People of Utrecht -The Netherlands (Part 1)

Light on Faces

On Thursday, March 26, 2026, I went to Utrecht early, with an intention that lay just outside my comfort zone: approaching people and asking if I could take their portrait. Normally, I work differently. I move through the city unobtrusively, capturing moments without people immediately noticing. Sometimes I show the photo afterward, as a small encounter in retrospect. But this time I wanted to do it differently. Ask first, wait for an answer.

At the Vismarkt (Fishmarket) I saw an older couple sitting together, close to each other, each with a cup of coffee. There was something familiar in their togetherness, something that almost naturally lent itself to being photographed. I walked up to them and asked my question. The man nodded in agreement, a small gesture, as if he was already fine with it. But before that nod could truly take on meaning, the woman spoke. Short, clear, and without any doubt: “no”. In that single moment, their dynamic became immediately visible, she was in charge, she decided, as the Dutch expression goes “she wore the trousers.” I smiled, said that no is of course also an answer, wished them a pleasant day, and walked on.
And yet something happened within me. From my budo background, years of karate and iaido, I am used to not avoiding a certain tension. Stepping forward, even when it feels uncomfortable, is part of that path. But this small moment, this simple rejection, made me feel how thin the line can be between action and hesitation. As I continued my way, I noticed that my threshold for approaching others had subtly risen. As if the city wanted to test me first before revealing itself further.

Where languages meet at the foot of the tower
Keep going, I thought. The first hurdle was behind me. The first rejection was still fresh in my mind, but precisely then you must keep moving, just like in karate: accept your loss, bow, and continue.
My steps brought me to a place where I always feel at home: the Maartensbrug, (Martins Bridge) with a view of the Dom Tower in all its glory. It is one of those places where Utrecht almost reveals itself naturally. The lines of the city converge here, water, stone, history, and movement. In summer, it is busy, with people lingering, an ice cream in hand, or simply gazing at the tower that has determined the rhythm of the city for centuries. By the tree, with the bench wrapped around it, sat a young couple. They were eating a sandwich and seemed fully absorbed in the moment. No hurry, no distraction, just the view and each other. The kind of scene you immediately recognize as a photographer: there is a story here.
I approached them and began with a simple “goede morgen” (good morning). They looked at me somewhat questioningly and indicated that they did not speak Dutch. Without hesitation, I switched to English. I introduced myself and explained that I was working on a personal project: capturing people in Utrecht as they find themselves in the city at that moment. This time, no doubt. They immediately agreed, and I felt how my own enthusiasm was mirrored in their response. The tension I had felt earlier gave way to something lighter, a particular kind of joy. As we talked, I also told them something about the place where they were sitting. That this was not just a beautiful view, but a historic location in the heart of Utrecht. That the tower has been the centre of the city for centuries, both literally and figuratively. That here, around this spot, history has built itself up in layers of stone, faith, and daily life. They listened attentively and looked again at the tower, as if seeing it differently now.
At one point, I heard them speaking German to each other. It felt like a small opening, an opportunity to bring the conversation even closer. I switched again, this time to German, a language that is also very familiar to me, which is hardly surprising given my German roots. And suddenly the tone of the conversation changed. It became more personal, more relaxed, almost as if we had known each other longer. As if not only the photo, but also the encounter itself gained more depth. There, at the foot of the tower, not only the lines of the city came together, but also languages, stories, and people, briefly connected in a single image.

The couple turned out to be from Osnabrück and were staying in Utrecht for a week, a short holiday, a break from their own surroundings. Taking multiple photos was no problem for them. That gave me the space to work calmly. Because experience has taught me: one photo is rarely enough. Only at home do you sometimes notice that an eye is just closed, a look not quite right, or that the moment was not captured as you felt it. And then something always remains, as if the encounter did not fully come into its own.

Afterward, I showed them the images on my camera. They reacted warmly and sincerely; they recognized themselves in the photos and liked them. That remains a special moment, when someone sees themselves through your eyes and discovers something positive in it. I gave them my business card, with the promise that I would send the photos if they contacted me. We said goodbye, each going our own way. And I continued into the city, in search of the next face, the next story.

