The Dutch
In our special edition of the Cult-ED class we take you to the Netherlands. The lowlands between the sea and the sky. The Netherlands are located in Europe and borders the sea and some land parts are even below the sea level.
Jimmy Nelson can usually be found in the farthest corners of the world. But in spring 2020, travel suddenly became impossible by the pandemic. So instead of flying around the world, Jimmy stayed in the Netherlands, riding his bike all through the country’s fishing villages, polder landscapes and old fortified towns. This is where he discovered traditional Dutch dress and realized that it is just as unique as those of the Papuans or Maasai he had marveled at before.
Do you want to know everything about the Netherlands and the inhabitants? Then join us on a digital journey to meet the Dutch.
Let the images come alive
To accompany the Cult-ED download the Jimmy Nelson App. Scanning the image from the worksheet with the app will enable you to step into the world behind the image, through your smartphone. Beautiful video material will guide you through breathtaking footage, but above all uncovers information about different cultures from around the world. No smartphone? Scroll down for all the videos.
Marken - Noord-Holland
Marken has always had a love/hate relationship with the sea. Of course, the water provides the islanders with a source of income; life here is unthinkable without shipping and fishing.
But the sea is also a fickle mistress, giving lavishly one moment and savagely carrying everything off the next. Even the island’s very existence is due to the waves, which swept away the swampy tract of land that once connected it to the mainland. In the 13th century, the order of monks that settled here did their utmost to resist the water, building dykes and digging ditches to make the soil suitable for farming.
With the construction of the Afsluitdijk, further disasters were finally averted. Yet it also instantly killed off the fishing industry.
Axel, South Zeeland
Axel flourished for a long time, the nutritious marine clay on the fields guaranteeing abundant harvests. Fishermen only had to lower their nets to be guaranteed a good catch. The town’s location on the West Scheldt river also meant it benefitted from passing trade headed for Antwerp and Ghent. When Belgium broke away, Zeelandic Flanders was cut off from the rest of the Netherlands, and Axel became an island a second time over.
Katwijk, South Holland
Katwijk’s lookout—a small hut on wooden stilts—sat high above the dunes. Every day, an old fisherman, too worn out to go to sea, would climb its ladder to watch the horizon through a large pair of binoculars. When he spotted a ship in the distance, he’d squint, forcing his eyes, wearied by the wind and the weather, to decipher the number on its prow. Once he identified the vessel as local, he sent his assistant back to the village to spread the news as quickly as possible: Ship coming in!
During the fishing trips, spirits were high, and prayers of thanksgiving rose up all around. The duration of the fishing trips depended entirely on the whims of nature. Sometimes it was calm for days, so the fishermen bobbed around without anything to do, unable to catch a single fish. Other days, storms whipped up the waves as high as houses, toying with the ships like helpless little balls and carrying them off to unfamiliar waters where they were sure to run into a rival fleet.
Urk, Flevoland
Once the construction of the Afsluitdijk was underway, the ferocity of the unpredictable Zuiderzee was largely contained. But the people of Urk feared for the future of fishing, their only source of income. When the last hole in the new dyke was closed on 28 May, 1932, every single flag of Urk’s fleet flew at half-mast. But like its previous setbacks, this one, too, was overcome, and Urk reinvented itself as a hub for North Sea fishing. With the creation of the Noordoostpolder, Urk faced another major change. Suddenly they were attached to the mainland – but in the minds of its inhabitants, Urk remains an island. They do not live ‘in’ Urk but ‘on’ it.
Spakenburg, Utrecht
The Dutch town of Spakenburg has its own deep-seated rivalry: the blues versus the reds. The blues are fans of SV Spakenburg, a football club founded by local dignitaries and wealthy farmers. The dressier outfits in the stands betray the club’s wealth; the working class doesn’t seem welcome here, neither as players nor spectators. So the less wealthy villagers set up their own club: the IJsselmeervogels. Its fans, the reds, are more down-to-earth. You’ll find no heels and manicured nails along the sidelines here, but jeans and baggy sweaters. The reds know that the blues look down on them; they can almost feel it in their bones, which only reinforces the fans’ passionate devotion.
But such contradictions aren’t limited to football: they go back to the village’s earliest years. At that time, it consisted of two different communities, Bunschoten and Spakenburg, separated by pastureland. The first was a handful of farms strung along a single road with low moors behind them. With their ingrained routines and convictions, the farmers considered the fishermen brash adventurers who let their lives depend on the wind and sea. The fishermen, in turn, felt misunderstood by their land-bound neighbours, because it took a lot of work to keep their heads above water.
