Karin van der Laag

I am living in Holland. It is freezing, because it is January. It’s not freezing, like we say in South Africa “It’s freeezing!” No, it’s really freezing – as in 0 degrees and under. The water in the birdbaths are frozen into big blocks of ice in the shape of transparent bowls.

You wake up one morning and gasp when everything is covered in snow. As cheesy as it sounds: It really is “a winter wonderland” and you really do feel like you are inside a Hollywood movie.

It’s soft, the snow, and has a satisfying crunch when you squeeze it. It is also pure incandescent white. One stares in wonder.

Living in Holland means you need to play by the rules. I don’t have a problem with that, but had forgotten how many rules I used to break in SA.

You can’t just walk anywhere. You will die. I am not joking, you can be hit by a cyclist and car and another cyclist and an energetic walker with a baby carriage.

The Dutch don’t waste time. They are much friendlier on the whole, than the English but they are on the go. You kind of feel like you need to hop on to the culture here, and pedal.

I tried cycling. It was comic. My family here have a seriously beautiful and expensive ELECTRIC bike. Electric, guys. Everything here is electric and super-eco. They are really advanced in technology. It is mind-boggling.

I am a believer in one step at a time so my first encounter with the bike, was to open the garage – a challenge in itself. Keys and locks work differently here, for example you have pull the handle up to lock a door.

Anyway, I got into the garage after sliding it sideways when it was actually a pull up jobbie and after feeling pretty dumb, approached the gleaming black and white chrome monster.

I stared at it for a while, with keys in my hand. Keys to unlock it. Keys to unlock the mechanism for putting in the charged battery and the same keys to lock everything again. So far so good.

At 54 and having not been in Musicals for over 20 years, one does not have the ability to move as blithely as one did before. Oh for the mobility of the young!

Lifting my leg over the side of the bike in a kind of yee-haa-riding-a-horse way, proved to be challenging. I ended up doing a kind of lame ballet arabesque and eventually, with shaking knees stood astride the bike, out of breath, would you believe.

It is unbelievable how unfit I am. I thought I was ok, but, my word, do you realise fast that you are going to have to walk, cycle, walk with shopping, cycle with luggage and generally do much more physical activity that you ever did in SA, because you had a car.

But, I was on. Then the jump to lift my back end onto the seat. That part went less well. But after a few painful attempts, I managed. Now it was time to take the first steps – uhm pedals.

I suddenly longed for my father. You know when you learned to ride a tricycle when you were small and some lovely adult bent their back down to hold your seat so that you wouldn’t fall off and won’t speed away? I longed for that person, and also for those pretty streamers on the handlebars eventhough I never had those. I think only the Americans have those.

Needless to say, 5 steps on the pedal, shaky front handlebars and I came off: unceremoniously hitting the gravel with my hip and knees.

An old lady opposite was sweeping leaves off her driveway (as you do). She looked at me, kind of incredulously because here you cycle when you are 3 years old till you are over 90. She lurched towards me to help, but by that stage I was dusting myself off shouting: “Bedankt!” (Thank you!)

That’s when, me, bike, battery and keys went back into the garage. I shut everything up, had warm coffee and got into bed.

I am now re-searching 3-wheeled cycles. Adult tricycles. Much more sensible. Wish me luck.

Karin van der Laag

January 2026