Yesterday I was waiting for the bus in Delft. The hotel room where I’ll be staying for the next seven weeks has rather ugly lighting, so I had decided to buy a cheap lamp. This one. At Ikea. From The Hague, Delft isn’t far; seven minutes by train. After that, I’d still need to take the bus for another eight minutes. After four years in Japan, I’m so used to excellent public transport that I was surprised there was only one bus every half hour to Ikea. On the weekend, no less. Anyway, I waited twenty minutes for the bus, which was neatly listed on the board at stop I. Another 15 minutes, another 10 minutes, another 2 minutes… And poof! Bus gone. It simply never showed up. The next bus would come in half an hour. Or not – who knows.

I wasn’t going to wait 50 minutes for a bus, so I took the train back and bought a cheap lamp at Action instead. While the lamp was cute, it didn’t really fit in the spot I had in mind. The stick-on light I’d bought to brighten up my kitchen counter didn’t do much either. Tears sprang to my eyes. This was the proverbial last straw.

Of course, part of it is jet lag. A bigger part is the neighborhood I chose to stay in. Or well, “chose”… It’s not like you have many options when you’re looking for a place to stay in the Netherlands for seven weeks. It’s either someone’s converted shed on AirBnB, someone’s couch or guest room – with all the bustle that comes with that – or an “extended stay” hotel in a questionable neighborhood.

The moment I step outside, I nearly get run over by a fatbike. The first room I was assigned faced the street, where shouting people and revving cars dominated the soundscape. Luckily I could switch rooms immediately, so now I’m looking out onto a courtyard with garbage containers. The smell of weed is constant, even in the hotel hallway. Everything is dirty: the street, the floor, every surface in my room. I’ve already made several trips to Action for magic erasers, cleaning supplies, and all sorts of other things I needed. When I opened the door next to my room, with a large image of a vacuum cleaner on it, I found empty boxes and an old mattress. “Oh, you’re not allowed in there, that’s for housekeeping!” said the girl at reception. Silly Toeps thought there might be a vacuum cleaner residents could use. Must be my Japan-ified brain.

I ran into that more often, actually. For example, I burned my hand on scalding hot tap water – at home in Japan you set the temperature on a panel, so the water never suddenly gets too hot to wash dishes with. I automatically stand on the left side of the escalator, then quickly correct myself and move to the right. Not that it matters much, because there’s always a boomer blocking everything anyway. I paid €1.10 to use a mediocre toilet. It feels strange to just throw away my trash (without rinsing the plastic and removing the labels), and by the way, has anyone actually seen a cashier recently? Even when buying medication it was the self-checkout asking if I was an adult and whether I understood how the medicine worked. The staff were chatting somewhere further down the store.

I landed Tuesday evening, my brother drove me to the hotel, and I slept until four. Four in the morning, that is. So around seven I walk toward the Starbucks in the city center. Past the mosque with separate entrances for men and women, the burqa shops, dozens of Denk posters – and then across the street a set of flags: one from Ukraine and a Progress Pride one. Two people are smoking weed in front of the Starbucks. A man who is clearly out of his mind dances around. “Not vaping suits you better,” posters proclaim. A polder gangster on a fatbike zooms by.

The day before yesterday marked exactly four years since I moved to Japan. Of course I’ve been back before, but usually only briefly, and then I stayed with Riemer or with my brother. Because I wasn’t sure yet how tired I’d be, I hadn’t planned much for this week. I visited Maan at the art fair where she had a booth, and I briefly saw Charlotte too, since she was working there. Otherwise I didn’t see anyone. In that sense the Netherlands isn’t that different from Japan – people prefer to schedule things weeks in advance. I worked on a presentation, put the finishing touches on my book cover, and ordered a proof copy. Next week the real sprint begins. A lecture on Monday, three shoots on Tuesday, a lecture on Wednesday… Hard work, but hopefully that will make me feel a little better too. Because this transition is tough. Very tough.