Six cities

Having been based in or near Danish villages since 1983, it may seem a bit incongruous to write about some cities I have known. The lure of rural settings has taken precedence… But urban life has many attractions and as a regular commuter between Copenhagen and the countryside, in fact I’ve been able to appreciate the best of both worlds. Anyway, looking back I’m aware of some insights gained through residence in a series of contrasting cities, described here in alphabetical not in chronological order and concluding with the largest…

There was a distinctly unpolished edge to Antwerp in the 1980s when I lived there, close to the city centre. Prostitution flourished in the back streets south of the enormous harbour; stretching northwards towards the Dutch border, decorated with giant cranes and criss-crossed by highways and railway sidings. Many of the old quarters of the city were run down, with lots of scaffolding and blocked alleys. Trams rumbled from the sprawling suburbs – Flanders is one of the most urbanised regions on the planet – converging around the city’s tallest buildings: the Kreditbank, the main police station and the Cathedral of our Lady.

As Flemish friends noted with twinkles in their eyes, what could be better symbols of any city than financial capital, enforcement of law and order and the power of Almighty God? Founded in the 3rd Century, the city boomed in the 14th when the wool trade and the port on the River Scheldt turned it into one of the richest in Europe. Then several centuries of decline ensued as Tuscan financiers ushered in the renaissance in Florence and Siena while spices and other commodities were handled through Amsterdam and London. It was not until the arrival of the diamond traders in the 19th Century that Antwerp regained world domination.

With abundant food and drink, absorbing influences that flow through the city from the Baltic to the Maghreb, from the North Sea to the Eastern Mediterranean, Antwerp is a gourmet’s paradise. The city centre is awash with cool bars and smart restaurants. But urban planning is the Achilles heel of the Flemish. Although there are numerous fine buildings, there are also many monstrosities. The Ring – a huge motorway dividing the historical centre from the suburban districts – is the ultimate nightmare, ensuring that never ending streams of heavy freight pollute the air with particles and noise. I’m glad to report that one of my old friends has campaigned for years to develop green spaces around the city…

When I moved to Belfast at the end of 1978 I resolved to familiarise myself with the layout by walking. It was a good idea, but complicated by numerous “reality checkpoints”: boundaries both seen and unseen between the Republican and Unionist zones of the Northern Irish capital. Nonetheless, I walked as much as I could: along the Catholic Falls Road past the Divis Flats where snipers occasionally tried to shoot army patrols; up the Protestant Shankill Road sandwiched between ”peace walls”; through the Markets and across the River Lagan into East Belfast, heartland of the Unionists and their Orange Orders and July marches. I particularly enjoyed walking on Sundays when the streets were quiet. But there was constant tension in the air, there were road blocks and many ”incidents” such as a weekend riot in West Belfast, during which one of the young people I worked with was killed by a rubber bullet fired at short range that hit him in the chest. I also witnessed a bomb attack on a bank, not far from the university district where I lived. They were turbulent times.

I liked the location of the city, below the hills rolling towards Antrim and close to the beautiful coastlines of the province. I liked the humour of the inhabitants, making the most of life surrounded by police vans, army barracks and paramilitary organisations. After an upbringing in the affluent south of England, living in Belfast was my introduction to a much tougher world of violence, unemployment, political conflict and militarisation. Belfast was where I learnt to reject simplistic answers to difficult questions and to understand the value of negotiation and compromise, as well as later – following the Good Friday (Belfast) peace agreement in 1997 – to realize that people can have multiple identities.

Until my mother died in 2018 I was a regular visitor to the city where I grew up between 1961 and 1975. Not surprisingly Cambridge looms large in my memories. But what are the characteristics of the city (population: 125,000) that I would highlight looking back?

