It’s funny how old habits come rushing back the moment you return to a place that used to be home. In my case, it didn’t take long before I found myself doing something I absolutely did not miss yet somehow stubbornly jumped straight back into. Cycling in the wind and rain in the Netherlands. Of course.

Because here the bicycle is not just a means of transportation. It is the holy grail of getting from A to B. The ultimate badge of Dutch survival. And there it was. My trusty old omafiets, also known as the granny bike, waiting in the basement like a loyal old friend who wondered if I would ever return. Two years untouched. A quick pump with the trusty fietspomp and she was ready as if no time had passed. Meanwhile I needed a moment to mentally prepare myself for the meteorological chaos that was about to greet me outside.

If there is one thing the Netherlands does exceptionally well it is cycling infrastructure. Cyclists here reign as kings and queens of the streets. Cars bow before them. Pedestrians tiptoe around them. The system flows with an elegance only possible when an entire country is born with pedals attached to their feet.

But even with world class bike paths cycling here takes adaptation. Because the Dutch weather has its own sense of humor. A very dark humor. It will rain, then stop, then rain sideways, then slap you in the face with wind strong enough to make you question your life choices. All within ten minutes.

The grey drizzly winter months are something else entirely. The world turns into fifty shades of damp concrete. When the sun briefly peeks through the clouds you don’t just look at it. You stare in disbelief as if God just granted you a single moment of serotonin refill before retreating again behind the national curtain of gloom.