Go get a job!
A little further on, a woman beckoned to me. She was sitting on the ground, seemingly part of the streetscape, as that so easily happens. In front of her stood a cup. I left some money, a small gesture, but at that moment the only thing I could do. She looked up, thanked me, and said something I did not immediately understand. Then came a clear gesture: she pointed to herself and then to my camera. “Photo.” I nodded. In moments like these, a form of contact arises that needs few words. As I took her portrait, a man walked by. Without stopping, he shouted: “Go get a job!” His voice briefly cut through the moment. As if he was not only addressing her but also throwing his own judgment into the street.
And there I was. Camera in hand, somewhere between seeing and being seen. As a photographer, I deliberately seek out these kinds of moments. Not to shock, but to show what is there, even what is less comfortable. The city does not consist only of beautiful lines, light, and chance encounters. It also has a rough edge. And it is often there that the stories become visible that are rarely told. What strikes me in these situations is how quickly judgment is expressed. As if someone’s position in a single moment is enough to define an entire life. While reality has deeper causes. People who end up on the street carry stories that are rarely simple and often painful. We live in a wealthy country. But wealth does not say everything about how we look at one another. Perhaps the true measure of a society lies in how we treat its most vulnerable people. I took the photo. Not to capture a judgment, but to see a face and perhaps, for a moment, to let it be seen as well.

On the threshold of something new
At the end of the Lijnmarkt, (Linen market) on the corner of the Oudegracht, a woman stood in the doorway of Café de Postiljon. One of those places where time has not become hurried. A true Utrecht brown café. Not a place of trends, but of continuity. Of people coming and going, while the atmosphere largely remains the same.
I wished her a good morning. She responded openly, and soon a conversation unfolded naturally. She told me that in four weeks she would retire. You could hear it in her voice: a mixture of looking forward and letting go. A new phase, not yet begun, but already close. I told her that I too am retired, and that I now spend my time differently, through photography and as a volunteer at the “Centraalmuseum”. She recognized that. She too had spent many years volunteering, among other things in a care centre here in Utrecht. A sense of recognition emerged.
I asked if I could take a few photos of her. She agreed, though there was a small hesitation. On the advice of her children, she had changed her hairstyle. For years she had worn a long braid, that was now gone. She wondered whether it would look right in a photo. I reassured her. Sometimes it is not about how someone looks, but about what someone expresses in the moment. I took a few portraits and showed them to her. The doubt gave way to a smile. As often, I gave her my business card, with the promise to send the photos if she contacted me. Not long after, I received her e-mail. She asked for the photos and wrote that she had found it a pleasant conversation. Sometimes that may be the essence of such an encounter: not only the image you take with you, but also the brief piece of shared time.

Where a selfie becomes a conversation
The cloister of the Dom Church is a place in Utrecht that always attracts many tourists. Right at the entrance, a couple was trying to take a selfie. It looked a bit clumsy, so I offered to take some photos for them with their phone. Two big smiles appeared on their faces. Naturally, this gave me a reason to also take a photo with my own camera. I gave them my business card. Another nice conversation followed. They were from California (US) and were on holiday here. They found Utrecht a beautiful city and decided to stay a bit longer.

A guitarist without internet
A little further on, in the cloister walkway, guitar music was being played in a beautiful and serene way. Usually, you hear a guitarist here who often plays Bob Dylan. But this man played classical music. From our conversation, it later turned out to be an improvisation. I felt the music truly suited the surroundings. I dropped some money into the guitar case, and the guitarist thanked me. I asked if I could take photos. That was no problem. Besides playing beautifully, the man had a striking face. The musician had no internet. I received his postal address, with the promise to send him some photos. Quite remarkable, really, that there are still people without internet.

Where the city allows itself to be encountered
This day began with a small hesitation, a step forward that did not come naturally. But gradually I noticed how Utrecht not only revealed itself but also allowed itself to be encountered. In conversations, in glances, in the trust of a moment. Photography became more than making an image. It became a way of making contact, of touching stories, sometimes light, sometimes raw, but always real. Perhaps that is what I take from this day: that behind every face there is a story, and that a city only truly comes alive when you are willing to meet that story, even if only for a moment.