Probably one of the most remarkable features is the abundance of gardens, fields, parks, riverbanks and all manner of open spaces! No doubt land values in Cambridge are sky high, but the planners have been able to control and restrict encroachment by builders and developers, such that Midsummer Common, Parker’s Piece, the Botanic Gardens, the Fens, the Backs, etc. are as green as it gets. It’s possible to walk or cycle from Fen Ditton, through the centre and along the River Cam to Grantchester almost without encountering traffic, almost…

Any reflections on growing up in Cambridge would be incomplete without reference to the “intellectual environment.” As children and teenagers we were aware of the University, but our minds were focused elsewhere, until it was time to make career choices. Returning at least once a year since 1975, I have realised that the world of study, research and teaching exerts a massive influence. There are more students than tourists, almost…. and the scientific infrastructure has spread in all directions: astronomy and physics to the west, aerospace in the east near the old airport, biotechnology and medicine to the south, etc. As such, “Silicon Fen” has been booming for several decades. It wasn’t surprising that a large majority of the well-educated Cambridge voters were against leaving the European Union at the ill-fated referendum in 2016, knowing that their passions and interests are tied to the continent.

Geneva is both a city and a republic, attached to the Confoederatio Helvetica (CH) as a canton since 1814. I’ve tried to write about my two years in the city a number of times, but found it difficult to capture the many layers of history. So here’s an extract from the world wide web:

First noted as a Roman settlement in 58 BC, Geneva quickly grew into an important trading town in the heart of Europe during the Middle Ages. Due to its strategic location, the city was a major target of conquest and changed hands several times before eventually establishing itself as a republic in 1535. Final independence was gained in 1602, when the people of Geneva repelled an attempted invasion by the Duke of Savoy. Celebration of the defence of the city takes place until today: l’Escalade.

Following the repeal of the Edict of Nantes in the mid-1600s, Geneva became a major refuge for persecuted Protestants from throughout the continent. Attracted by the teachings of John Calvin, John Knox and Theodore de Beze, Geneva’s refugee population exploded, garnering the title: Protestant Rome. This period also brought the first waves of watchmakers, jewellers and other artisans who would soon make Geneva famous the world over for its craftsmanship.

Throughout the following centuries Geneva attracted many rich aristocrats who established grand estates around the city. Voltaire, Jean-Jacques Rousseau and other philosophers and artists soon followed, further adding to the refinement of the city. On September 12, 1814 Geneva joined the Confederation of Switzerland and quickly grew as a banking hub and a leader of the industrial revolution in Europe. Toward the end of the century, in 1864, Henry Dunant founded the Red Cross laying the groundwork for the modern conception of the city as an international hub and champion of human rights. The first convening of the League of Nations took place in 1920, followed by the opening of the European Headquarters of the United Nations in 1946.

In short, merchants and traders, craftsmen, philosophers, men of the cloth, peace activists, bankers and international bureaucrats and diplomats mingle on the shores of Lac Leman, close to where the Rhône and Arve rivers merge. My little flat overlooked the confluence of these rivers at La Jonction, with a view towards Mont Blanc on the horizon. The streets in the district where I lived were all named after the life and works of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, as was the bus stop I used regularly! But a largely unsung attraction of the city was particularly important to me: the excellent system of bike lanes and paths, which meant that it was easy to get around despite often fairly steep slopes. On three or four occasions I took my bike with the cable car to ascend Mont Salève overlooking the city, sweated to the summit at around 1400 metres and then cruised downhill on a spectacular winding road through the forest.

I was a bit surprised at our children’s enthusiasm when I told them that there was an opportunity to move to Managua, where I would be employed as a counsellor at the Danish Embassy from 2002 to 2005. As teenagers I was afraid that they would miss their friends and the security of familiar schools. But I needn’t have worried as they both found their feet in no time and by the end of our three year stay they had made the most of the chance to get to know Central America; both the social scene at the American Nicaraguan School and the landscapes of the region, which we explored as much as we could.

