Reasons to love (and leave) the Netherlands
I need therapy to sleep
The Dutch just have another coffee.
I’ve traveled for coffee.
I don't mean I go out of my way for specific coffee shops, though yes, also that. I mean traveled traveled. Part of the reason my husband and I spent six months in Mexico in 2021 was to get closer to the source. To stand where the beans grow, to understand the chain from plant to cup.
I buy single-origin, fair trade, freshly roasted.
I grind it fresh every morning.
I don't mean I go out of my way for specific coffee shops, though yes, also that. I mean traveled traveled. Part of the reason my husband and I spent six months in Mexico in 2021 was to get closer to the source. To stand where the beans grow, to understand the chain from plant to cup.
I buy single-origin, fair trade, freshly roasted.
I grind it fresh every morning.
Okay, let's be honest. My husband does these things because I forced my love of coffee onto him many years ago, and despite my pretentious needs I'm also lazy. But I say it's a win-win.
I brew it in a Chemex like a person who has made choices about their life.
One of the things I genuinely miss about America is the hipster coffee culture. The smell of the roasting machine, the over-educated baristas in leather aprons, the pour-overs.
And yet I only drink two cups a day, and my cutoff is noon.
This is a medical decision.
I have done CBT-I — cognitive behavioral therapy for insomnia — the clinical gold standard for people whose brains simply will not power down at night.
One of the things I genuinely miss about America is the hipster coffee culture. The smell of the roasting machine, the over-educated baristas in leather aprons, the pour-overs.
And yet I only drink two cups a day, and my cutoff is noon.
This is a medical decision.
I have done CBT-I — cognitive behavioral therapy for insomnia — the clinical gold standard for people whose brains simply will not power down at night.
If I have caffeine after noon, I will be staring at the ceiling at 2 am, running a mental inventory of every task on my to-do list, panicking that I’ll be kicked out of the country if xyz happens, or merely worrying that I’ll be so tired tomorrow that I will not be able to functionally parent my toddler
If I start my first cup before 8 am, my body decides 5 am is now my schedule, whether I like it or not.
All that is to say I have a complicated, carefully managed relationship with the thing I love most in the world.
If I start my first cup before 8 am, my body decides 5 am is now my schedule, whether I like it or not.
All that is to say I have a complicated, carefully managed relationship with the thing I love most in the world.
And then there are the Dutch.
The Dutch take sleep seriously.
They do not say goede nacht (good night) to one another, but instead weltrusten. It’s a word that used to be a phrase: wel te rusten, meaning well to rest. The fact that this phrase turned into a single word suggests just how important it is in their culture.
The Dutch also lean heavily on the three R’s of child-rearing: rust, reinheid, en regelmaat — rest, cleanliness, and routine. The importance of these things will be drilled into you by every mother-in-law, medical professional, and anyone else who you ask for advice on how to bring up your child.
In our home, we absolutely honor the idea of putting our child to bed at the same time most nights. Since I struggle with sleep, nurturing good sleep in our kiddo is especially important to me.
But I know that at 8 pm, as I’m sitting down with a cup of Sleepy Time tea, surrounded by darkness and as many relaxing vibes as possible to get my body ready for sleep, all the Dutch people in the houses surrounding mine are pressing the buttons on their coffee machines.
They do not say goede nacht (good night) to one another, but instead weltrusten. It’s a word that used to be a phrase: wel te rusten, meaning well to rest. The fact that this phrase turned into a single word suggests just how important it is in their culture.
The Dutch also lean heavily on the three R’s of child-rearing: rust, reinheid, en regelmaat — rest, cleanliness, and routine. The importance of these things will be drilled into you by every mother-in-law, medical professional, and anyone else who you ask for advice on how to bring up your child.
In our home, we absolutely honor the idea of putting our child to bed at the same time most nights. Since I struggle with sleep, nurturing good sleep in our kiddo is especially important to me.
But I know that at 8 pm, as I’m sitting down with a cup of Sleepy Time tea, surrounded by darkness and as many relaxing vibes as possible to get my body ready for sleep, all the Dutch people in the houses surrounding mine are pressing the buttons on their coffee machines.
I genuinely don't know how your average Dutch worker gets anything done during the day with all the breaks they take.
Like everything else, coffee here runs on a schedule. There’s the morning cup, then the 10 am coffee break, the 3 pm coffee, and then that final 8 pm mug.
Every real Dutch household has a countertop coffee machine — sleek, expensive, built-in bean-to-cup, always on standby. It grinds, it brews, it delivers. Thirty seconds. The barrier to an 8 pm coffee is essentially zero.
What comes out is something in the neighborhood of an Americano — hot, thin, faintly aggressive. The beans are probably something picked up from the local grocery chain. True Dutch “coffee lovers” will splurge on Douwe Egberts, which they regard as excellent coffee, the way Americans in 1994 regarded Folgers as the best part of waking up.
It is fine. It is a utility. It is not coffee anyone is traveling for.
They drink it at 8 pm. They go to bed at 10 pm. They sleep.
I don’t know if it’s genetics or centuries of pragmatic Calvinist routine worn so deeply into the nervous system that the body just knows what comes next and lets go. Maybe when your entire cultural framework is built on regelmaat (routine), an 8 pm coffee is just another scheduled event, no more stimulating than brushing your teeth.
Or maybe they’re just not over worked, anxious Americans.
Either way, it’s 9 pm. Time for bed.
Hopefully I'll be asleep before eleven.
Every real Dutch household has a countertop coffee machine — sleek, expensive, built-in bean-to-cup, always on standby. It grinds, it brews, it delivers. Thirty seconds. The barrier to an 8 pm coffee is essentially zero.
What comes out is something in the neighborhood of an Americano — hot, thin, faintly aggressive. The beans are probably something picked up from the local grocery chain. True Dutch “coffee lovers” will splurge on Douwe Egberts, which they regard as excellent coffee, the way Americans in 1994 regarded Folgers as the best part of waking up.
It is fine. It is a utility. It is not coffee anyone is traveling for.
They drink it at 8 pm. They go to bed at 10 pm. They sleep.
I don’t know if it’s genetics or centuries of pragmatic Calvinist routine worn so deeply into the nervous system that the body just knows what comes next and lets go. Maybe when your entire cultural framework is built on regelmaat (routine), an 8 pm coffee is just another scheduled event, no more stimulating than brushing your teeth.
Or maybe they’re just not over worked, anxious Americans.
Either way, it’s 9 pm. Time for bed.
Hopefully I'll be asleep before eleven.
Anne-Marie Traas
