Azure-tinged

  I hold many reasons close for this land— but here’s a quiet one: Ducks in the streets. Not lost, not out of place, but gliding calm through canals and streams, unstartled by the human pace. They swim like the city belongs to them too. And perhaps it does. Kralingen’s swans nest in still corners as children wander close, no rush, no fear—just a soft balance between feathers and footsteps, roots and routines. There is something sacred in a city that lets life be. Cleaner reality, and people who’ve learned to move with the rhythm of skyscrapers. In Kralingen’s hush, I see intelligence in ivy, ethics in botanic, a culture not only of words but of care. And in Zuiderpark, summer breathes through grills and laughter, a community of coexistence forming over shared bread and sun, beneath leaves that catch every language and send it back as joy. At Essenburgpark, the city bows before a quiet grove— not out of guilt, but respect. And above it all—Erasmusbrug, that swan of steel spanning the river’s grace. Its cables hum like harp strings in the wind, connecting not just land to land but idea to ideal. Skyscrapers rise like glass reeds against the Dutch sky, not to block nature— but to coexist with it. Reflection, not domination. Even in stone and steel, there is room for the soul. This is development not just of roads, but of rhythm. Of harmony between the naturalism and the made. There is no wall between person and pond. No border between culture and root. There is a peace here that doesn’t need to shout. A cultivated silence. Aesthetic. The Beauty of steel and the heritage.

 I’ve learned that I even tend to become “azure” after returning from the Netherlands. What someone may see is a my favorite Dutch city. And not only that – it is also the climate of the Netherlands as a society, a system, and a culture. 

Whether it is the openness of the space that comes from the North Sea and flows through the city without obstacles, or the air that does not stand still. Air is not just a mixture of gases – in the Netherlands it feels cleaner and fresher. It is also a different reflection of how society thinks. It is not only about having a cleaner and more aesthetic environment. 

In a different country, the air is not only worse in terms of toxicity, but also mentally burdened – with a different form of toxicity. 

In the Netherlands, the air is different. It flows. And flow means movement. And movement means life. Society is more open, less grounded in a limiting way, freer, less prone to extremism, it does not stink, it thinks more. Civilization is built so that people can enjoy its beauty. Even the infrastructure does not hold a person down. 

Where things like cycling, open space, modern urbanism, more aesthetic greenery, and less stagnation are supported, the air is lighter. Not only physically, but mentally as well. 

I have also mentioned several times that I recover quickly in the Netherlands – for example from a respiratory illness, which may not in fact be purely respiratory, but psychosomatic. 

People create the air themselves. In some places it is heavy on its own, and elsewhere it is lighter because people are able to naturally radiate through their own culture. I have written before that if the Netherlands has been described as first in quality of life 2026, it has its obvious reasons, which cannot go unnoticed if someone truly embraces this for themselves. 

And such a person may naturally be perceived that way within a certain society when they return from a place where things function in a way that feels closer to them.

Shutdown the Dissolution II

 In Shutdown the Dissolution I mentioned social services in relation to my own person. 

And since I often speak about the Netherlands, which inspires me, I could also name something from a visible fundamental systemic differences between how social services function in Czechia and in the Netherlands.

I am certainly not the only one who can see these systemic differences, nor the only one who has gone through—or is still going through.

 The Netherlands:

 The state has long relied on a relatively consistent strategy in the field of social care: It rather prefers working with a smaller number of workers who are well prepared, professionally qualified, and systematically supported, rather than employing workers without the required education and experience.

 Czechia:

 In social services, there is often an effort to quickly fill staffing capacities regardless of the level of preparedness.

 The Netherlands:

 In this model, the client is not perceived as an “experimental object.” The system is set up to minimize situations where procedures are searched for only during the provision of care.

 Czechia:

 The system is often set up in such a way that procedures are sought only in the course of providing care.

 The Netherlands:

 The worker is not exposed to expectations of improvisational adaptation without sufficient support. Responsibility is clearly structured, defined, and enforceable. Social services cannot excuse themselves by citing staff shortages or systemic failures—every actor knows exactly where their role begins and where it ends.

 Czechia:

 In the Czech environment a man often encounter situations where people without adequate professional preparation enter direct care. Training is usually brief, focused mainly on operational basics, and there is an implicit assumption that the worker will somehow manage. 

