worldgestalt

When the Nazis occupied the Netherlands in 1940, approximately 140,000 Jews lived in the country. From 1941 until 1944, 107,000 of them, along with 255 Sinti and Roma, were deported by the Germans. Only 5,200 Jews and 30 Sinti survived.

There is a memorial in the heart of Amsterdam, consisting of more than 100,000 bricks, with each brick bearing the name of a victim. Among them is the name Anna Frank—Anne Frank—as she was a resident of Amsterdam. The many bricks are topped with massive mirror constructions that visually connect the memorial to the outside world. Finally, the four bodies formed by the bricks, seen from above, represent the Hebrew word לזכר (Lezachar), which means “in memory.”

This deeply symbolic place was designed by Daniel Libeskind, the American architect who also conceptualized the Jewish Museum in Berlin. It is a solemn site, filled with respect for the individuality of the victims and a strong appeal to the present.

… I have ever seen is Utrecht in the Netherlands. With a population of about 380,000 residents, the city is a transportation hub and home to a renowned university. Its historic city center is well-preserved and well-maintained, with streets filled with friendly people, cafes, pubs, and numerous little shops.

What I found most amazing, though, were the grachten (canals). These waterways run through the city, and while they are mainly decorative today, they originally served practical purposes. When they were first constructed (1200-1400), their primary functions were twofold:

First, large parts of the Netherlands are below sea level, creating a constant challenge with swampy ground. This is why the Dutch are renowned for their expertise in drainage systems. The grachten were dug to help drain excess water.

Second, in an era before modern roads, railways, and airplanes, transportation by water was the most efficient way to move goods.

The combination of these historic canals, the city’s stunning architecture, and the vibrant, lively atmosphere made Utrecht one of the most beautiful cities I have ever visited. I couldn’t stop taking pictures—see below!

It used to be that walking into a hotel meant looking for the reception desk. Then, there was somebody explaining things, taking care of the payment, and basically smiling and saying hello. If there was any problem during the stay, I’d go back there, and they would solve it. In good places, that can make one feel safe and taken care of.

These days, I often use Airbnb—not just because it’s often more affordable than a hotel. Often, I can meet the host, and conversations tend to evolve. Quite frankly—for me, these talks are often the most memorable part of the travel experience. There are so many things to learn, and there’s no better way than this: talking to the locals.

And then there’s the next level—or well, maybe it’s actually a lower level?

In hotels, more and more often, the check-in is contactless. Sometimes, I don’t see anyone at all—just codes and messages floating around. The next level is cabins. Again, mostly wireless. In fact, at “CityHub Rotterdam,” there is a wristband with a chip that allowed me to go wherever I was permitted to: bathroom, shower, cabin, and the front door of the place.

Originally, I had planned to stay in Rotterdam for three full days. But some people advised me not to spend too much time there—and now, I’m thankful. Even one night was almost too much. Rotterdam was destroyed by German bombers in 1940, to force the Dutch military to surrender. After the end of the war, the city wasn’t reconstructed—it was rebuilt from scratch. That means that today, Rotterdam is an industrial city made of modern, sometimes seemingly soulless architecture and a lot of concrete. It’s not worth the visit.

But I stayed for one night because I wanted to find out what this next (or lower?) level of hotel—cabins—is like.
The very reasonable price for one night (I paid €57) is based on a shortage of space. The cabins are shaped like an “L,” connected in such a way that two “Ls” are pushed into each other and turn into a big box. See pictures below. Here are the measurements of one “L”: total length: 3.00 m (9.84 ft), width: 2.00 m (6.56 ft), height in the lower part of the “L”: 1.50 m (4.9 ft), higher part: 2.00 m (6.56 ft). So I could stand in a tiny spot; the rest was a very comfortable bed where I could sit upright easily. Shared bathrooms—very clean and convenient.

There’s perfectly working AC in the building and in each cabin. Enough towels, a bathrobe. Noise insulation works quite well, and the party noise I feared never occurred.
Everything perfect?
That depends on you. There’s no window, no daylight—only the clock tells you whether it’s night or day. Don’t be claustrophobic. It’s tight. Not as tight as I expected, but still.

And—on a personal note—after one night (and I slept well), I had the feeling of living in a dystopian world. Disconnected from the real world—sunlight, fresh air, street noise, and the wind that blows through the curtains of the window next to the bed.

I felt relieved when I left.

