Category: Blog Posts

It’s fifteen degrees below zero, and I’m standing with my camera at the
Bahnhofsmission am Zoo. A small hatch opens, and the homeless come to pick up a packet of sandwiches, a banana, and hot tea or coffee.

They don’t get much more help here, so to find a place to sleep, they’ll have to keep moving through the city. Inside, I talk to the volunteers and ask if there’s anyone I can accompany on their way to an emergency shelter. And film them.

Continue reading “Homeless in Berlin”

So that wasn’t quite how we had planned it.

Road trips in the winter aren’t ideal for two-year-olds, so we decided to take the train.

Continue reading “I get to go again!”

It was freezing cold in there. When you went to your bedroom, you practically had to run, or else you’d freeze. Because the big, dark house had only one large tiled stove in the living room, where you could warm your feet as soon as you walked in. We were sitting there with as many as six adult couples and their children, one of whom was me.

Continue reading “Brushing Up”

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:

Continue reading “I'm going to be the boss”

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.

Continue reading “Now, FOR REAL”

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.

Continue reading “This is going to be a long post……….”

“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).

Continue reading “How many of us are actually here?”

“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.

Continue reading “90's Now: Proletarians from the '90s”

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.”

Continue reading “Germany, Your Helmets”

“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.

Continue reading “A Vacation in Stages”