Responsibility here is often not systematically anchored—it is not clearly set but rather transferred ad hoc onto individuals (even onto individuals without any education or experiences). 

 The Netherlands:

 Emphasis is placed on structure, predictability, and continuity of relationships. Every intervention has a professional rationale, and workers know exactly why they choose specific procedures. The client is not an object of improvisation but the subject of long-term planned care.

Czechia:

 Work is often reactive—interventions come only at the moment of escalation (even by workers without any education and experiences) and a large part of decision-making rests on individual intuition and the worker’s momentary assessment rather than on clearly defined structures.

The Netherlands:

 In the Netherlands, qualification is not understood as a formal requirement but as a basic tool for protecting the client, the worker, and the system itself. Entry into the profession is gradual and conditioned by specific education, supervised practice, language competence, and mandatory ongoing training. Without meeting clear criteria for education and practice, it is not possible to perform given roles. In other words, without clear education and experience, no one is allowed into direct care.

Czechia:

 In the Czech system, requirements for workers in social services are often lower or bypassed for operational reasons. When entering direct care, appropriate education or prior experience is often not required. Workers in social services may have no education or practice at all. They are often thrown in at the deep end and expected to somehow cope. The result is a system that can fill shifts in the short term—often it appears that the primary goal is simply to cover shifts—but in the long term this leads to worker burnout, client insecurity, and above all the absence of clearly defined care approaches. This results in inconsistencies in work methods, crisis resolution, and interventions themselves, weakening both the quality and continuity of the service provided.

 The Netherlands:

 The Dutch approach seeks to protect all parties involved simultaneously. It protects the client by minimizing the risk of care failure. It protects the worker by providing time, competence, and professional support. It protects the social services through clearly defined rules of operation, and it protects the entire system by limiting the need for constant crisis management in “emergency mode.” This model places higher demands and means a slower entry into the profession, but its result is fewer traumatic situations, fewer failures, and less pressure to rely on improvised solutions. 

Yes, yes

 I often deal with the quality of life in different countries. When I once thought about what the idea behind Sidney SN should be, I chose For a Better World as the core idea. Events surrounding my own life also convinced me of the nature of ordinary people from Germany to Western Europe proper, as well as of the everyday environments I encountered during my visits to various countries.

I am also very critical of some Central European countries, such as the Czechia. This concerns cultural and economic reasons, as well as the mentality itself. The Czech Republic appears economically loss-making and often falls into deficit. I also dislike the common urban development in the Czech Republic. Western cultural values of dignity are different. Recently, the Czech Republic was also labeled in a survey as one of the least friendly countries: the Expat Insider Survey 2025 by InterNations — a global online survey among people who live and work long-term in a country other than their own. It evaluates various aspects of life, including how “friendly” locals are towards foreigners and how easy it is to make friends or establish social connections. This survey also indicates one of the factors why the Czechia is loss-making from a one mental perspective and can quickly fall into deficit.

I also often ask myself who would want to come from abroad to work in the Czech Republic when Czechs hates and created toxic environments, or infrastructure and economic itself, because in other European countries one can be better off economically, culturally, and in human terms — and that, as a person from another country, I would rather skip the Czechia. This is also the economic aspect of the Czech Republic: that Czechia is a loss-making country.

It is also true that various surveys and indices rank other countries at the top as well, for example Switzerland or some Northern European countries. However, the fact that I often talk about the quality of life in the Netherlands is also supported by the Numbeo Quality of Life Index (QoLI). The Netherlands is also a country I often describe as coexistent, and thus the opposite of what the Expat Insider Survey 2025 by InterNations shows about the Czech Republic.

QoLI is based on several factors by which it assesses quality of life. These factors include the Purchasing Power Index, Safety Index, Health Care Index, Cost of Living Index, Property Price to Income Ratio, Traffic Commute Time Index, Pollution Index, and Climate Index. The Numbeo Quality of Life Index ranked the Netherlands first worldwide for Quality of Life in 2026.

In other words, the Netherlands ranks first because it has a balanced work–life balance, high-quality and accessible healthcare, high safety and stability, strong purchasing power, efficient transport and cycling infrastructure, a relatively clean environment and a sustainable approach, and a society based on respect and coexistence.