Leeuwarden, Friesland
All that grandeur made the Frisian capital a particularly attractive place to live. Moreover, it was actually well connected to the rest of the country. Leeuwarden wasn’t dependent on the few bad roads there were back then: an intricate network of canals, waterways and rivers guaranteed an expedient journey. If you wanted to go to Amsterdam, you could easily take a barge to Harlingen and from there continue across the Zuiderzee. If you wished to go elsewhere, a fleet of narrow sailboats could reach villages in even the remotest areas of the province.
Kampereiland, Overijssel
Despite its isolation and the ever-present danger of flooding, Kampereiland was in fact popular among farmers; they queued up to lease a piece of land. After all, this was the most fertile soil in the area, with grass thriving especially and the resulting hay highly sought after. With relatively little effort, farmers could earn a decent living here.
Zuid-Beveland, Centraal-Zeeland
Zeelanders are go-getters who don’t give up easily. Hardened by life on flat, open polders where strong winds have free rein, they set their eyes firmly on the blue horizon, waiting for ships to return with holds full of fresh fish or other valuable commodities. Destructive storms or enemy armies also appeared on the same horizon, but Zeelanders never allowed themselves to be rattled; they simply dug their heels even deeper into the clay soil.
Enkhuizen, Noord-Holland
Enkhuizen’s early wealth was all due to a small knife. It fits snugly into the palm of your hand and has a very short, razor-sharp blade. With this tool, an experienced fisherman can gut and gill a herring in no time. This ensures that the catch keeps longer and its taste is less bitter. Though this process was invented by a Zeelander, it was elevated to a true art by Enkhuizer fishermen. Cleaning the herring on board allowed their ships to stay at sea longer and catch far more than the competition. This made Enkhuizen’s fleet so superior that it dominated international trade, and Enkhuizen became known as Herring City.
Friesland, North of the Netherlands
Long ago, before the Common Era even started, there was once a king named Adel. He reigned over a prosperous city on the river Ganges. Its population was exploding, however, and King Adel had to prevent the city from overcrowding. So he decided to force some of his subjects to emigrate by way of a lottery determining who would leave. The unlucky ones were put on a gargantuan ship captained by his son, Prince Friso. The vessel was so wide that it even got stuck between the French and British coasts. Only by royally slicking the sides with soap did it manage to squeeze between the rocks of Dover and Calais, which have been white ever since. Not long after, the prince landed on an uninhabited coast and proudly erected a temple there to one of their old gods, Stavo. That place later grew into Stavoren, and he named the new territory after himself: Friesland.
Schouwen-Duiveland, North Zeeland
On 31 January, 1953, fate struck Zeeland in the dead of night. Gale-force winds and an exceptionally high spring tide battered poorly maintained dykes until they gave way. Caught unawares by the furious swirling water, dozens of Zeelanders died in their beds. Others took refuge in attics or climbed onto rooftops. Help was slow to arrive, however, so the survivors were still stuck there when a second, even more devastating flood swept in the following night, destroying their houses and claiming yet more lives. A total of 1,836 poor souls perished
Huizen, North-Holland
Huizen was just a poor small village when a rich farmer arrived one day and decided to stay. He bought the biggest farm there was and moved in with his horse and three cows—a level of wealth that was beyond most of the villagers’ wildest dreams.
When the newcomer put a sign on his fence offering Fresh Milk For Sale, Huizeners flocked to the farm. But the outsider set the price so high that no one could afford even a small jug. Instead of lowering the price, the farmer preferred to throw his milk into the well; litres of nutritious milk went to waste while hungry Huizeners looked on enviously.
This routine continued until, one sunny summer day, the sky suddenly turned grey, and pitch-black clouds gathered over the house of the greedy dairy farmer. Lightning and ear-piercing thunderclaps followed, sending the farmer into a blind panic as he fled his fields. When the lightning cracked open the well, a young woman rose up out of the bubbling fountain of milk, surrounded by a golden halo. She glowered at the farmer, and he froze, terrified. His true punishment was yet to come: a second flash of lightning struck him right in the middle of his petty-minded little heart. He reeled for a moment until he collapsed and dropped down dead into the well.
The young woman took over the farm and carried her yoke and milk pails past her poor neighbours’ houses every day, delivering a daily serving of dairy. After a few months, everyone in the village had regained their strength—and the young woman disappeared as suddenly as she had arrived. The Milkmaid still lives on in Huizen’s crest
Noordwest Veluwe
Inhospitable, impenetrable and inhabited by magical beings you’d better avoid: for centuries, this was the commonly held belief about the Veluwe, where a dark, dense, age-old forest once led into boggy marshland, a veil of mist lingering on even the sunniest of days. The first settlers felled the trees and filled in the ponds, creating heathland and, later, sand drifts; their villages lonely islands in a sea of desolate land.
By subscribing to our newsletter, you’re not just becoming a member of our community; you’re joining a movement dedicated to preserving Indigenous knowledge and celebrating the rich tapestry of cultures worldwide. This is your passport to a journey of understanding, connection, and advocacy.