Ghelrelant

Last Monday I made a trip north together with my dad to visit my grandfather, who lives in a home for the elderly in Wezep, in the northern tip of the fair province of Guelders. We travelled to Zwolle by train (actually in Overijssel) where we hired bicycles so we could travel the distance to Wezep in a more entertaining way. After crossing the IJssel (at that point the border between Overijssel and Guelders) by ferry, we travelled to Hattem, a cosy old town (perhaps too cosy) that actually is a city, but with its size would only qualify as a village nowadays.
There was a fair bit of its history still present, including the fierce and, err, in this case horny lion of Guelders proudly displayed on many coats-of-arms on various buildings. A city gate survived, but it was in a terrible state, having been renovated in the 19th century by the Cuypers family, whose views on medieval architecture disagreed entirely with those of medieval people. They thought it great to give the gate tall spires that did nothing to boost its defensive strength. Two roads away from there, we stumbled across the remains of the castle of Hattem, founded by Reinald IV and completed somewhere in 1408-9, and destroyed by the French during their 1672 invasion. Paradoxically, the destruction of the place had probably saved it from total annihilation by Cuypers and scions, and the small sally gate and remaining tower were absolutely charming. In fact, in an emotional moment I even hugged the gate when I discovered it was named after general Daendels, who apparently wooed his wife there. Not that anyone still knows who Daendels was. *sigh*

On the way back from Wezep to Zwolle we made a further detour, in stead heading north, cycling through the rich agricultural plain where innumerable small canals make their way to the horizon. Apparently there had been some late cold in this region, as many birds had rather young chicks, which is very late in the season.
I spotted a great crested grebe, who turned out to have about three chicks on her back, as they are known to do. We halted for a bit to observe her, when, all of a sudden, the alarmed grebe dived – with chicks still on her back! A few seconds later, one of the chicks popped up, much like a barrel after a shipwreck, and then another came, twenty cm away from the first. The mother appeared perhaps two metres distant from them, one of the chicks somewhat miraculously still being proudly seated on her back. That was certainly an odd thing to behold.