These places are becoming more and more common. They’re much more affordable—especially in the city centers of expensive European cities. They’re perfectly well organized.
And yet—I would use them only under two conditions:
A) no more than one night, and
B) only when they’re either the only option or the only affordable one.

So—yes, I love the reception desk. Even more so, I love the local at the kitchen table, willing to have a glass of wine with me.
That is what traveling is about: it’s about learning.

Brussels is not only the capital of Belgium — it is also a vibrant city, full of people. 1.2 million residents live here, and as can be expected, lots of tourists walk the streets. The city is a peaceful place, the streets seem calm, there is a serene atmosphere.And that is why: The inner city has hardly any roads for cars to drive on. Over the last few years, the city government has decided to pacify the city centre. That has brought a calmness to the city that is contagious. Walking Brussels is like winding down.

And then, of course, there are the chocolatiers, the fries, and no shortage of decent espresso machines.

If you find the time, walk Brussels after sundown — in particular, the Grand Place is marvelous (see picture below). And there is one place everyone must visit before leaving the city: the Magritte Museum.

René Magritte (1898–1967) was a Belgian painter whose name became the symbol of an art movement called surrealism. The idea goes like this: Everything around us has a name. A table is called “table”; all things have names. Well, all things…?

And — what happens when things get new names? What happens to “reality” when names are taken away, changed, or replaced?

So Magritte painted a pipe and added the phrase “Ceci n’est pas une pipe”, telling the viewer that what they see is only an image of a pipe, not a pipe itself.

What’s the use of such useless word confusion?

Honestly, I don’t know. But surely, I know that often there are situations when not everything is said — not everything has a name. And yet, everyone can feel it: the famous “Elephant in the Room”. So surrealism can create space for suspecting the presence of things that are not present by name. And it can sabotage the established ways of communication: What is what? And, even more importantly: What has more value simply because it has another name — one with power behind it?

To give an example: Certain first names in German suggest that a person belongs to a social group considered “lesser”. Every language has these names. In German, one of them is “Kevin”. Applying for a job with that name is — unjustly — more difficult than applying as a “Martin”.

So names and words appeal to specific preconceptions in people’s minds, thus establishing a version of reality that needs to be questioned. Magritte turned these abstract ideas into realistic — and still deeply unsettling — paintings.

Go there. It might change your conception of “reality”.

location Magritte Museum in Brussels

I guess most people know where France is, or Germany, or Spain. But where is Belgium? In Europe? And even though I knew where Belgium was, I had never been there. There were a few things I believed I knew about Belgium. In short: chocolate, beer, fries, and political chaos. Turns out: all true—and yet, as always, not as simple as those words might suggest.

I had the privilege of talking to natives here in Belgium. They love their country, and yet they complain about its complexity.

This complexity has a lot to do with the languages officially spoken in Belgium—Dutch, French, and German. And there are three territories where the speakers of these languages live: the country (about the size of Maryland) is divided into a French-speaking south (red on the map), a Dutch-speaking north (orange on the map), and a tiny minority of German-speaking Belgians in the east (green on the map). And in Brussels (the striped dot on the map), the capital, both French and Dutch are spoken.

In Brussels, the language issue becomes especially obvious: there is “la Friture” and there is “Frituur”—two names for the same place, the place where one can get those amazing Belgian fries. Just make sure never to order “French fries”—the Belgians insist they invented fries. And it’s true: Belgian fries are special because they are deep-fried twice. And that really does make a difference—I’ve never had fries as crispy as those!

Anyway, back to the division of the country: The three areas have their own governments and administrations, plus there is a federal government that is supposed to mediate the often difficult relationships between the regions. As a result, decisions of any kind are often not made at all—or made very late—they just can’t agree. The regions insist on their autonomy, especially when it comes to language.

Here’s an example: there was once a train conductor who made announcements in Dutch and French, while the train was passing through the Dutch-speaking part of the country. One of the passengers felt offended by the use of French and sued. A court ruled that the conductor had to change his language when in the Dutch-speaking part of the country—no announcements in French. That’s particularly problematic if a passenger who only speaks French (quite a few Belgians speak only one language) doesn’t get the info they need—in fact, the conductor is not allowed to inform the passenger in the only language he or she understands.

Sounds like a broken country? Well, it’s not. The infrastructure works just fine, public transport is excellent, and there is industry and business everywhere.