These are factors I frequently mention about the Netherlands purely based on experience, even without surveys like QoLI. Low hierarchy, direct communication, and a strong culture of mutual respect in everyday coexistence. Emphasis on aesthetics, air quality, and long-term sustainable planning. Short commute times, high-quality public transport, and everyday use of bicycles. A favorable ratio of income to expenses. Low crime rates and strong trust in the functioning of institutions (which do function). A universal healthcare system with a high level of care and prevention. A flexible work culture, emphasis on free time, and relatively low pressure for “constant performance.” And cultural richness.

Expensive isn’t really that expensive

 I used to smoke for years, then I didn’t smoke for seven years. When flavored cigarettes started being sold, I began smoking again… That was sometime around 2016. For the first two years, my smoking was more occasional — I was trying out different kinds of flavored cigarettes. I developed a liking for menthol Marlboros and started smoking them more actively around 2018.

Maybe smoking was normalized for me even more by Charlotte de Witte. At that time, I was listening to Charlotte de Witte constantly. I liked her modern techno and also the values she brought into techno — not underground, but mainstreaming. Charlotte de Witte also visibly liked smoking, and I told myself that I could enjoy it in a similar way too.

I perceived my renewed smoking as a kind of game; I saw cigarettes as lollipops. When flavored cigarettes were banned, I switched to Marlboro Gold, which I still enjoy to this day. If these cigarettes didn’t exist, I would probably quit smoking, because I don’t enjoy other ones. I even have a problem with Marlboro Reds.

In relation to Western countries, I sometimes hear Czechs say that cigarettes in the West are overpriced. But this isn’t true when you consider wages in Western Europe versus the Czech Republic.

Before I say anything about prices, I’d like to point out that in countries like the Netherlands, cigarettes are less accessible than in the Czech Republic. They are sold only in licensed shops; in these shops they must be hidden, all cigarette packs have the same dark-colored packaging, and unlike in the Czech Republic, they are not commonly accessible to minors.

The price of cigarettes is often judged simply by how much a pack costs in a shop. But this perspective is misleading. The real cost of smoking doesn’t arise from the price tag, but from the relationship between income, accessibility, and market regulation. That’s exactly why a paradoxical feeling can emerge that cigarettes in different countries cost “roughly the same,” even though their nominal prices differ significantly.

At first glance, the difference is obvious: in the Netherlands, a pack of cigarettes costs significantly more than in Czechia. But the absolute price says nothing about the real burden. What matters is what percentage of a typical income a smoker gives up for cigarettes. And here, the differences start to blur.

In a country with higher wages, even a more expensive pack becomes a relatively bearable expense. In contrast, in a country with lower incomes, a cheaper pack can be just as painful for the budget — or even more so.

If we take basic wages or average income into account, we find that a smoker in Czechia often spends a comparable share of their monthly budget as a smoker in Western Europe. The difference is that in Czechia, there is less room left after covering basic expenses.

Cigarettes therefore paradoxically appear cheaper to a Czech person than in Western Europe, but in reality they take a bigger bite out of disposable income in the Czech Republic, especially for people with lower wages. Smoking in Czechia can thus be relatively more expensive than the price tag alone would suggest.

Availability also plays an important role. In strictly regulated countries, cigarettes are harder to access, less visible, and under strong control. Smoking there is not impulsive. In Czechia, by contrast, cigarettes are commonly available in small shops and convenience stores, age checks are often weak, and social tolerance of smoking is higher. This leads to more frequent consumption, even though the pack is nominally cheaper. And cigarettes are easily accessible — even to young people (minors).

Price is reflected not only in money, but also in quality. In Czechia, a looser market creates space for old stock, parallel imports, and greater differences in taste. Stricter regulation means more stable quality and a smaller grey market.

When people say that cigarettes in different countries “cost roughly the same,” they’re not talking about the price on the pack, but about the feeling of accessibility. That feeling arises from a combination of price, income, regulation, and sales culture. From this perspective, cigarettes in Czechia are not as cheap as they seem — and in Western Europe, they are not as inaccessible as their price might suggest.

Swamps of Central Europe

 Yes, yes… I often criticize a country, but however it sounds, in my opinion, it’s legitimate. It also often irritates me that many Czechs hate Western Europe, and possess some kind of socialism or nihilism. These criticisms, however, have no real basis, because Western European infrastructure is at such a level that being in the Czech Republic feels bad by comparison. Yet in countries like the Netherlands, far more advanced infrastructure is powered by renewable energy despite all the criticism.

