If cemeteries are travel’s greatest source of stories, real or imagined, I’m saying that nowhere is this truer than in the shade of a modest Dutch Reformed church in the south of the Netherlands. Because among the headstones, lying as flat as the country itself, is one that marks the final resting place of Vincent van Gogh.
Or so it might seem to anyone but the eagle-eyed historian, who’d know that painter Vincent wasn’t actually born in 1852, or the linguist, who’d know that kinder means child. Both are clues that this isn’t in fact the burial site of the Vincent, but of a namesake: his stillborn brother, born one year previously, to the very day.
