Utrecht Journal: Learning to Travel Solo

This is a story about making myself proud.  

I was convinced, after pathetic days spent alone in London and Amsterdam pre-law school, that I do not travel well by myself.  This has cramped my traveling style in the years since, and also made me feel bad about myself.  But after the partial success of my Morocco challenges, I decided it was time to try again.  My self-imposed challenge: a day-trip to Utrecht, solo.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

8:58 a.m., Utrecht Central Station: Half-hour train ride passed too quickly in whirl of anxiety, both general and specific.  Stumbling onto train platform amidst flow of passengers, uncertain what to do first - go straight to the museum? Find a cafe for second breakfast?  On escalator up to the station hall, notice the lights above create a cool effect in the escalator shaft. Hesitate as escalator comes to an end.  Step back onto down-escalator while digging camera from backpack.  Spend 10 minutes riding escalator back and forth, taking pointless pictures of the light.

Note the yellow train, which I heart.

9:22 a.m., Utrecht Central Station (still): Pointless escalator picture-taking is oddly liberating.  Understand that I should head straight to the city center to find an atmospheric cafe full of university students.  Thinking what I really want is a "misto" at the Starbucks in the unremarkable train station.  Realize the power of choice is entirely in my hands.  

10:08 a.m., along the Oude Gracht: An oppressively overcast morning with a cold breeze. Central Utrecht is dead; all the stores are closed.  When will I learn not to take day trips on Sunday? Settle on making some SpotPad notes re: darkened stores that look interesting, for "next time".  Find a psychedelically lit tunnel leading down to the lower wharf of the oude gracht ("old canal").  There, the emptiness of the town feels less haunting, more peaceful.  Spend another 10 minutes taking pointless pictures of fungi.

10:37 a.m., near the Domkerk: More wandering.  After another hour, realizing that the freedom to wander is quickly devolving into doing nothing in particular.  Set course for the Central Museum. 

The "new" canal

11:48 a.m., Central Museum: Decide the museum is pretty lame.  (Sorry, Utrecht.)  The exhibits are empty.  A bored museum guard has adopted me and insists on sneaking up behind me to explain each piece.  Major revelation: I can bail on the museum whenever I want - no one will judge or disagree. Enjoy bailing on the museum.

Rietveld furniture (see also house, below)

12:15 p.m., Dick Bruna Huis: Cross street to associated museum dedicated to Dick Bruna, the Dutch artist behind the Miffy the Rabbit books.  Realize museum serves primarily as an advertisement for Miffy the Rabbit, like a Hello Kitty explosion of primary colors and giant cartoons of non-offensive animals.  Practice exercising my newly discovered power to bail immediately.

12:32 p.m., Schildersbuurt: Long and hot walk south out of the center, towards the Rietveld-Schroeder House.  Can't find a cafe that's open for lunch.  Wishing I had someone to talk to.

1:40 p.m., Rietveld-Schroeder House: The guided tour of the house is reverential; visitors wear booties over their shoes, and the docent dons white gloves before touching the walls and doors.  Everyone on the tour really wants to be there.  Grateful not to have to explain to anyone else why I am spending two hours dawdling through a site of rather arcane interest. 

3:35 p.m., Cafe Jan Primus: Faint from hunger, I stumble into the first open establishment I find, a small bar specializing in Belgian beer. Feel my face flushing when the proprietor doesn't speak English, but successfully restrain the urge to flee from embarrassment.  Surprised to find I somehow managed to order a pound of cheese, cubed.  Figure eating a pound of cheese can't kill me, if it's my entire caloric intake for the day (plus beer).  Enjoying my own company.

Lunch.

4:43 p.m., Wilhelminapark: The weather has evolved into a perfect, sunny Sunday afternoon.  Detour to people-watch in a pretty park: the Dutch turn out in force whenever there's sun on a weekend.  More detouring leads to a hidden garden down a tiny path along a canal, and watching people boating on the quiet river.

6:04 p.m., Rubens Proeflokaal: Have purposefully routed my return walk to the train station past a cute corner bar I noticed earlier, but am unsettled by the gauntlet of patrons on the bench out front, nonchalantly flicking their ash while chatting up the bartender.  Hesitate awkwardly while feeling out of place.    

Double-dog dare myself, and go in. It is almost empty. I squeeze onto a stool at the narrow bar inside as the bartender comes in to help me.  Force myself to explain I'd like to try some genever, but that I need advice.  As he pours me a glass of rather smoky genever (the Dutch answer to Scotch, except not as good), we talk about bourbon, which leads to a discussion about the U.S.  Another patron joins in: he seems pleased to practice his English with an American.  Am delighted to find I'm actually talking to strangers. 

We move to the bench outside, facing a tree-lined canal across a cobble-stone street.  Rambling conversation touches on Dutch and American politics, travel, public art, marketing and psychology, the comparative beauty of various Dutch cities, the international criminal courts, Mladic, and the relative merits of socialism. 

An hour later, tipsy and worried that Jeff is missing me, I take my leave. Besides which, I am pleased as punch to end my day now: for holding an hour-long conversation with strangers in a little neighborhood bar has definitively proven to myself that I am quite capable, after all, of traveling solo.