Managua is an ugly city in beautiful surroundings, best viewed from an airplane window on the approach to the airport east of the centre. Much of the city has been built since the great earthquake in December 1972, which flattened the old downtown and killed thousands. Thus, re-construction sprawled along new highways dividing the many barrios where around a million people live. The non-descript character of these districts is underlined by the lack of street names, such that addresses are a composite of directions from roundabouts or well-known landmarks. Somehow, people manage to find each other in this maze of confusion.

Rich Nicaraguans own large American cars and live in big houses in the suburbs. There is an extraordinary contempt for the poorer citizens. The people vacating the house that we lived in for three years in Altos de Santo Domingo underlined this in a casual remark. Waving across the garden towards the neighbours, the departing residents informed us that nobody lives there, solo los pobres (only the poor)! Getting away from the city for tours of the fantastic volcanic landscapes, lakes and beautiful Pacific beaches was the saving grace.

Ouagadougou is an ever-expanding agglomeration, sometimes called Africa’s biggest village (population around 2.6 million). Lene and I visited for the first time in 1986 when la révolution démocratique et populaire was in full swing, led by Captain Thomas Sankara. He was killed in a coup d’état in 1987 and his comrade at arms Blaise Campaoré took over, ruling Burkina Faso in various guises for the next 27 years, believe it or not! With funds from Colonel Gaddafi he built an enormous presidential palace behind high fences on the edge of the city (a zone called Ouaga 2000). Unfortunately the mass uprisings and street protests in 2014 that resulted in Campaoré’s downfall led to prolonged instability, successfully manipulated by Islamic fundamentalists to create bloody mayhem across the country. The upshot is that in one of the world’s poorest countries more than 20 per cent of public revenue is spent on defence. Despite the funds and foreign military contingents, the army is fighting losing battles against fanatics. It is not a recommended destination for travellers…

It seems almost perverse to report that we had a very good time in Ouagadougou in the mid-1990s. The kids were taught at an excellent international school and despite the hardships of a hot and dusty city, we were able to enjoy the comforts of an “expat” lifestyle. We made use of various swimming pools, went to films and concerts at various clubs and arranged weekend excursions to attractions such as the camel market at Gorom-Gorom and a national park full of baboons and elephants at Nazinga. Every other year there’s a giant exhibition of West African arts and crafts in the city, which we also enjoyed.

Keeping healthy was hard work in Ouagadougou. The heat and dust discourage outdoor activities except early in the morning or after dark. Avoiding malaria transmitted by mosquito vectors was a daily struggle. But in comparison with many of the citizens we had an easy life.

In general cities are good locations for music lovers; there are concert halls, clubs and stadiums where all manner of singers, bands and orchestras perform. In Copenhagen I can boast (?) of having accompanied my young daughter to concerts with Britney Spears and Lenny Kravitz. I’m very envious of my son’s trips to Bob Dylan concerts in several cities… When we’re travelling I usually track down what’s on listings for new musical adventures. So that’s the conclusion: go urban, keep your ears clean and enjoy the sound of music!

In Antwerp I heard songs by Wannes Van de Velde who wanted to disappear in the streets (Ik wil deze nacht in de straten verdwalen): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dDKeikdpYqE

Van Morrison is rooted in Belfast and sings about Cyprus Avenue; this is a fantastic live version from 1973: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EsHijcP39UQ

Pink Floyd originated in Cambridge and sang a dreamy ditty about Grantchester Meadows in 1970 or thereabouts: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2DAdWcsM7Po

In Genève there are concerts at the Victoria Hall, where I enjoyed a performance of Beethoven’s choral symphony (the odd one out in this mini-collection with no link to a video).

The singer Katya Cardenal was amongst our favourites in Managua; where we watched her perform a couple of times: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wR1-76E2h0M

We’ve been to concerts with the Malian singer Oumou Sangaré both in Ouagadougou in 1997 and in Copenhagen in 2019. I like the video with this recent song, Been (filmed on the banks of the Niger River in Bamako): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFPtv-MXEoE