I have already written an article, Little Wonders on Dutch Rails, which focused on the frequent atmosphere of traveling through the Netherlands—not just in the evening or at night on weekends. I also wrote about Dutch atmosphere in Contrasting Reality.

 Now, I will focus on infrastructure, trains, and public transport. For me, trains in the Czech Republic are terrible: they run slowly, are often delayed, not announced, noisy, and the railways themselves are loud. In Germany, trains are at least fast and comfortable, even if not always punctual. Compared to the Benelux, train transport—and transport in general—in the Czech Republic is awful. Anyone familiar with the Benelux would hate Czech infrastructure.

In the Czech Republic, low track speeds are not the exception but the standard, with hundreds of temporary restrictions and poor track geometry. Trains run slowly even where they could technically go faster. Delays are common, often unannounced or announced late/incorrectly. In the Netherlands, every minute is announced accurately, and ticket refunds are issued for problems on the track.

Information systems in the Czech Republic are fragmented and inconsistent. It’s not unusual for staff themselves to know less than the passengers. This leads to a feeling of powerlessness and chaos. This problem is reinforced by the operational culture, where the “it will somehow get there” mentality (not just about trains) and lack of clear responsibility mean that delays accumulate and are not addressed at the source.

Noise. In the Czech Republic, people don’t even realize that such loud railways don’t exist in the Benelux. The same applies to trains. Another significant deficit of Czech railways is acoustic and operational quality. Old rails, corrugated undercarriage assemblies, insufficient noise reduction measures, and often outdated vehicles lead to high noise levels. All this contributes to the perception of railways as “uncomfortable and noisy,” especially compared to the quiet, soundproofed systems in the Benelux.

Public transport in the Netherlands and Belgium is fast (the trains themselves are high-speed), reliable, and regular. Punctuality often exceeds 90% of trains (European above-average), and in exceptional cases, services are temporarily suspended to prevent cascading failures across the network. Modern vehicles with quality soundproofing and interiors, along with smooth rail surfaces, ensure quiet and comfortable travel. Transparent and consistent information systems allow passengers to plan journeys with confidence, even when disruptions or minor delays occur. As with everything in the Benelux, quality is considered a fundamental part of life. In the Czech Republic, almost not at all.

The lag in Czech infrastructure is caused by fragmented infrastructure, insufficiently modernized tracks, and outdated vehicles. Weak transport management: missing central predictive planning and crisis management systems. Or a lack of a culture of responsibility: delays and problems are tolerated instead of systematically eliminated.

Luxembourg also offers free public transport, including trains, buses, and urban transport. This ensures maximum accessibility, reduces car traffic and also emissions, and provides passengers with simple and predictable travel options.

In 2026, Czech railways are still below a critical quality threshold in terms of speed, reliability, comfort, and operational culture. The contrast with the Benelux and within speed in Germany is overwhelming.

The philosophy of infrastructure in the Benelux is clear: it is a public service oriented toward passengers, prioritizing punctuality, comfort, and respect for people. Problems are addressed systematically so they do not disrupt the entire operation, unlike the Czech model, where delays and failures remain tolerated and cumulative.

Problems in Czech transport are not limited to railways. The road network is chronically underdimensioned and overloaded, the condition of surfaces and transport infrastructure is often inadequate, and maintenance is irregular. As with trains, the principle of “it will somehow get there” applies—the system lacks sufficient reserves or predictive management to ensure smooth operation. Vehicle quality is also different in the Benelux.

In contrast to Czech infrastructure, the Benelux represents a model of efficiency, speed, and transport quality, while Czech railways lag not only technically but also operationally and culturally. The difference is evident not only in speed and reliability but also in comfort, information, and the philosophy of the whole system.

This situation affects not only travel time but also safety and comfort. Compared to the Benelux, where infrastructure is systematically planned, well-maintained, and complemented by quality public transport, the Czech approach to infrastructure seems outdated, fragmented, and improvised—just to make it look like something works.

I Don’t Need Architects in Order to Build Skyscrapers

 I apparently already have several articles where I take shots at Trump. The first one was probably when I wrote about Chloë Moretz. I like Chloë Moretz because of her identity. She spoke out against Trump during the elections. She’s not alone—recently, Trump also went after George Clooney.

