Night street sounds pass below the open hotel windows. Bikes rumble by, then silence for awhile. A mix of languages—some in my mothers tongue—laugh and converse in dark tones as they walk home from the bars and clubs. An in the next moments, as sleep creeps in, I wonder if this night will be recalled accurately, in all it's splender.
God made the world, but the Dutch made Holland, and Utrecht is one of the the hubs. Because of its central location, the Ultrecht hauptbanhauf makes more connections, moves more people that any where else in the country. With a film festival in town, the streets seemed amplified with mixes of students, funky film-goers, locals and stop-overs.
High above the old canals stand the winding tangle of street, bridge and alleyways connect a village for uses long abandoned. Put in the past like the stately windmills that dot Hollands dykes. What would it all look like back in action. Windmills truning with sails full of wind, canal boats delivering goods from the harbors to the wagons and stores. It must have been an amazing place—still is. map
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