I was 10 when the Wall came down. I moved to Berlin in 1984, when I was 5. I was born on the Baltic Sea, in Greifswald, where my parents were studying. At the time, many East Germans from all over the country were moving to the capital of the GDR; my mother was from the north, my father from the south. Berlin was already the place to be back then if you wanted a good job, so we moved into a two-room apartment with a coal stove.
Continue reading “My story about the Wall on Berlijnblog.nl”A potato farmer in Berlin
It’s a clichĂ©. Farmers mostly stay on their land, and no horse could get them into the big city.
Not necessarily true, as I now know.
Since yesterday, I’ve met a potato farmer who dared to make the long journey from northeastern Groningen to Berlin. His farm is in Roodeschool, which isn’t just in the northeast of the Netherlands, but also in the northeast of the northernmost province. And it’s the last train station in the Netherlands. That’s where everything ends. (Okay, there’s also Eemshaven, but for the sake of convenience, I’ll leave that out of this column for now).
Continue reading “A potato farmer in Berlin”Four Days Embedded
“Boo,” I say as I walk in through the heavy wooden door. Seven faces stare at me in bewilderment from the seminary living room. One of them belongs to my former colleague Michael. “We’re actually in the middle of a moment of reflection.”
In contemplation, in contemplation… What on earth is that supposed to mean, I wonder. And I realize that, with my three bags and my good intentions, I’ve walked in a little too early. I’d been promised a beer—a nightcap after four days of work. But a quarter past nine is too early. “It’ll take until about a quarter to ten; I’ll let you know when we’re done.”
Continue reading “Four Days Embedded”Berlin Freezes
It was -12 this morning. And a clear blue sky.
So the light was beautiful—a perfect reason to go outside.
For the kids to go sledding on a thin layer of snow.
For me to take pictures.
Van der Laan: "You can definitely compare Amsterdam North to Berlin"
Last Wednesday, Mr. Van der Laan was in Berlin. I was allowed to grab my camera and do a report on it for Germany News. That is, if he was in a good mood and not too tired.
Continue reading “Van der Laan: "You can definitely compare Amsterdam North to Berlin"”A video column by Deborah Herwald, Ulrike Nagel, and Jacques Schmitz. November 9, 2013, Berlin
Deborah Herwald, Ulrike Nagel, Jacques Schmitz, on behalf of the Friends of the German Language and Culture Association.
Continue reading “A video column by Deborah Herwald, Ulrike Nagel, and Jacques Schmitz. November 9, 2013, Berlin”Berlin School
We’ve already come a long way.
Time is flying by; we’re trying to keep up and are picking up the pace.
Gosh, where do the days, weeks, and months go? I really have no idea.
It was summer just a moment ago; then the leaves suddenly turned orange, and now the streets and parks are littered with everything that was just hanging from the trees.
And we’re busy with school.
Continue reading “Berlin School”Antonov
I took this photo last October. It was at Bienenfarm Airport in Brandenburg, west of Berlin, when we were about to take a sightseeing flight in a Cessna. In the background is an old Antonov, a beautiful red gleaming in the sun. And it matched my son’s hat so well.
Continue reading “Antonov”There Are Nice Germans Out There: My Pharmacist!
Berlin is just a village.
That’s nothing new; in fact, it’s a collection of many little villages. That’s how the city grew—it all started in the Nikolaiviertel. The village of Cölln and the village of Berlin were connected by a bridge, and just like that, there was a city. More and more villages (neighborhoods) came to be part of it. They all grew together. People who don’t venture outside their own neighborhood call it a “Kiez” and behave pretty much the same as someone from a Dutch, English, or French village. Dorf. Village.
Continue reading “There Are Nice Germans Out There: My Pharmacist!”1 year
I saw the photo again recently. It showed me sitting behind my familiar desk in Utrecht. “Quotenknaller”—that was the name of my shift on my last day. With the news hot on our heels—as soon as a story came in, we’d call, call, call, and ask for a response. We’d type up the scripts and hear them back in the news bulletin just a moment later. Not exactly a laid-back last day, but still a very straightforward task, with me in my element, at the helm, everything under control—whatever you want to call it. Professional ease. That’s how it often felt. And on that day, too.
Continue reading “1 year”