Author: Ulrike Nagel

I’ve had time to let it sink in. I’m used to the idea. I’m slowly getting used to it.

Starting January 1, I’ll be the editor-in-chief.

That means a lot of things:

Actually, yesterday was the first time I’ve ever celebrated a real, REAL St. Nicholas Eve. First of all, it was on December 5, and that doesn’t happen very often. Because the Dutch like to move their holidays to whichever day of the week is most convenient. So this one, too.

Second, I now have a 2½-year-old toddler, so this is also the first time it’s been a kids’ party.

It says: Change trains twice. Change trains three times.
One more time.

Change trains twice. Change trains four times.

I’ll try a different station. Deventer. Hengelo. Amsterdam. Bad Bentheim. Nothing. If I want to travel directly from the Netherlands to Berlin after December 11, I can’t. Because my train has disappeared from the new schedule. I don’t get it, so I try a third time. And then one more time.

“How many of you don’t understand a word of German?” Judith Holofernes called out to the crowd.
About seven hands went up.
Not enough to really need an interpreter.
“How many of you are actually from Amsterdam?” Three-quarters of those who raised their hands.

Because the lyrics of “Wir sind Helden” aren’t the easiest. At least, they’re rarely—if ever—found in books like *Der Übungsmeister* (I’ve seen with my own eyes that my friend J.’s textbook was called exactly that).

“Die Neunziger.” I’ve always thought that sounded better than “the ’90s.” The Dutch equivalent has a bit of a corny ring to it. And that shouldn’t be the case, because I still go under the assumption that “die Neunziger” are totally hip.

Maybe it’s a misconception of my own generation, because let’s face it: the music from that decade is downright bad. One by one, the tracks get played during “cheesy hours.” And you can barely admit that you’re actually a bit of a “happy hardcore type.” Because that just sounds so dumb.

Germans and risk—they don’t mix well. I’ll let you in on a secret: I’m not done writing about bicycles yet. Because safety measures are getting completely out of hand in my home country.

While browsing through my favorite bookstore (specifically, the children’s book section), I briefly consider buying a picture book about children’s modes of transportation. Trikes, tractors, scooters, and the like. On page 1, there’s a picture of a balance bike (my son Max already has one of these two-wheelers) and the sentence: “Children must always wear a helmet when riding a balance bike.”

“Berliners don’t ride bikes.” That’s more or less how you could put it. At least, that used to be the case. When I was little, I’d walk ten minutes to the S-Bahn station. I’d ride two stops, get off like a good girl, and then walk another ten minutes to my school friend J.’s house.

I could have easily covered that distance much faster by bike. But I’m only realizing that now, with my Dutch perspective. We never rode bikes in Berlin.

Originally published on Brigitte.de — https://web.archive.org/web/20051122190634/http://blog.brigitte.de/holland/

The Dutch love to complain and are quite aware of it. But the Germans also love to complain quite a bit. Especially when it comes to politics, a common thread emerges.

Originally published on Brigitte.de — https://web.archive.org/web/20051122190634/http://blog.brigitte.de/holland/

As is well known, the Dutch have their faces turned toward Great Britain and their backs turned on Germany. Every now and then, that suddenly changes: news channel correspondents are suddenly back in front of the Reichstag, and radio reports tell of the hardships faced by Germans. It’s election season—just one week to go—and people here have taken notice of that as well.