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”Intensive Cycling
I’m not really the fanatic type. Well, at least not for very long at the beginning. Then all of a sudden I want to learn to play the piano or study medicine. My mind races with enthusiasm. But after five minutes, the idea dies a quiet death. Even though it did feel serious for just a moment.
Continue reading “Intensive Cycling”Getting Used to It
Views of green grass, blue sea, and sand as far as the eye can see.
Gathering around the table at the home of good friends.
Biking to the Amsterdamse Bos, eating ice cream—even if it’s still too cold for that.
Stretching out your legs in a mobile home with orange flags.
Continue reading “Getting Used to It”Art, history, or Disney?
In Berlin, you never really know for sure.
Is it art?
History?
Or marketing?
Continue reading “Art, history, or Disney?”Ice Fever
I thought I had a good idea.
Simple, but those are often the best. In the Netherlands, there have been skating reports on TV for a whole week now. How thick the ice is. When you can skate on it. Which city is hosting the first marathon on natural ice. What the ice masters have to say about it. Which ice rinks have been ruined by salt. How they’re doing everything in their power to blow the snow off the ice. How people end up under the ice. How skating tours are canceled because skaters fall through the ice (which just happened in Overijssel).
Continue reading “Ice Fever”Still quiet (for just a moment)
There are already more than 20 million overnight stays per year. And the number keeps growing.
Tourists love Berlin.
The British, Dutch, and Americans are the most frequent visitors. (No less than 10% more Dutch visitors than last year. Could it have something to do with our move? We’ve already had lots of visitors, :-).
Continue reading “Still quiet (for just a moment)”We can't escape it here either
Sure enough, we couldn’t escape it here either.
Moving 650 kilometers away doesn’t mean we have to miss out on the most important man of the year: St. Nicholas. As it turns out, he’s perfectly capable of making his way to Berlin.
Whether he made his way over the rooftops or maybe just hopped on a train, or whether it was actually just a Dutch guy in disguise who does an incredibly good job—fortunately, it doesn’t matter, because my child doesn’t ask about such things yet.
Continue reading “We can't escape it here either”School
Every Tuesday is a school day.
Maybe that’s nothing special, but for a 4-year-old boy who has recently moved to Germany, it’s actually quite unusual here.
In Germany, children don’t start school until they’re 6. Before that, they don’t go to preschool, but to a “Kita.”
(A few months ago, I thought that word was really silly, but as we all know, you get used to everything, and now I find myself saying it more often than I’d ever like. “Kita” is short for “Kindertagesstätte.” And that, in turn, is a very long way of saying “Kindergarten,” as it was still commonly called in my day.)
So, childcare.
Not school.