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“Are you lost? Do you need directions?”
I looked up from the giant map in my hands and realized the Dutch inquiry I hadn’t initially understood was an offer for help. The man peered at me over his glasses, a smile spreading across his face. He didn’t seem to mind that I had ignored the first sentence; he simply switched languages.
“Yes, I am definitely lost. Can you help me find Talderslaan?”
He contemplated for a few seconds, looked at the map, and then pointed me in the right direction. I thanked him, in English, grateful for his kindness and his ability to communicate with me.
As I headed to my destination, I realized that despite the foreign nature of my new home, I would be perfectly fine. Communication would be possible, assistance would be accessible.
Everywhere I go, I’m greeted in Dutch. With an awkward smile and a quick apology, the conversation shifts to the only language I have mastered. This might be one of the greatest things about Utrecht. No one has resented my mono-language brain.
I, however, wish that Dutch was a language I understood. Once, while seated on a bus at the station, a woman sat down beside me, saying something comical in the process. She said it in Dutch, and I immediately wished the joke had not gone over my head. When she realized I had missed the humor, she kindly paraphrased in English. The bus lurched forward, and our conversation ended; I looked out the window, and she turned to chat with her friends.
The busses are always moving in Utrecht. So are the bikes and the cars and the people. In the United States, if you do not own a car, you probably have to explain yourself every single time the topic of transportation arises. The U.S. used as much space as possible when developing its cities, and now, the majority of destinations are a car’s drive away. Walking could be possible, but roads typically lack proper sidewalks. You can forget about bike lanes.
One of my housemates described the situation perfectly: “Public transportation isn’t for the public. It’s for people who can’t afford cars.”
Utrecht’s public transportation works well, and the people of this city know it. Within three days, I recognized the necessity of a bus pass. With an anonymous OV-chipkaart in hand and the bus number memorized, I got to school on the first day only five minutes late. (I hadn’t accounted for the delay of a peak hour.) A week later, I purchased a bicycle. Now I have to master cycling through a city full of bikes. At least the bike lanes are abundant, and the street light signals are separate for motorists, cyclists and pedestrians.
According to the multiple pamphlets detailing the culture of Utrecht, I have a lot more to explore and experience in this fascinating city. The shops, the restaurants and the many canals are all calling out to me.
“Hannah, spend time with us. You are going to love this place,” they all seem to say.
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