Everyone also knows how Trump wanted to deal with the war. Sometimes I wonder whether Trump even really exists, because he seems so absurd, as if he lived detached from reality. Everyone knows that he once attacked Ukraine as if it were the instigator. His attacks on Europe have also been more than sufficient, and recently, in relation to Greenland, I was amused by the public statement that “Donald Trump is a huge idiot.”

And this is the point of this post: Ukaleq Slettemark also said that she fears for the future of her country and that the people of Greenland are “terrorized” by Donald Trump’s statements. Slettemark stated that her family and people in Greenland are frightened and are considering that they might have to leave their home, because they see the current situation as dangerous and “terrorizing.”

Trump has repeatedly and over a long period of time expressed hostility toward Western Europe as well—politically, economically, and culturally. This isn’t about a single statement, but about a recurring pattern.

I recently also wrote about the economy, for example about the richest Luxembourg per capita. And about the fact that although Trump attacks Western Europe, if Benelux were on U.S. territory, it would be the richest country in the world, with far greater wealth than it has now, and with a social system that the U.S. lacks. Nowhere in Benelux, nor in Germany, will you find problems like those in the U.S. For example, in Benelux there are no homeless classes, zones, mass drug addicts on the streets, excluded areas, etc., and human rights and freedoms exist here—because Benelux is structured so that this happens, and so that what is happening in today’s U.S. on a massive scale does not happen.

In a way, Greenland seems to me as if Trump wanted to take another state, for example somewhere in Europe. As I said, sometimes I feel that Trump doesn’t live in reality when I randomly see his statements on the internet. But they are mostly random precisely because I don’t even want to read nonsense. Similarly, since someone in the Czechia came into power, I don’t read anything at all, because it’s clear to me who they are, and no constructive statements can exist—only nonsense. Since we’re here, I also currently don’t have the fears that were obvious during their last term. Everyone in the West already knows the reality, and there is no possibility to repeat anything. It is probably clear today also because of the statements themselves.

It’s like when someone says that their power is limited only by their own morality and their own judgment, and that they “don’t need international law” as a restriction on their actions. That’s something anyone could say about any laws in court. And it’s also something anyone can say in general. People could then return under the trees, back to an existence of an unwritten civilization. Civilization begins at the moment when force ceases to be the only law. That means: norms exist that limit even rulers; there is a difference between power and legitimacy; violence is regulated, not arbitrary. Without that, you only have a tribe, an empire, or chaos—not a civilization. 

Shutdown the Dissolution

“England's Paula Temple is a highly respected DJ and producer of hard, uncompromising techno, and a technological innovator. Active as a DJ since the 1990s, Temple co-developed the MXF8, a MIDI controller designed for live performances, during the early 2000s. After a nearly decade-long break from touring and making music, she returned in 2013, releasing EPs on labels like R&S and 50 Weapons, leading up to her full-length debut, 2019's Edge of Everything.”

  At Leucanthemum (Leontyne) I wrote about an example from a Dutch techno festival, where there was a girl who asked me, “When will it end?” I also noted, half-joking, that it could be maybe when she takes off a bra.

 However, I was thinking about Paula Temple, and why she stopped producing music for ten years. Not because of her technique, not because of ideas—but because of the values of the scene she was part of.

When I read about Paula Temple and her many-year hiatus from music, I realized that the mechanism behind it feels familiar to me. Not musically—we are fundamentally different there—but in attitude.

Paula Temple left because the techno scene stopped being meaningful to her. Once, as a participant, I did the same in the Czech Republic. I didn’t want to produce techno either, because of the scene’s values, even though in the beginning, I learned to mix using techno. Paula Temple didn’t want to produce music just to fit expectations. She preferred silence over compromise. This is where we meet, because when Sidney SN started being critical of liquid DnB joining the mainstream DnB scene and losing its meaning, the silence was also an option.

At the same time, it’s important to say: Sidney SN is not about dark beats. In this regard, I am not Paula Temple, nor do I want to be. Sidney SN chose the exact opposite of darkness.

While Paula Temple found her voice in hardness, confrontation, and darkness, me after ten years (2006-2016) since my beginnings in mixing and my subsequent decision to step back from engagement, Sidney SN chose modern liquid drum and bass precisely because it allows him to speak about what he wants.

My doubts about certain directions in the techno scene did not lead me to radical beats, but, on the contrary, to music that breathes.

