Why the Randstad seems full, but empty

In the seventeenth century, Jacob van Ruisdael painted a beautiful series of panoramas of the landscape around Haarlem and other cities. The vastness was the theme of these imaginations. The Netherlands consisted of emptiness, with here and there a village announced by a church tower at a distance. By opting for a vertical image with high skies, Ruisdael enhanced the depth effect. It makes the long lines in the landscape extra emphasized and the roads are assigned a crucial role as a symbol of freedom. The paintings are part of our collective memory. They feed the desire for what the Netherlands should be.

Anyone who drives through the Randstad today sees a fragmented and confusing landscape, an accumulation of office and industrial buildings, noise barriers and residential areas. Compared to other countries, our country has relatively many traffic jams, few motorways and also lacks a network of regional connections. The Randstad is experienced as full and messy. The Netherlands is fragmenting further and traffic is driving slower.

Ruisdael’s landscape has been lost. This is logical: the Dutch population has increased tenfold compared to the seventeenth century: a growth that is greater than in most other parts of Europe. And the Randstad may have  an enormous attraction even more than before, making  it impossible to maintain the Arcadia or the emptiness. Much more striking is that the Randstad nevertheless has more landscape and less roads than other metropolises. In fact, the Randstad is one of the least densely populated metropolises in the world. So why do we still experience it as messy and cluttered? This is not due to the number of buildings or their quality, but to the perception, the perception of the city.

Perhaps,  after four centuries, we  should detach  ourselves from the nostalgic Ruisdaelian vision  and finally dare to enter the era of the metropolis. What we see, logically, largely  determines our view of our environment. We string places, situations, streets and roads together into a large whole. Road patterns determine the structure of city and country. It is not for nothing  that we  buy a map when we visit a foreign city: this is how we understand the city and find our way around it, this is how we  gain access to the environment. The historic Dutch cities know the indisputable quality of canals, squares and alleys. A walk through the

The urban fabric of Leiden, Haarlem or Delft exposes the original use of the city  and brings the individual parts together into a recognizable and harmonious whole. This is also the case with motorways and regional roads: they make connections between villages and cities, between built-up and unbuilt-up areas. Both the shape of streets and roads, and the pattern they form together, determine how you  see reality. This is also the case with motorways and regional roads: they make connections between villages and cities, between built-up and unbuilt-up areas. Both the shape of streets and roads, and the pattern they form together, determine how you experience reality. Logical and pleasant connections and connections strengthen the network, while interruptions or faulty connections lead to disruptions in the network.

Now, in the larger whole of the Randstad, that road network seems to be more of a traffic support for urban and economic activities. Roads are not the steering principle for urban development. The Randstad could gain space and therefore a future by consciously using the construction of roads for positioning and orientation, especially now that we have all become so mobile. When you see a photo of an ordinary Dutch street in Leiderdorp, Soest or Zetten, no one will seriously be able to claim that this is a street in Rome or Barcelona. Apparently, there are so many Dutch characteristics attached to the image that confusion is excluded – although every street is the same everywhere: a long line with two walls, a beginning and an end. Yet every street follows its own laws. The cross profile of the street tells about the relationship between the individual and the collective. A building can rise above the street, withdraw from the street, determine its position with a distinguished door, or seek a barrier-free connection with the public space. Like a town hall. This is traditionally a building with authority, a large building with a tower, a large door and steps that the visitor has to climb to enter. Since the seventies of the twentieth century, town halls have come closer and closer to the ground, often colorful, friendly and with everyday architecture. The city council has exchanged its authority and distance for accessible approachability. The relationship between the building and the street tells us about the fundamental choice that the institute wanted to make in its relationship with society. In a similar way, the street façade shows the mutual relationships between the individuals, the citizens. Take, for example, the canal belt in Amsterdam, recently elevated to the status of World Heritage Site. The unwritten laws of the centuries in which the buildings were built are described in the facades of the canals. The combination of their properties is unique. Nowhere else will you find such a unanimity of individuals, narrow modesty of capital that allows people to look into their houses with such large windows.

