Building Zandvoort: a blank slate by the sea

The Panorama Zandvoort exhibition at the ABC Architecture Centre in Haarlem takes visitors on a journey through 200 years of the historic seaside resort's history. For Kaj Zwerver, Zandvoort is a place full of family history and memories. After visiting the exhibition, he reflects on the changing municipality.

To me, Zandvoort is nostalgia. I visited it as a child and often think back to my first tentative memories of the beach and coastline, the Juttersmuseum, and—recently voted the ugliest building in the Netherlands—Circus Zandvoort. I regularly went for walks with my grandfather in the Waterleidingduinen, located just around the corner from their home. The Amsterdam Waterleidingduinen are partly a protected nature monument, and combined with the Zuid-Kennemerland National Park, Zandvoort is historically encapsulated between nature reserves. This contributes to the quality of life for the residents but has put pressure on the housing stock for decades. Since 1975, housing construction has been required to take place within the built-up area; expansion is not an option. Add to that the influx of beachgoers on a fine day, and the lack of space becomes apparent. The exhibition at ABC Architecture Centre Haarlem teaches us that Zandvoort's growth began in the early 19th century, when the village slowly transformed from a fishing village into a fashionable seaside resort. The construction of a tram line between Amsterdam and Zandvoort in the late 19th century—one of the first electric tram lines in the Netherlands—accelerated this development. Zandvoort grew into a popular family seaside resort.

The Second World War put an end to this growth and had disastrous consequences that are still visible today. The village underwent major urban planning changes. Between 1940 and 1945, more than 800 buildings were demolished for the construction of the ‘Stützpunktgruppe Zandvoort’. The erected defensive line of bunkers and other military structures formed part of the Atlantic Wall. Everything along the boulevards and up to 200 meters inland had to make way. A large part of the population was evacuated, the village became a military zone, and the beaches were off-limits to civilians. In 1943, the Germans blew up the old water tower out of fear that it would serve as a landmark for the Allies. The Kostverlorenbuurt is one of the few neighborhoods that survived the war unscathed. Here, 19th-century bath villas in typical seaside resort architecture, featuring bay windows and verandas, still stand today.

During the occupation, a reconstruction plan was already in place, drawn up by engineer – and later Chief Government Architect (1946-1957) – Gijsbert Friedhoff. He viewed the devastation of the approximately three-kilometer-long seafront as a ‘clean slate’. In his opinion, “we need not harbor any heartache regarding the lost cultural values ​​and can safely say that this disaster will mark Zandvoort’s rise.” The reconstruction plan heightened the contrast between the boulevard and the village. The old village was to retain its village character, while the boulevard was to exude grandeur: tourism, large squares, and sweeping views of the sea. Today, the centrally located Badhuisplein, with the Rotonde building, looks somewhat desolate due to the closure of the casino. A new urban planning scheme by the Zandvoort-based firm Springtij Architecten and Bureau Marlies van Diest aims to restore this square to a scale that better suits the old village, thereby reconnecting the village and the sea. This fits into a broader movement seeking to mitigate the consequences of the tabula rasa from the war and subsequent reconstruction. With the Louis Davidscarré—the new central area, designed by Mecanoo and Bureau Bos as a “new living room for Zandvoort”—an attempt is also being made to connect with the scale of the village. Nevertheless, a clear vision seems to be lacking within the municipal administration. One can speak of a veritable wave of development currently sweeping over Zandvoort. According to its designers, BoschSlabbers, the longest boulevard in the Netherlands is to acquire an international character after the redesign.

This sounds appealing, but it also carries the risk of globalization, which in turn leads to a loss of identity. The ‘globalized street’ is becoming a familiar phenomenon: based on the built environment, it is often no longer possible to tell where you are. Take the example of the future Duinwachter apartment complex by ROW Vastgoed at the corner of Van Alphenstraat and Van Lennepweg. Hooyschuur Architects was commissioned to design a building that would not look out of place in Miami Beach or Monaco. In that case, Zandvoort is not the starting point of your design brief.

A new construction project that does respect the seaside resort architecture of yesteryear is the four apartment buildings on Watertorenplein. Two residential blocks were designed by AG Architecten, the other two by De Biase Architecten and Springtij Architecten. This method of construction preserves a memory of Zandvoort's identity. The mix of social housing, mid-range, and higher-priced owner-occupied homes also meets the current demand for affordable living space.

