A Dutch Interlude

We took a brief leave of absence from Ireland to visit a friend of Kathy’s from her year in France.  Emerens lives in Utrecht, Holland, a quaint yet buzzing city forty-five minutes by train from Amsterdam.

And it was a wonderful trip.  

Utrecht is a beautiful city that oozes Dutchness—canals, gabled buildings, bricked streets. 

And bicycles. 

Hundreds and hundreds and thousands and thousands of bicycles.  There is something enchanting about a city that pulses to rhythm of turning spokes.  A rhythm that is lively.  And whimsical.  It’s lovely. 

I was fortunate enough to experience bicycle riding in Holland in two ways.  First as a passenger on the back of Emerens’ bike, sitting Dutch style—sideways, ankles tucked—Thursday evening and Friday morning.  Then it was decided in the interest of saving Emerens’ legs and my tailbone that renting a bike would be a wise decision.

It was.       

And much more enjoyable way to see the city for both of us.    

Friday morning Kathy, Emerens and I explored the city through biking and walking.  We ate breakfast outside at a café along a canal, watching Utrecht wake up.  Afterwards, we visited the Dom, the church and symbol of Utrecht.  It is beautiful, and the tower dominates the skyline in a soft, unobtrusive sort of way.  The small garden inside the courtyard of the church is equally beautiful. 

 

The afternoon was spent strolling the streets between and along the canals, bopping in and out of shops.

That evening we created a progressive dinner for ourselves—tapas first—Hola, España!, then Italian for dinner—Buonasera, Italia!  The Italian restaurant was at canal level, offering splendid views of passing boats and the buildings above. 

Saturday was an especially wonderful day.  It began with a bit of a lazy morning, lounging in the sun on Emerens’ balcony, eating breakfast, reading and chatting.  Then we packed a picnic lunch and headed to the park. 

Is there anything more glorious then spreading a blanket on the grass and lying in the sun with friends and food? 

We had the most beautiful weather for such an occasion. 

 

The waddling ducks make for much more pleasant company than the more frequently-found pigeons that tend to pester. 

We packed up what was left of our lunch, that is to say much less than there was initially, and biked to the section of the canal from which we began our kayaking excursion. 

An excursion of grand proportions. 

I got off to a bit of a rocky start, to say the least.  I missed the first turn, a hard right to pass under the bridge.  But not before careening into a group of four women split between two two-person kayaks.  After I more or less paddled my way out of that mess, I paddled furiously to avoid the large boat coming through the bridge.  Which is why I missed that turn and rammed into the brick wall of the canal. 

Is anyone counting?  That’s two collisions.  Within a minute of one another.  And I hadn’t even passed the first check-point. 

I managed to turn the kayak around and paddle under the bridge, at which point I broke into hysterical laughter.  The kind where the sound is stifled before it breaks, because the breath is completely knocked out.   But then it comes with the next intake of air—loudly and in uncontrollable fits.  There were tears streaming down my face.  Kathy looked worried and asked if everything was okay.  I managed to sputter that everything was fine, it was just hysterically funny how terrible of a kayaker I was and that it was going to be a long day on the water.  When I was under control enough to listen, Kathy and Emerens offered a demonstration of how to turn more quickly and efficiently.  Jab the paddle in the water on the side of the boat in which you want to turn.  Simple enough.    

I would say it was all smooth sailing from that point onwards, but as Emerens pointed out towards the end of the day, I managed to find all the corners, be it narrow or wide passages in the canal. 

But it was a delightful way to take in downtown Utrecht and the surrounding areas.  Cities like Utrecht with extensive canal networks are meant to be seen from water level.  All of a sudden the buildings became more dramatic and the trees more majestic, forming a canopy of leaves overhead. 

 

We paddled through some especially beautiful areas we couldn’t have appreciated otherwise from biking or walking through the streets. 

And had the best time doing so. 

 

That evening after Dutch-style pancakes for dinner at Emerens’ apartment, we packed another picnic of sorts—beers and salty snacks—to enjoy in another park while watching the light of the day transform from Evening’s golden to Dusk’s cobalt blue.

 

The transformation was signified by the glow of the street lamps, which we took as our cue to pack up and bike through the streets of Utrecht, taking in its nighttime atmosphere.  I love how all cities transform at night, revealing an altogether different character than the one they otherwise assume during the day.  A character created through lighting, silhouettes in various forms and the people enjoying a later part of the day. 

Utrecht has an especially lovely nighttime personality. 

The soft glow of street lamps create beautiful reflections of the ancient, towering trees in the waters of the canal they line.  A palpable vibrancy hangs in the air from locals dining outside, murmurs of conversation mixing with that distinct sound of cutlery on china.  And around nearly every corner are various peeks and views of the Dom, with its clock faces illuminated and glowing. 

 

It was a fitting end to a wonderful, wonderful day. 

An end.  Isn’t that a terrible word? 

And, yet, it has arrived all the same.  Kathy flies home today while I stay on in Ireland for just a bit longer.    

I am reminded of my graduation from DePauw, one year ago today, and swinging—for hours and hours and hours into the night—on the porch at Alpha Phi with wonderful girls.  We were all in that surreal state.  That How-did-this-day-arrive? state.  I think we were all hoping that if we just kept swinging, we could hang on a little bit longer.  Time could stretch a little bit further.  Tomorrow could seem a little bit further away. 

They are silly thoughts, of course.  And despite the hope, it is the realization of the end that hurts.  The sickening obviousness of it all.  It brings with it that heavy, sinking feeling—that achy, empty pit in the stomach.  An emptiness that seems to worsen with the not-knowing of the next when and where, your heart’s way of telling you that separating from people who are so dear, with whom you share so many wonderful memories, could not possibly be, is not in any way, right.   

That memory of swinging into the night is one I think of often.  It recalls a mixture of emotions but clarifies and solidifies the most important bits and pieces of those four years.

In a lot of ways, that last night at DePauw reminds me of this experience Kathy and I have shared together.  A drawn-out, grand swing of sorts.  Memories and laughter to hold dearly until time and space bring us together again.  Which could never be soon enough.  But regardless of when and where, and however long the interlude in between, everything will fall right back into place.  And swing away, again, we will. 

Of this, I’m sure.