamond-geezer-friendly attraction of all.
Antwerp lies on the River Scheldt, a major waterway navigable from northern France to the North Sea via Belgium and the Netherlands. Almost all of the city lies to the east of the river but a small chunk lies to the west in an area known as Linkeroever (or Left Bank). Originally the only way across was by ferry but in the 1930s, to stimulate development, a proper connection was proposed. A bridge proved impractical because of passing shipping so the burghers instead plumped for tunnels, one for traffic and one for pedestrians. The Sint-Annatunnel opened on 10 September 1933, as did its motoring counterpart, is still free to walk through and OMG the escalators are to die for.
To give you some idea of the distance traversed, the Scheldt here is roughly as broad as the Thames is at Woolwich. But whereas the Woolwich Foot Tunnel is a dank narrow bore through which bikes are discouraged, St Anna's Tunnel is drier, wider and an integral part of Linkeroever's cycling commute. Each side of the tunnel is marked by a substantialbrick building, with no especially obvious signage explaining its purpose and tall enough to house sufficient lift machinery. And yes you could go down into the 'Underpass' by lift, but why do that when there's an original wooden escalator to transfer you to the depths.
Not only are the treads wooden but the sides are too, providing a refreshingly retro Art Deco ambience. Best not think about the fire risk - London Transport replaced all theirs for good reason - so step aboard. You're not required to stand on the right and walk on the left, it's not that busy, plus any attempt at walking is likely to be blocked by someone carrying a bike. I made my Sint-Anna debut during the evening peak and dozens of people were accompanying their bicycles onto the escalators both up and down. It must be quicker than waiting for the lift.
And it's not just one set of escalators it's two. Halfway down you have to step off the first, twist round on a semicircular landing and join the second. Not even the longest escalator on the London Underground goes as deep as we're going, which is 31½m. No adverts grace the walls, only historical photos of the tunnel and the locality. The underside of the treads is painted chocolate-brown to match the woodwork. Intermittent red buttons allow you to press 'Nood' to execute an emergency stop. And assuming nobody does that, you'll eventually glide down to the mouth of the tunnel.
The tunnel proper, to be fair, is dull. For a start it's entirely flat, whereas the Thames foot tunnels slope downwards to the centre providing an ongoing change of perspective. The walls are tiled entirely in white along their entire length, although to their credit the authorities have pasted up a chronological series of posters about the development of the Linkeroever tunnels so it's not as monotonous as it could be. And because the tunnel is over 4m wide the authorities have decided that cycling is permitted, officially with a maximum speed of 5kmh but I don't think I saw anybody sticking to walking pace.
No lanes have been painted so it's a bit of a free for all, especially at half past five in the evening, although I think there's an unwritten rule that you're supposed to stick to the right. All kinds of bikes swooshed past me from sleek racers to cargo bikes, plus young children pedalling furiously to keep up with their parents. Each successive arrival of the lift sent another pulse, but because so many cyclists use the escalators the traffic never died down for long. The tunnel's official length is 572m - I timed my crossing at seven minutes precisely - and then another pair of escalators awaits to take you back to the surface.
Linkeroever on the far side is a sprawling suburb of 15000 residents, so nothing sightseeingworthy, but if you step back to the waterfront a fine view of the Antwerpskyline can be enjoyed across the river. The skyline would have been more impressive before 1944 when the Germans started doodlebugging the port, and generally missed, but it's fine enough. And you could walk back, or catch the free ferry, but I hopped down onto the premetro and caught a tram back through the Brabotunnel. It was a lot quicker, but I really missed the wooden escalators.