The iconic post-war water tower on this site—48 meters high and designed in 1951 by Jouke Zietsma—has been treated with less respect. Despite its municipal monument status, the municipal government launched a competition for redevelopment because the tower was allegedly in poor condition. The new water tower designed by Springtij Architecten was to retain its main form but simultaneously become taller and wider to house eleven luxury apartments. Ultimately, the old tower was almost completely demolished. For the second time, Zandvoort residents saw their water tower disappear: this time not due to war, but to big capital. The heritage organization Bond Heemschut is therefore right to state that the renovated water tower no longer deserves monument status. With an average purchase price of 1 million per apartment – ​​and a penthouse of 3.5 million – this residential tower has little to do with water anymore.

What stands out in the exhibition is that there is little attention paid to climate resilience. There is a small passage about the beach pavilions that are dismantled in the winter so that the wind can blow sand against the dunes. That sand drift is essential for the preservation of the dunes. But nowhere do I read anything about flooding, even though Zandvoort, due to its location in the dunes, regularly has a problem with water drainage. As a child, I remember streets that were regularly flooded. On the day of my visit to the expo, the streets of Zandvoort were still wet from the torrential downpours of three days earlier, and a brief internet search shows that flooding is an annual phenomenon. A clear plan for coastal protection and de-paving seems to be lacking, at least in the exhibition. The plans for Zandvoort remind me of the restructuring—read: urbanization—of Breskens. Roughly two centuries after Zandvoort, fishing also came to an end here in 2021 with the departure of the last fishing trawler. Since then, the first luxurious residential blocks have appeared in the former harbor area, and the rest is in full development. Remarkably, this harbor area is completely submerged during spring tides—roughly twice a month, that is. Yet, residential towers with parking garages below sea level are being built here, including a contractual clause requiring residents to account for flooding. The Belgian coast is also heavily urbanized and is popularly known as the ‘concrete dike’. In the event of future sea level rise, the openings between the residential blocks can simply be bricked up for coastal protection.

Another fascinating phenomenon is that Belgian coastal development is currently expanding northwards. The Zeeland seaside resort of Cadzand once became famous thanks to the presence of star chef Sergio Herman—who has achieved pop star status in Belgium. He has since left, but Belgian real estate developers stayed and are turning Cadzand-Bad into a kind of ‘Knokke-Noord’. Despite the many new construction projects, Cadzand-Bad remains deserted in the winter. Cadzand’s wish to have year-round activity in the future seems a difficult task, given that the vast majority of the village consists of second homes; few owners voluntarily head to the coast in bleak weather.

The exhibition concludes with Zandvoort’s same wish to be attractive 365 days a year. Seaside resort and village is the future vision reflected in the Zandvoort Spatial Planning Vision. By 2040, Zandvoort wants to be the “nicest seaside resort in the Netherlands.” In short, Zandvoort wants it all. Perhaps this ambition is based on the philosophy of the racetrack: Zandvoort wants to move forward, ever faster. In doing so, it distances itself from the natural rhythm of a coastal town with busy summers and quiet winters.

After visiting the expo, I travel on to Zandvoort. I visit my childhood home, several locations from the exhibition, and the now-abandoned Holland Casino. At the Noorderduin cemetery, I visit my grandparents' grave. The iconic marram grass of Zandvoort grows wild on their grave.

For me, this visit was not only professionally relevant but also very personal. After all, Zandvoort is my birthplace. I did not live there for long, only the first two years of my childhood, but for the following fifteen years, I would continue to come to Zandvoort to visit my grandparents. Grandpa and Grandma Zwerver lived on Meester Troelstrastraat. From the skylight of the attic where we stayed, I loved to gaze at the water tower. The form and function of the tower fascinated me years before I consciously engaged with architecture and long before I would write about this water tower. Opa Zwerver was a doctor from the 1960s to the 1990s and ran his practice from his home in the villa ‘Groot Kijkduin’, designed by architect Daniël Knuttel at Kostverlorenstraat 70. Thanks in part to his efforts, the villa still stands as a relic from the 19th century.