What applies to the canal belt also applies to the streets of Berlage or Van Eesteren, the boulevards of Haussmann in Paris, the avenues of Hollywood, the paved roads in Flanders or the avenues of New York. Look at the street façade and the relationships between the buildings and the users are coloured, determined by culture, zeitgeist and the structure of society. In many countries, the expressiveness of roads has been recognized and consciously used. The shape of the street pattern is the messenger of the ruling ideology and therefore an inseparable part of the national identity. For example, thanks to President Thomas Jefferson, the United States has had a rectangular street pattern, the Jefferson grid, since the end of the 18th century . A street symbolizes the conquering of the wilderness and expresses the American power of the individual to organize the country. According to the Constitution co-drafted by Jefferson, every resident has the right to the pursuit of happiness . The possibilities for this would be best guaranteed if individuals could impose as few restrictions as possible on each other, also literally, in the organization of the country. The street pattern shows the design of individual freedom. After all, freedom is not something that already exists in advance, but something that has to be created. This freedom, or at least the suggestion of it, could be jeopardized by the end of a street at a T-junction or a monumental building. That is why the streets in the land of unlimited possibilities are open-ended. With this, all Americans – theoretically – have equal opportunities for happiness.

In neighbouring countries, too, the construction of roads has been used to support ideological ambitions. In France, the infrastructure has traditionally contributed to the image of Paris as the absolute center of the continent, just as previously all roads led to Rome. To this day, you can’t drive past Paris unnoticed. We will know through the hustle and bustle of the Périphérique that the city is there. You can also stumble across the city by train. It is not possible to continue driving, so transferring is the only option during a journey from north to south. In the city itself,

The story of the society told by generous boulevards that put important buildings in their place. Hierarchy characterizes French culture.

In Germany in the 1930s, the network of highways was designed by engineers Fritz Todt on behalf of the Nazi regime. In contrast to the French roads, the highways here avoid all cities. Nazi Germany strived for an expansive empire, which included the illusion of infinity. From the Autobahn you get the image of a boundlessly rolling Arcadia. Ruins, castles and rivers (which lay Arcadia. Ruins, castles and rivers (which are related to nature) fit into this, but not cities that give the concept of scale to the country. To this day, this illusion is maintained. We still see almost no German city on the Autobahn, on our way to our holiday in Southern Europe.

The road pattern is the facial expression of a country’s dominant ideology – France is monumental, New York has an open character, Germany is endless. That pattern can also betray that a country lacks such a firm or clear identity. This is the case in the Netherlands, and especially in the Randstad. The endless series of analyses about the Randstad (one metropolis or not, focus everything on the North Wing or not) without ever leading to a concrete plan is telling. The incredible effort it takes to carry out large-scale spatial interventions is also striking. Actually, that has not been possible since the Delta Works. We have partly put the High-Speed Line underground to avoid conflicts. The Betuwe line has been laid so close to the A15 that this motorway no longer leads through the landscape of the Betuwe but runs parallel to rusting iron. The Netherlands, or at least the Randstad, is in confusion. There is no guiding cultural or ideological principle that can organize our thoughts. “On the one hand, Dutch architects, urban planners and landscape architects are highly regarded internationally,” wrote the ministers of Housing, Spatial Planning and the Environment and OC&W in the summer of 2008. But the report then does not address this paradox, the lack of that structure. The Netherlands does not have to become more beautiful, but it does have to be more structured, more understandable. The ministers blamed the clutter in the house for the lack of cupboards, in fact, it indicates that they do not know that there is such a thing as a cupboard. They do not see that the cluttering of the Randstad can only be solved by thoroughly tackling the road structure. In the Netherlands, a national road plan was last drawn up in the 1960s, which was never implemented. Since then, the construction of motorways is no longer about the broad outlines, but about solving local problems. The interventions in the road system are fragmentary, devoid of vision. Think of the many stretches of highway that converge at Haarlem. They ensure that this medium-sized city near the sea is now suddenly behind a tangle of roads. Think of the planned connection between the A16 and A13 near Rotterdam. These few kilometers of highway cut through the only place where the north side of Rotterdam still borders the landscape. They are emergency connections, made between cities that are a short distance from each other. This makes our motorway network far from continuous and wide; It will only make our country more confusing and full.

