Utrecht with Savanna

Three days from Koblenz to Utrecht? Sure, no problem. At least that’s what I thought, right up until I remembered I’m not one of those kilometer-devouring cyclists. So a one-day trip was out of the question. Way too far. Naturally, I made it three. Why not.

The weather forecast had that politely threatening tone: “Probably rain on Wednesday.” Which, translated into human language, means: you will get soaked, but later act surprised. Like a cold plunge after the sauna. Only without the sauna. Or the dignity.

Day one began with optimism and a gentle sense of forward motion. Savanna, my loyal bike, traveled in style by train, as if she had already mapped the Netherlands in her head. I, on the other hand, armed with my Leica and a Voigtländer 35mm f1.2, behaved as if the gear alone guaranteed seriousness. Or at least the appearance of it. Like a doctor with a stethoscope who’s really just there for coffee.

From the Dutch border onward, the pedaling began. The landscape and the weather cooperated suspiciously well. Soft light, open fields, that quiet sense of space that briefly makes you forget you’re actually working to move forward. I filmed a few sequences, took some photos, and convinced myself this was “documentary work,” not just cycling with an aesthetic excuse. Like a reality TV personality claiming to make art while mostly taking selfies.

Arriving in Utrecht, spring felt tangible, just like back home. Canals in perfect light, full terraces, blossoms falling as if they had signed a contract with the scene. I stayed at the UKI Hotel, a place uncomfortably good after a full day on the saddle. Like sleeping on a cloud, minus the actual cloud.

Day two slowed down. Less distance, more looking. Coffee turned into detours, detours into images. Wide open on the Voigtländer, and suddenly the city dissolved into layers, as if it had no objections. Like an Easter trick, just without the rabbit.

Day three began with that subtle shift in the air. Clouds gathering like an unspoken agreement. I packed, hesitated, pretended I had time. As if I could simply laugh the rain away.

On the way back, the first drops arrived. Not dramatic. Just enough to confirm the forecast had been right all along. Like a gentle nudge from nature saying, “I did warn you.” The return in a rented Sprinter removed any weather-related concerns for me and Savanna.

Three days. Perfectly timed. Or at least photographed in a way that makes it look that way. Like a well-directed film, only with real rain and an actual cyclist.