The Herberg: Guest of Time (Martijn Koen)
In a Western world were time slips through us, the enduring rhythm of nature offers a quiet defiance— a stillness that transcends the frantic beat of modernity. As the things once trusted now dissolve into fleeting symbols— we too have become transient, adrift in the absence of place, of presence, of being- with. Where once we dwelled, allowing ourselves to fully encounter the world around us, we now skim its surface, hurried and distracted.
Yet, to dwell is not to pause idly— it is to gather, to linger, to care, to harbour, to let meaning unfold. This thesis emerges from the need to (re)establish a meaningful relationship with the things that surround us— objects, places, and the built environments we inhabit daily. Did we lose the capability to dwell? Do we no longer allow ourselves to fully encounter the world around us?
This project finds its setting in the historic Sint-Gillis Hospital in Wyck, Maastricht, a place long committed to care and healing, as it did so for centuries. Drawing from this history, I propose the creation of a herberg— a harbor, for shared life. It is not just a space to eat or sleep, but a place where people dwell with each other, with themselves, and with the world.
The word Herberg (inn) finds its origin only in the old Dutch and German language. The compound of harja- ‘leger’, meaning army and bergÅ-, related to the verb bergen meaning ‘to bring to safety, to store away’. Because of this word, bergen, safekeeping, which is not found in the English translation of inn— I choose to stick with my mother tong.
The herberg invites its guests into a slower pace, resonating the call to dwell— not simply to exist in a space, but to truly belong within a place. Here, community is not forced but emerges gently, through shared meals, conversations, and silent moments of being. The walls, steeped in time, do not merely shelter— they are witnesses, they gather.
Rather than reducing things to tools or commodities, this projects considers their presence, in writing, thinking, and making. Reinforcing their place and ability to reveal our world, they shape our sense of time, our memory’s, and our self. In doing so, it challenges the logic of consumerism and capitalism, that so often hollows out meaning in favour of status, speed and inovation. Through the herberg. I ask: Can we return to the weight of things, to their depth, their silence. Can we care for them, cherish and protect them?
If to care and preserve is the conclusion of this project. I do not seek a nostalgic return, but a deeper engagement with now. The herberg becomes a temporal gathering—a space that resists acceleration by embracing the presence. It offers no spectacle, no rush, only the slow unfolding of connection. It is an act of radical dwelling.
Countryside Commensality: A Place Where the Table Breathes the Land (Kieran McKenna)
Tucked into the quiet folds of the St. Pietersberg countryside on the Maastricht border, a forgotten barn at Hoeve Caestert stirs back to life. Within its weather-worn walls, a timeless human ritual is re-imagined—not through an exclusive, pretentious quality, but through the poetry and certain theatricality of shared meals.
This project is more than a design; it is a journey—part thesis, part social and environmental altruism and part theatrical experience—that navigates the delicate intersection between architecture, people and food. At its core lies commensality, the profound and sometimes overlooked act of dining together. Across time and culture, eating has always been more than sustenance—it is how we connect, how we celebrate, how we grieve, and how we come to understand one another. It is as much a social act as it is an emotional act.
“Eating is in all cultures; a social activity and commensality is undeniably one of the most important articulations of human sociality.”
Through this lens, the project proposes an architectural and human response to the communal table: one that honours the dining ritual not just as a function but as a spatial, sensory, and social experience. Set against the rolling lush rhythms of the landscape, far from the hustle and control of the city, the journey to the site is part of the story—one that shifts expectations and invites a slower, more intentional encounter with food, interpersonal relationships and place.
Within the vast, theatrical volume of the barn, a singular communal table takes centre stage. It is both a setting and a stage—where the rustic honesty of the countryside meets the choreography of a thoughtfully prepared meal. In summer, the table spills outdoors into the orchard and garden, where dinners evolve organically, their arrangements never quite the same. The atmosphere is casual, but the intent is clear: to provoke connection, to elevate the act of gathering.
This setting is a place that doesn’t just host meals—it performs them. It celebrates the layered beauty of coming together, lingering conversations, clinking glasses, and shared silence. It is a space for difference and dialogue, for strangers and friends alike—brought into communion by the simple yet powerful act of eating at the same table.
“The dining table has been moved and has in many instances changed its size, its weight, its materiality, and its colour. But it is still the same table that gave us the word “commensality,” meaning “togetherness arising out of the fact that we eat at one table.”