I was cycling back from the gym when I saw bright disco lights coming out from The Basket, one of the cafes in De Uithof science campus. People usually only go there out of convenience, but this party looked quite fun from the outside.
The crowd outside was motioning towards me. They were all in suits and colorful gowns. Come inside! They said. But I’m all sweaty! I said.
Doesn’t matter. Come inside.
Sweet! A spontaneous party invitation. I’m confused and excited at the same time. But as I come closer, it becomes clear that everybody around me has baby faces, despite being as tall as I am. Turns out it’s a high school prom.
Technically we’re only a couple of years apart, but this isn’t the kind of party I’m trying to crash.
~
I want to leave, but they insist that I don’t go until I see somebody. The crowd gives way until there’s only one other person in front of me — the only other Asian-looking guy in the party.
Kijk! Jouw broer!
He took one look at me and turned away. He looked annoyed and ashamed.
So was I. I just got duped by a bunch of rowdy Dutch teenagers.
It’s 11:15 PM on a Monday night and I can hear someone playing bagpipes outside my kitchen window. Cambridgelaan is a big apartment complex — the music could be coming from anywhere.
“Who’s playing?”
Every once in a while the bagpipe player would play off-key and stop to regain composure. I really wanted to know who tonight’s musician was, and it bugged me that I didn’t.
“No clue.”
~
The bagpipes stopped about fifteen minutes later, with people craning their necks and cheering from their windows.
It’s Mom’s birthday. Dad reminded me the day before so I wouldn’t forget to wish her well.
~
“How old is your mother turning?” asked Maja, my neighbor.
It struck me that I actually don’t know. (I gave Maja a response anyway). I’ve asked Mom about her age in the past, but she says it’s rude to ask such questions.
I noticed that I’ve been more observant of the parked bicycles in the city center. I stop where I’m at if there’s a bike that remotely looks like the one I had before. Any bike that is tall, silver, and with a curved frame makes my head crane a bit. Could this be the one?
Parking lot near Utrecht Centraal, the train station. This is on a regular day.
Abandoned bikes take up valuable space in Utrecht. A few weeks ago the city government posted a notice — any bikes that appear unattended (i.e. broken, rusty, looking like crap) will be labelled with a sticker. If that sticker is not removed within fourteen days, the city will take the bike away.
Two weeks ago my bicycle went missing. I parked it in the same cage I’ve always parked it for the past nine months. Along the way, its gears started rusting apart and its brake cables became detached. Only packaging tape was holding it together. In other words, it was a deathtrap (but it was my deathtrap, dang it.)
The city must have mistaken it for an abandoned bike.
So I went to the impound in the city center. It’s not there. The supervisor told me to check out the impound in Kanaalweg, close to the university campus.
But it’s not there either.
Back in August last year, when I first got the bike. The brakes are still intact at this point.
~
Losing a bicycle is heartbreaking as a student, even if objectively speaking, your bicycle is a steaming pile of junk. In the Netherlands, everything you do, everywhere you go is by bike. You do your groceries on your bike, you go to town with your friends on your bike — you can even peel oranges and make sandwiches while on your bike.
At first I was angry.
Then I was sad.
Now I’m just shrugging my shoulders. Some international students are on their third or fourth bike for the school year. At least mine lasted for nine months.
~
So what are my options?
Buy a brand new bicycle, starting at 200+ euros.
Buy another used bicycle. During the start of the school year these can start at around 60 euros, but we’re in the middle of the last semester, so stores have raised their prices.
Go to a corner along Voorstraat or the train station, wait around a bit, and buy a bike from a junkie for about 10-15 euros.
Don’t buy another bicycle, and rely on public transport for the rest of the year. (More expensive and more restrictive than all the other options — and pretty lame in the Netherlands).
Many students at the beginning of the year will go for option #2 — buying a used bike from the store.
This changes when their bicycle gets stolen. Option #3 becomes more and more enticing, especially when people are living on a student budget. The thing is though, nearly every student who has lived in Utrecht for an extended period of time has had their bicycle stolen.
So at that rate, almost everybody will eventually go to option #3. It’s a vicious cycle.
My neighbor’s bicycle got stolen as well, around the same time as mine. Time to make another “visit” to town, he said.
“Don’t tell me that! You can do it, but don’t tell me!”
My other neighbor was not nearly as enthused. She keeps three different locks on her bicycle that her grandmother gave her.
~
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll see my bike out on the street again. It’s definitely out there somewhere.
If I do see my bike, would I be angry? Would I be amused? Both, I think.
You could say this is part of the typical “Dutch experience.” Utrecht is a quiet town in terms of crime, especially by American standards. If bike theft is the biggest thing I need to worry about, then so be it.
[at the intersection of Weg tot de Wetenschap and Weg naar Rhijnauwen, the main turn before reaching the university campus].
I was biking towards the city center when I bumped into Rob from Germany. Rob repaired the rear brakes on my bike about a month ago. Before that, I had let my roommate Brian borrow the busted bike for brief trips. Just use your feet! I told him.
~
Rob was in a sticky situation. Someone stole his bike — only it wasn’t Rob’s bike in the first place. His friend was in Paris, and she let him borrow it for the weekend. So not only would he have to walk all the way back home in Zeist (quite far away), but he would also have to explain to his friend what just happened.
“And it’s her birthday tomorrow, too!”
~
Rob tells me that this is just a minor problem in the grand scheme of things. He has good friends. He lives in a lively, gorgeous city. He has a great life by all accounts. His friend won’t be too thrilled about losing her main form of transportation, but they’ll probably laugh about it within a week or two.
[But still, for a student this kinda sucks.]
~
Rob needs to run if he wants to get back home while it is still bright.
He takes off his sandals and continues barefoot, but not before giving me a chocolate Easter egg.
Easter holidays are here in Utrecht — this includes the two days after Easter itself. And while the Netherlands isn’t a religious country, the cities and people still take advantage of the extra rest.
The Dutch are punctual people. It’s 3:58 PM. The doors open once again at 4:00 PM.
Still, it’s nice to have the grocery store open, even if it’s later during the day.
Long ago he was assigned to be my student mentor. I imagined we would chat about our life at home, share food, and go on adventures together — all in the interest of “cultural exchange”.
We met each other once and then became occasional one minute “how’s the weather” conversation buddies instead.
~
Back in December he wrote me on Facebook.
“for one of my courses me and my projectgroup have to make a short promotion video for a website we are making. In this video we want to put someone that doesn’t look Dutch…Do you want to help us?”
Huh? What do you mean, doesn’t look Dutch?! Grrrr! I remember asking myself what that meant.
