So, you’ve moved to the Netherlands. Or maybe you’re just visiting, seduced by images of tulip fields, leaning canal houses, and a general vibe of cool efficiency. What you probably weren’t prepared for was nearly getting run over by a silent (or not) cyclist while trying to photograph a windmill.
Welcome. You’re in for a ride, and I mean that literally.
For me, coming from a very different mentality and used to completely different habits, moving here felt like stepping into a parallel universe. Everything looks familiar enough: people speak excellent English, there’s reliable public transport, and you can drink water from the tap. But stay long enough, and you’ll start to notice the strange, wonderful aspects of daily Dutch life – and you might find yourself starting the process of Dutchification (I need to ask you to accept me making up this word, I am sure you understand what I mean).
The first and probably obvious step of Dutchification is becoming a cyclist. Bikes are more than vehicles here; they are a way of life. The Dutch cycle everywhere, in all weather (we zijn niet van suiker, toch?) in all moods. Rain? Poncho. Snow? Extra scarf. Three children, a dog, and two bags of groceries? Cargo bike. Moving house? Call a friend, take both your bikes and bring the mattress from one apartment to the other. At first, you might make a lot of mistakes, cycling through intersections like a confused duckling, terrifying locals and yourself. But eventually, you’ll develop a sixth sense for tram tracks, angry bells, and how to break by moving your pedals backward!
The second point might be a bit too cultural, due to my Italian origins: forget your fancy hot meals or gourmet salads. In the Netherlands, lunch is pragmatic. Think sandwiches. Cold. Plain. Functional. Maybe not in the office, but at home they can be accompanied by a glass of milk, which will either delight or confuse your inner child. And then there’s hagelslag, delicious chocolate sprinkles which I would use to bake a cake or for kids. Not here: add them to a layer of butter or peanut butter on bread and you get the most common breakfast even for adults.
Here is my favourite: directness is not rudeness. If you ask for feedback at work, be prepared for feedback. Sugarcoating is not in the Dutch cultural toolset. ‘This is not good,’ doesn’t mean you are a failure, it means you’re being treated as an equal who can handle the truth, and the truth is that what you have done in that specific situation wasn’t good for the person giving you that feedback. It’s strangely refreshing, when it doesn’t make you cry (kidding!). This bluntness extends into daily life. ‘No, I don’t want to hang out.’ ‘You look tired.’ ‘Why did you say that?’ These aren’t insults. They’re just… ‘another Tuesday’.
After some time here you’ll start noticing it everywhere: the punctuality of trains (ok, lately NS is not working at its best, but it was when I moved and for a long long time. Plus, have you ever tried to get a train in Italy?); the safety of bike lanes (but don’t cross without watching); the efficiency of bureaucracy. There’s a quiet brilliance in the design of things, from public spaces to trash bins. It’s like the country is constantly asking ‘why make life harder than it has to be?’
Living in the Netherlands isn’t a fairytale; it’s a very practical, rain-soaked novel with a dry sense of humour and excellent urban planning. But if you embrace the sprinkles, the honesty, the 45° wind on your bike ride, the four seasons in a day and the diary needed to have a coffee with your friends, you’ll find something beautiful underneath the culture shock.
You’ll find a country that makes room for you, no matter how awkwardly you lock your bike or how long it takes you to pronounce Scheveningen.
And trust me, that’s no small thing.
Written by Rossella Davì