It is a jungle without trees. No monkeys grooming each other, but pigeons pecking bread crumbs, the exhilarating smell of exhaust and a couple of lions, carved out of stone. One of them holding the coat of arms of Utrecht which is the fourth largest city in The Netherlands. Its name partially derived from Latin, going back to the days of the Roman fortress. So when in Utrecht you’d better do as the Romes: you ride a bicycle. Or better said: some kind of boneshaker, for it has to be at least 20 years old or convincingly look as if it is. Some parts should be missing, others have to rust and at least one piece, maybe a spoke or the rack, has to hang loose.
And it would be a nice bonus if this part would rattle so that people can hear you coming. To foreigners our road rules seem a bit odd at first, but they are really very simple: you always go first. No need for books on European traffic rules or spending time on the Internet looking for Dutch street laws. It is plain and simple. There is, however, one very tiny downside to this ease: everybody goes by this rule. Throughout most of the city you will find separate roads for cyclists, but this is not the case downtown. The Middle Aged roads were not made for cars and too much traffic. I enter the arena and ride past a hamburger bar and a biological supermarket, trying no to hit any shopping people nor the cyclists coming towards me while they are trying not to hit anyone. I speed up but than find a car in my way. It fills the entire width of the road, so I have to resort to the small, evenly leveled sidewalk, maneuvering past bearded hipsters, goths and young retirees. For apparently they think it is completely normal to walk on the pedestrian lane where I need to ride.
In front of the games store I am back on the road, shaking and rattling across the old brick road to find little obstacles in front of the homeless shelter and thrift store. I even get to glimpse at the canal and the wharfs next to the water that are filled with terraces in summer. The cellars besides now house restaurants, galleries and a theater. Brake! Foreign student crossing the road, too busy admiring the different facades to notice anything else around her. Raindrops start to fall, but I am almost there. Just the trickiest part remains. Past the student cafes everybody thinks the roads are made for walking, but when you are on a bike, walking is not an option. Neither is slowing down. Because as soon as you turn from human to cyclist, you transform automatically. It happens to the unemployed, the retirees, Zen Buddhists, no matter how relaxed or how much time on their hands, everybody turns into some kind of frantic Armstrong when on the pedals. And there are always so many people in the way! Tourists taking pictures, women on the lookout for a new dress, students doing anything but studying. I ring my bell, moving left and right not to hit any feet and shopping bags, ignoring left and right traffic, too focused on coming through to even smell the weed from the corner coffee shop.
The road goes down a bit, which is good for the speed, but with a little bridge to the left even more people are walking around as if on vacation. But this is no city trip for me, I live here. One last part of the wobbly road going up and then I reach the finish line. I put my bicycle against the walls of the early 19th century city hall and lock it with two padlocks, for in Utrecht everybody likes bikes, also the drug addicts and dealers. A new bike would need about five locks. Some Spanish people pass me, and as I walk on to the best Starbucks in the world, I hear others talking German. Finally the city has been discovered by the tourist brochures and I get to live here. No need to take a bus downtown while figuring out a map or stay in an expensive hotel. I live near this paradise, it is only a leisurely bike ride from home.
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