At Valkenburg, a small town in the country’s southeast appendage, the Province of Limburg, between Belgium, near Maastricht, and Germany, near Aachen, a castle ruin of the same name crowns a low mound, which is significant given that natural high ground most anywhere in the Netherlands stands out. Recorded history shows that the land around Valkenburg has seen more than a little armed conflict. I recall the commanding view of the surrounding flat ground, while milling about the ruins on that rise, pondering what garrison life would have been like for soldiers, regardless of rank, over centuries, and what they might have drunk.

I toured the nearby underground quarry, from which the castle walls and chambers were built and modified. I recall thinking, well, flattening the mound to build the castle made no sense, so they had the bright idea to cut the rocks from under the ground. It was, and remains, the only underground quarry I have toured.

I do not recall what libations I enjoyed that day. By default, being in the Netherlands, my mind goes to beer, but a notion of tasting berry liqueurs in that place taunts my memory. I have since learned of the Limburg wine region. I look forward to tasting there and raising a glass toward the ruin, in honor of the generations of warriors and wretches who held it, and fought, bled, and died over it.