Even more striking is that our country lacks a system of regional roads that provide an overview. The old provincial roads, many of which had their origins in Napoleon’s time, direct connections between the country’s main cities, have largely disappeared. Just look at the Boschdijk in Eindhoven, the Amsterdamsestraatweg in Utrecht, the Rijksstraatweg in Haarlem and Wassenaar and the Napoleonsbaan between Roermond and Venlo. Remnants of these long lines are still visible. By interrupting  these thoroughfares, they have  become less important and rarely play a role in the orientation to the environment. This makes   the Netherlands the only country in Europe that has abolished  the Napoleonic national roads  and not only have the obvious  connections between the cities disappeared,  but we also no longer  understand how the country works. Anyone who has ever taken the Route National  instead of the Autoroute imagines themselves in the real France. It is a ride through everyday life. In the Netherlands this is no longer possible, the mere fact that new regional roads are nowadays often wedged between noise barriers means that the relationship with the buildings and the subsoil has been lost. For decades, planners, urban planners and landscape architects have neglected the regional cohesion and connections between cities. Slowly but surely it is becoming clear that it is not a plan from above, let alone a vision, but that hundreds, if not thousands, of separate urban development plans and plans have influenced the stormy growth of the Randstad.

In the Randstad in particular, we excel in designing and developing – individual – areas. Think of Leidsche Rijn or Ypenburg. Here, work and construction is carried out energetically in a precisely defined area. Within this, all kinds of experiments are possible, in which the state of technology and legislation, fed by social views, has led to an unprecedented diversity of plans. It is not for nothing that the Dutch skills in this area are sung about worldwide.

Different, even more modern views emerge about the infrastructure within these newly developed areas almost every ten years. Until we have now arrived at the regular and straight road systems from the Vinex districts. The roads are different in shape every decade, but actually they always do the same thing. The infrastructure reinforces the isolation. Every development is more or less on its own. As if the most recent expansion will really turn out to be the last. This reveals our real identity: it is not national, but can only be described on a smaller scale, that of involvement with the local group with its own written and unwritten rules. The ideals of the Netherlands can thus be captured in communities of corresponding interests – neighborhoods, districts, villages, cities. As a result, the Randstad is divided into hundreds of small parts; perfected urban planning concepts without a clear interconnection. This metropolis cannot continue to grow like this.

The Ruisdaelian dream, in which every neighbourhood is a hamlet – clear and quiet, and if possible adjacent to the landscape – is shattered. The patchwork quilt that has replaced it offers too little order and cohesion and also eats up space. The Randstad is and remains the most extensive and rural population concentration in the world. And yet it feels full and cluttered.

The Randstad has become incomprehensible. With far-reaching consequences. The cities in the Randstad have lost their connection with the surrounding landscape in the past century. Districts, neighbourhoods and business parks have been added, but without the use of a different planning principle. The Randstad therefore needs new connections, roads and their networks. This creates a new order. By invariably using the design of the roads to guide our view, the Randstad can become ‘legible’ again, that is: understandable, cities can once again be attached to the landscape. We can experience space from the road. It goes against the prevailing fashion and even against our culture. But we need long lines again, big patterns of infrastructure.

The possibilities are endless. A Green Heart Route between Rotterdam and Amsterdam that floats exactly on NAP, so that both cities will once again be located on the peat-meadow landscape. Or the creation of free lanes: shortest routes for cyclists and electric cars on the old Napoleonic roads between the cities, from church tower to church tower. The Costal Boulevard Holland as a green provincial road that rearranges the excessively urbanized area along the North Sea. Eliminating the fragmentation of this part of the Netherlands is the only way to prevent our location by the sea from disappearing further from the picture. A different way of thinking about streets and roads makes the Randstad with its cities and villages more understandable and gives air. It is not only about the pragmatic management of traffic flows, but about connecting. After all, that’s what roads are for.