Happy and sad in Utrecht

We trekked to Utrecht for a short visit. We needed to be back in Dordrecht for Hugh to play soccer in an informal community soccer contest in Dubbeldam at three in the afternoon. We would be in deep trouble if we missed it.

So, we were out of bed early and on on the train at 0815 - a bit grumpy, but not so's you'd notice. It is a pleasant rail journey of about an hour, with a change in Rotterdam. Most of our travelling companions were shop keepers, or shoppers.

Utrecht station is big, weird, nice - it opens into a shopping centre.  Imagine, if you will, walking out of a train and into Woden, or Bondi Junction, or Chermside. Like that.

It was cold and autumnal as we alighted. Cold enough that the leaves were blowing yellow and crisp across the square and the outside chairs at restaurants had lap rugs draped over them. I'm not yet sure whether these are for smokers or hypo-thermic masochists. Gerard tells me the Russians are forecasting the coldest European winter since '62, so we should see those lap rugs in desperate use. But since they can't forecast the next day's weather in Holland with any accuracy, we will see.

Like so much of the old, unbombed parts of the Netherlands, Utrecht's Centrum is beautiful. A maze of cobbled lanes, tilting old buildings, coffee shops and fashion. People cruise past on bikes, afoot, yabbering in a foreign language that is, alarmingly, starting to make the odd word-sense to me.

We wandered first to the cathedral - or rather the tower. Incredibly, a 'hurricane' blew the nave of the church away, leaving the steeple intact. This is like a storm obliterating your weatherboard house, but leaving the much more vulnerable dunny unharmed (where are you?!). A miracle, yes? 

We walked on to the flower market. Small but perfectly formed. The bloemen here are not at world-parity pricing. Rather, they are compost-cheap. This is either because of scale and efficiency, or subsidy, but who cares? Everyone here takes advantage of this flowery bounty - fresh flowers adorn tables in coffee shops and restaurants, in houses, in shops, in suitor's hands.

And then we walked around a corner, into a huge photographic display devoted to awareness of people with Down's Syndrome. It took the form of photos, about two metres by one metre, across two streets.

 The photos were of Down's kids, very professionally and patiently taken, no snot or drool or tears. They were so beautiful. Some photos had short quotes from parents about their child. They were all positive -  emphasized the insights, the learning, the growth.  

For the oldest son of a family of four, with the youngest, a girl, Susie, with Down's Syndrome, it was both joyous and confronting. I was powerfully, instantly taken back to Susie's childhood. And reflected, walking on, about the impact on my parents and on sister Jane of Sue's arrival. I think that all of those positive messages are true and important. I also think they ignore some things that are sad, that are about lives changed and challenged, about hopes unfulfilled, plans undone. And about demands that most never experience, or need meet. 

A rich tapestry, huh? 

We were back in time for the footy.