The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra-la! (Keukenhof (Lisse))

Member Name: Chouchin

Product:	Keukenhof (Lisse)
Date:	18/07/07 (192 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Stunning colours and layout

Disadvantages: You have to like tulips

Many years ago, during a management course in Holland, I was taken to the Keukenhof. It was immediately after an overnight trip on the Harwich – Hook of Holland ferry (not a journey I recommend) but even in my befuddled state (can one be channel-lagged?) I recognised two things. Firstly the place was a knock-out, and secondly Mr C would love it. It has taken until this year to unite him with the Keukenhof. We have a division of labour in our house: he does the gardening, I don’t, so it seemed a bit perverse that I had been and he hadn’t.

The Keukenhof is not exactly a garden, more a temporary exhibition, like the Chelsea Flower Show, but devoted entirely to tulips. Open from March to May, it’s a growers’ show, with winners and rosettes, but more importantly it’s a celebration of the tulip whose worship runs through Dutch society right up to the royal family, one of whom opens the show every year.

There’s something about spring flowers that appeals to us: the perpetual cycle of the seasons, nature’s reawakening, symbol of new life and hope, that sort of thing. Even without the metaphysical dimension, who can fail to be attracted by the impossible fragility of a bunch of snowdrops in a biting February gale? Then come the crocuses, more robust and outgoing, but still keeping a low profile, hugging the ground for shelter. But it’s the daffodils that we as a nation take to our heart. Wordsworth got it right. I defy you not to have your spirits lifted by a field of nodding golden daffodils.

But when the tulips come along we are already moving on to other, early summer things. Tulips do not speak of spring. Their bearing is too upright, their leaves too neatly folded, their flower-heads too big and bright. A gust of wind, and a bent, bedraggled tulip is a sad thing. Then when the petals open up they display some alarmingly aggressive markings inside. But if we don’t take these regimented lollipops to our hearts, they find all the care and cosseting they need in Holland. Are you all now humming Tulips from Amsterdam? They are as Dutch as windmills and clogs, and the Dutch devotion reaches its apogée here at the Keukenhof.

It is tempting to try to match tulip characteristics with Dutch qualities. Does the shape of the flower-head resemble a windmill or a Dutch cap (both kinds!)? But the comparison falls down with the regimented growing style, in a country which is the epitome of tolerance, freedom and laid-backness. Nor is it the only crop that will grow here. Water-logged the country may be, but it is a rich producer of dairy food and has one of the world’s busiest ports. All right, back to more prosaic explanations. The tulip was introduced from Turkey and flourished in the sandy, damp soils of the North Sea coast. If you’ve read Deborah Moggach’s “Tulip Fever” you will know just how well they flourished: to the extent that they became a commodity for market speculation and individual bulbs changed hands for the price of a house. Madness, certainly, and eventually the Dutch States put a stop to this North Sea Bubble in the 1630s. This tulip mania always reminds me of the Barbra Streisand film “For Pete’s Sake” where the comedy revolves around her speculating on pork bellies. Tulips, pork bellies, there’s a straight line through to selling string vests for £200 on e-bay. Everything has a market.

As the Dutch have not yet managed to produce tulips all year round, we had to time our visit with military precision to get there at the peak time. Traditionally this is the end of April, but this year spring has sprung early all over western Europe, thanks to global warming we are told, so we brought it forward a bit. Then we had to rule out mid weeks as we’re not entirely free agents and have to earn a crust. Finally the weather – there’s nothing more depressing than trailing around a garden under leaden skies and in a drizzle. Our calculations put NASA to shame with probabilities of good weather and windows of opportunity.

And do you know, it worked perfectly!

At 10am on a lovely April morning we were part of a steady stream of cars pouring into the Keukenhof. We belatedly remembered that advance ticket booking was possible on-line, but in the event waited all of 30 seconds in the ticket queue. They are geared up for large crowds over a short period of time and cope admirably. To park you are passed from one fluorescent jacket to the next and park where you are told in serried rows. Anything else in this volume of traffic would be chaotic. There is a parking charge which you pay when you buy your ticket, but no need to trek back quarter of a mile to display it on your windscreen – you hand it in on exit, and if you haven’t got one, pay then. A simple, time-saving idea.

And so through the entrance, which is a rather jolly layout of pond, fountain, shops, cafés and oompah music, to the main avenue leading to the displays. Mr C was already stopping to take photos, and knowing what was to come I had to propel him onwards with a firm hand, otherwise we would have needed a season ticket.

From here on you’re immersed in colour. It’s a riot, a kaleidoscope. To paraphrase Henry Ford, you can have any colour you like, period. Not just the big, bold primary colours, but so many subtle shades and hues it’s breathtaking. These guys know a thing or two about display, and the arrangement adds to the impact. Planting is in banks, swathes and carpets, with little space between the blooms so that the colour palette is intensified. Two or three, but never more, achingly beautiful complementary colours are planted together to offset each other. There are other flowers here, notably bright, white narcissi and tiny, intense blue hyacinths, but they are only there to point up and add contrast to the tulips. All colours, and all shapes and sizes too: the tall traditional guardsmen we know well, but also shorter-stemmed, oval-heads, and clustered round their ankles the spiky-headed punks of the tulip world.

The garden is laid out in an English style with plenty of mature trees, woodland glades and random paths as well as more formal symmetrical beds. As a result the visitor is constantly presented with a new vista round each corner. And it is very big. “Keukenhof” means kitchen garden, and it was originally the kitchen garden of a castle which still exists although I’ve never actually spotted it. If so, it must have been able to feed everyone for miles around. You need a good two hours to get round all of it, it easily absorbs the multitude of visitors and as well as the open air gardens has large enclosed glass houses and extensive water features.

At the far end there is a small windmill which you can go inside and up to a viewing platform. The view, however, is not back across the Keukenhof which at this point is obscured by trees, but out over the flat, open fields of growing tulips. What an arresting sight! If you thought by now you had absorbed the full-on colour effect of tulips, here was a completely different, and even more surprising, visual onslaught. The striped rows of multi-coloured flowerheads, foreshortened by perspective, look like a mad giant’s scarf draped across the countryside, or as if thousands of deck-chairs had unravelled.

The windmill actually works, having been restored, and the sails go round with that soothing whooshing sound. Inside, the shaft turns obediently but is not connected to anything which seems a waste of power these days. Why not grind some flour – it would sell like the hot cakes it would undoubtedly make. They could call it the Flour of Spring!

When I came home I looked at our few specimens with a new eye, and surely this is what visiting other places is all about. The Keukenhof is not one of the wonders of the world, or even of Europe, but you will spend a thoroughly enjoyable half day and never look at a tulip in the same way again.


Details:

The Keukenhof is in the south-west of Holland, near Lisse. Nearest large town is Leiden. Opening dates for 2007 were 22 March – 20 May (8am – 7.30pm) and entry was €13, €12 for over 65s, €6 for children aged 4-11, €5 for the car park. Tickets can be bought and printed out on-line (www.keukenhof.nl/nm/english.html). Everywhere is accessible to wheelchairs and pushchairs (except going up the windmill). There are several restaurants and cafés.

Summary: A must-see for keen gardeners