Terps, borgs and the pink granite coast: Sunday on the streets of Utrecht

What a day in Utrecht! We arrived last night and drove all over town trying to find a campground to stay using the Points of Interest on the Sat Nav. One was a train wreck, undergoing renovations and with only temporary amenities; three others had succumbed to a ball wrecker and were now new apartment blocks. After a hilarious drive north, then south, then west, under overhead bridges that were too low for our height, Peter huffing and puffing, and roads the width of bicycle tracks and maybe a few were, we finally found a country respite about 8kms out of town which, on this long weekend holiday in Utrect, was also booked out: but such was Pete's charm they gave us a hard standing without electricity for just the single night. We had hoped for two.

And we are in the middle of prime summer temperatures now at the end of May. We could have done with a fan but, amazingly, we survived the night without power. Just a week or so ago we were moaning about the freezing cold.

At nine this Sunday morning we were the only ones surfacing in the streets of Utrecht. Just us and the choir boys. Not a soul else was about but the church goers. We think from the streets around the main Domkirke where we parked, that they probably partied in Utrecht until late last night. Confetti was thick on the ground, as were cigarette butts, last night's empty beer cans, and a new and fresh layer of graffiti.

We found the only coffee shop open in the downtown and had our best coffee to date. Delicious. Along with a stylish loo: what more can one ask. Then a couple of hours on a walking tour found us up and down canals, visiting ancient Cathedrals, old cellars built into the lower walls of the sides of the canals, and tiny almshouses that once housed the poor but looked too trendy and were now likely home to a much different population. We wandered little sunny alleys and shaded leafy walking paths and loved the colour and alternative air that Utrecht gives off with its large downtown university population. We had a lovely time, keeping to the shade and going hither and yon.

We ate lunch early as we had a 2 o'clock appointment in another part of town, so had to search high and lo to find a place that served anything cooked. Many lunch things on menus in Europe seem to be able to be more assembled, rather than cooked: which saves hiring a chef hours before he is really needed. Moreover, most would have been exhausted after last night, we think.

Again, we found our fallback choice on the menu: croquette: but, this time, sadly, it was microwaved, not deep fried, and served on a slice of white bread: so not a patch on our brilliant Den Haag feast. Plastic, Pete said, disappointed.

Utrecht suddenly came alive just as our lunch was complete. People arose from their beds and surfaced for their first coffee of the day, or their juice du jour or vino. Cyclists and walkers came out in dribs and drabs, then in dozens. As the day poured down even sunnier they came out in droves.

Our afternoon was spent going through the Rietveld Shroderhuis, that we were only able to access with a booking made in advance. For us, that is a chore, as our mobile rarely works (usually the battery is dead flat) and we have very variable internet access. Complicated by having the confirmation number on a laptop email which is not all that portable or flexible. Still, we managed.

A group of Argentinians, Koreans and Americans arrived before us. Only twelve folk are ticketed at any one time to enter this small architectural gem that was built for Mrs Shroder and her three children by Gerrit Rietveld in 1924. We were so glad we'd booked in advance or we'd have had no hope of seeing it.

Rietveld was a furniture maker. At the time he met Shroder he was doing an architectural course and vitally interested in architectural ideas. He and she discussed ideas and found they liked similar things, so much so that she commissioned him to design and build her this elegant simple home at the end of a long row of terraces in Utrecht, that, even today, creates so much discussion and interest it is now a renowned World Heritage Site honoured by UNESCO.

The house, on entry, is small, almost tiny. It is only when you wander through each of the rooms and pay attention to the taped descriptors that you even begin to appreciate the many functions Rietveld was able to incorporate into these small spaces with his clever planning: an unusual skylight on the top floor of the house that allows light to flow through the entire house: folding doors that are able to enclose complete open spaces making them intimate and secure; clever illusions, like a disappearing corner where a window opens in such a way that a corner of a room disappears, completely welcoming the outside in; shutters that during the day are panels on the wall, but at night are removed and click in to shade the window.

The house reminded me of the eccentric spaces (albeit those were crammed and jammed) in the house of John Soanes, the architect, in nineteenth century London. I wonder if Rietveld knew of John Soanes work.

You can see that Rietveld was primarily a furniture maker: his expertise is in thinking of the ins and outs of the small stuff and how to make it work: making each arm of each chair useful and effective; each bed able to double as a sofa; a door is designed to fold away into a disappearing space when it is no longer needed or to become a wall if that is the preference.

But, as well, Reitveld is able to visualise the whole: the house in its setting of the landscape is prime: creating windows that take full advantage of the views; decks that gave every member of the family private outdoor and indoor areas; and rooms, at a slide of a panel, are able to be transformed from the private to the communal. He demonstrates that he thinks of the detail and also has the ability to conceptualise.

This wonderful home is nearly a hundred years old, but dressed in its simple Mondrian prime colours of blue, red, white, black and yellow, it feels as fresh and bright in its ideas as if it were built just yesterday.

We left the site, searching for a campsite, which we'd been warned would be a problem this holiday weekend, and found one after a drive south over another narrow dike road with idyllic rural scenery and a quick ferry trip across a river to Culemberg.

We saw possibly the entire population of southern Netherlands draping themselves in bikinis and swimsuits on the sandy shore of any patch of water, even a canal or a pond, enroute. Along with the resident population of Netherland's sheep.

Question: Why, given that we see so many sheep in the fields is it impossible to find lamb in the supermarket in the Netherlands? We rarely find anything other than schnitzelled or skewered pork or chicken, along with a small selection of fresh fish. Once we saw lamb frozen but Peter would not buy it. We'd tried that once in France and he said it was cardboard after it was frozen. And once we found, and bought, beef. But so rare to find the variety or the cuts that we get fresh at home.

It is amazing how much of the soil in the Netherlands is actually sand, too. We find that when we go walking in the National Parks we are actually kicking up sand--no matter how far inland we are. We think this might be a function of so many places being below sea level, but we don't know for sure. But much of the land is really very sandy.

Our campsite, tonight, is heavily occupied. Many people who have spent long winters with white pasty arms and legs have, over the last couple of days, sprawled too long on beach chairs in this sun and allowed their limbs to be overexposed. Yesterday and again today they have looked, at the end of the day just like cooked lobster: hot and red and hurting. Ouch!