What Paula Temple and I probably share is one thing: we refuse to make music in an environment that denies its meaning. Paula Temple is also critical toward hard drugs and dedicates herself to social work, social services. In this, we are similar—we respect the voice of our integrity and values.

The difference is in the language we use to express it. Hers is darkness. Mine is melodies.

For those who don’t know, it’s worth mentioning at the end that Paula Temple also designed her own MIDI controller, the MXF8, which connects technology and creativity. 

In a way, I can say that I am fulfilling the mission of Sidney SN. I chose liquid drum and bass because I liked it—both musically and for its potential. However, due to issues in Czechia, something happened that went beyond music itself. And the meaning I saw in liquid drum and bass transcended the limits of the music’s own potential. Music no longer has to be the carrier—and it is no longer. 

At its core, it is not about the music, but about the potential that this music had, and that was realized through it. Music is no longer the necessary medium for that potential to unfold. What once could be as its vessel has since moved beyond it and continues to manifest independently. 

Nevertheless, Sidney SN’s liquid drum and bass is the reason why this is so. And thus this music fulfills the potential that I saw in it. Once again, I can say: thank.

Grand Est

 I carried with me a certain criticism of France—especially regarding the banlieues, a phenomenon largely absent in countries such as the Netherlands, Luxembourg, or also Germany. 

It was also noted that, after Czechia, France has the most widespread free tekno scene in terms of population. Unlike in neighboring countries, where refusal to shut down a sound system often leads to arrests and confiscations, the “party” there is expected to last through the night.

 Yet France is also a land of extraordinary beauty. The Ossuaire de Douaumont stands unforgettable in its majesty, singular in its gravity, not far from Toul. Not far from Ossuaire de Douaumont is Fort de Vaux. A flowering spring there was amazing. Across the whole Grand Est region, one encounters countless places of interest—monuments, historically charged landscapes, and cities that quietly carry meaning.

At the edge of Grand Est lies Luxembourg, Belgium and also Strasbourg, a city balanced on the border with Germany. From there, a tram crosses effortlessly into the nearby German town of Kehl. Few places in Europe allow one to pass between nations with such ordinary ease.

To me, Strasbourg bears the imprint of Germany through its closeness, yet it remains unmistakably French. For me, it is also place of an interesting meeting. 

 I wanted to write about Strasbourg because the city is beautiful—and genuinely safe. Compared to many others, it is also cleaner. Certain areas, especially around the historic center, resemble the carefully constructed sets of historical films.

Last year, this drew me to Strasbourg on the night of Christmas Eve. The city was empty, wrapped in silence, and revealed itself through a distinctly Christmas atmosphere. These streets are usually well kept, and at night—particularly at Christmas, without people—the nocturnal life in French cities like Strasbourg feels calmer. With its architecture and immaculate streets, the city appeared to me like a stage set, a quiet theater awaiting its actors. In its own way, this may also reflect the distinctly French sensibility for art and culture. 

In France, one is also struck by how close nuclear power plants can be to residential areas. The Grand Est region is no exception. It is here that the important Cattenom nuclear power plant is located, situated just a few kilometers from cities and inhabited areas. The plant is embedded in the landscape along the Moselle River, in close proximity to forests and settlements, which clearly illustrates the French approach to nuclear energy. France has built its nuclear network (the parc nucléaire) since the 1970s as a strategic infrastructure to ensure energy self-sufficiency.

Integration

 Part 1.

 For instance, I cannot avoid Germany when I want to reach the West coast. I enjoy the journey. I try to also change the places where I stop along the way. Sometimes it leads to Dortmund, sometimes Düsseldorf, Frankfurt, Cologne, or Karlsruhe, Stuttgart, Nuremberg, or Munich. Or sometimes the days in Berlin areas. 

But it’s not just about traveling through Germany. I have the sense that the country has a strong integration system. Germany is often cited as a place where migrant integration works better than in much of Europe.

What is visible in Germany is that the system is set up so that it is worthwhile for people to be part of it, while also preventing the formation of spatially segregated, marginalized areas. People in Germany are also more open, and origin or ethnicity does not play as strong a role in integration into society and the system.

I mean that in Germany there are no clearly separated marginalized areas, unlike in certain parts of France for example. In other words, Germany lacks the visibly segregated, marginalized neighborhoods or marginalization.