And Belgians are very friendly people, always helpful and—in an interesting way—happy to be Belgian. They talk about their country as being open-minded and cosmopolitan, and the vast majority sees the ongoing animosities between the different parts as a nuisance—often exploited by politicians to stir people up—but they don’t take it too seriously.

And don’t forget: the fries, the chocolate, and the beer are just amazing… .

Aachen is a beautiful city—a balanced mix of well-preserved architecture, a diverse population, and fascinating medieval history.
The most outstanding building in Aachen is the Cathedral, built by Charlemagne, King of the Franks from 768 to 814. The cathedral, which survived World War II thanks to a dedicated group of very young firefighters, stands as a symbol of Charlemagne’s reign.

Charlemagne conquered large parts of Central Europe and—for the first time since the fall of the Roman Empire in 476—reestablished stable rule across much of the continent. But his achievements were not limited to warfare and expansion. He also implemented a relatively consistent legal system and administration, promoted education, and introduced a standardized script throughout his realm.

His domain remained a kingdom until the year 800, when Charlemagne was crowned emperor by the Pope in Rome. In doing so, he claimed succession from the Roman emperors and their empire.
This idea of imperial succession, combined with the close relationship between emperor and pope, laid the groundwork for what would later become the German Empire—and the political concept of the German nation itself. By uniting many European tribes under Frankish rule, Charlemagne also contributed to what is now seen as an early vision of a unified Europe. For this reason, he is often referred to today as “the Father of Europe.”

However, Charlemagne’s legacy is not without its darker sides. He should not be judged solely by today’s moral standards, but his actions were sometimes brutal. When it served his interests, he forced “pagan” Saxons to convert to Christianity. And when they returned to their old beliefs, he responded with violence. In Verden, in October 782, under his command, 4,500 Saxons were massacred—an act that today would be considered mass murder.

Aachen became Charlemagne’s favorite residence, partly due to the hot thermal springs on which he built his cathedral. There, the throne he had constructed for future coronations became the place where kings were crowned for the next 800 years. The throne itself may be less visually impressive than expected, but knowing how many rulers were crowned there—and its historical significance—gave me goosebumps. Charlemagne is also buried in the cathedral, in a golden shrine, see pictures below.

On a personal note: I believe Charlemagne was the most successful and perhaps the most intelligent ruler of his time, especially for his efforts in advancing education. But his empire did not last. After his death, his sons were unable to maintain it. That’s why I think some of the titles he holds today—like “Father of Europe”—are at least partly a modern invention. And even though, in this case, the invention serves a noble cause — the idea of, hopefully one day, a United States of Europe — it still seems to me that this is one of the great dangers of our time: history being invented to serve the political interests of the present.

Anyway: Visit Aachen. It’s a welcoming and beautiful city, full of history.

Brussels’s Square in Cologne is, in fact, not really a square-it’s more an old church surrounded by a park. It’s a peaceful place with little traffic and plenty of spots to sit down. Around the square lies the Belgian Quarter, a neighborhood of Cologne, full of small shops, boutiques, restaurants, and cafés. Rents here are among the highest in town. Life seems peaceful—this is where the kind people live.

That started to change in 2006, during the World Cup. Germany went wild. The national team played (fairly) well, and for the first time since World War II, people openly celebrated their team. No, it wasn’t evil nationalism making a comeback—it was more a feeling that it was finally okay to be German. That shift came with all kinds of public gatherings. Funny enough, as soon as someone sets up a TV outside, it’s called a “public viewing”—a phrase borrowed from English and used as if it were natural German. It means watching soccer together, even though in English, a “public viewing” is something you’d associate with a funeral.

Anyway—Brussels Square, the peaceful heart of the Belgian Quarter, became one of those meeting spots. That started a tradition: young people brought beer and met up with friends (and friends-to-be) at the square. There was talking, dancing, music, and the ever-present clink of bottles. This trend grew during the pandemic, when bars and restaurants were closed and people, eager to socialize, simply gathered outside. In other words, Brussels Square turned into a party place.

Naturally, a conflict followed. Locals wanted to sleep—some had early morning shifts. Parents didn’t appreciate the mess and the smell when they visited the square with their kids. Local bars and pubs profited from the crowd but soon saw their opening hours regulated by the city. The matter even went to court, which ruled earlier this year that all gastronomy must close by 10 p.m.

But that didn’t stop the party people. They just brought their own bottles and moved to the benches and the grass. So the key question here seems to be: Whose freedom limits whose freedom? What are the boundaries within which people can live their lives—and who decides?