In certain parts of France or in the Czech Republic, ghettos itself emerge: in the banlieues or in Czechia, or in Slovakia, people sometimes live outside the system due to limited economic opportunities, housing constraints, identity-based segregation, or structural racism. 

 Part 2.

 Not to leave the Benelux out, I have already written an article about Luxembourg economy, and I would also include the Western coasts. In the Netherlands, the natural coexistence is visible in the local communities. South Holland is very naturally diverse. The presence of “black culture” is also unmistakable. It is part of the character of the Western regions of Europe. In France, communities are also diverse, but there are areas of exclusion.

The West system encourages integration through economic opportunities and accessible social services, while urban planning avoids large, concentrated areas of poverty. People are generally open to migrants, and the emphasis is on participation and functioning within the system rather than background or origin. 

This helps prevent the formation of ghettos and allows migrants to take part in society across multiple neighborhoods.

The Days of Thunder

Insel Schütt

 About eighteen years ago, I used to enjoy reading blogs where bloggers described their experiences and adventures while traveling around Europe. In a way, I still do something similar today. 

My topics are also economic, cultural, and overall environmental experiences.

I also wrote about experiences with train stations. In Czechia, I often see articles about incidents around German train stations. I wrote that this says more about stations elsewhere than about Germany. 

Now I started a journey at one bus station and preferred to leave quickly… 

Someone resembling a homeless person, a drug addict, and apparently a former prisoner was threatening to stab homeless people with a knife—and then to stab me as well.

Maashaven

I told myself that I was already looking forward to Germany, and further on to the Benelux. And it really was like that. Elsewhere, of course, this reality does not exist. There was apparently one immigrant on a bus in Germany under the influence of some opiate like fentanyl, but nowhere was there anything like what I experienced at the beginning of the journey.

Christmas-time Amsterdam was great again. Amsterdam is beautiful in itself thanks to its architecture, and with the ever-present Christmas decorations it has the charm of real Christmas. 

Nieuwe Werk

In my opinion, Amsterdam is one of the most decorated and certainly one of the most beautiful Christmas cities in Europe. I like the whole Benelux at Christmas, as well as cities in Germany.

In the core Dutch city for this music genre, there was some Thunderdome event—it amused me 😄 that during my days in the Netherlands, over Christmas, I was also confronted with this modern Dutch history in the form of gabber—with the typical logo on bomber jackets and other clothing featuring this logo. 

I’m little amazed at how gabbers influenced the world. For example, Dutch Christmas (1999) by Scooter. Or One (remix of Always Hardcore Bodylotion). I’ve already mentioned that in my childhood I listened to happy hardcore along with other “dance” music, without even realizing it was happy hardcore. However, I tend to laugh at gabbers more for their dystopian history. In my view, there’s a certain sense of awkwardness in their utopia of drug use.

Just yesterday, Sunday, there was a sunny day to be had in the South. Amsterdam was typical, with a bit of wet weather. There was frost at the beginning of the journey, and also snow at its end in Germany… It was all kinds of weather during the Christmas trip.

As November Fails

 This is pure irony, a paradox, this makes me a laugh... People in the Central Europe, who seemingly define themselves most strongly against migration, for example, elect a migrant as prime minister. Likewise, they have a person with a migration background at the head of the government. And these people then go on to appoint, for example, an ultra-right-wing figure to the government. Migrants who reject migration. And yet, with the policies they promote, they themselves would never have been allowed to come to Czechia. Another layer of irony lies in the fact that migrants choose someone who presents himself as ultra-right-wing, even though he should, by principle, reject these “migrants.” It is populism and the irony on every level—from the certain group of voters to a their government. It is evident that Czech society has long suffered from a deep level of internal contradictions.

I don’t know why a future prime minister couldn’t be Ukrainian, since by the same logic, anyone from anywhere in Ukraine can be a prime minister.

Something similarly absurd can be seen in the economy. Likely perhaps also because of the previous government, the Czech economy today should be showing rapid growth. Yet Czechs elect people who have pushed the economy back to a state from before this growth—the very growth that was being discussed in the media not long ago.

The truth, however, is that this so-called “rapid growth” seems to exists mainly on paper. In real life, it is clear that something changed in Czechia starting in the winter of 2023. Economic models made this visible. Interestingly, this happened shortly after I began pointing out, in 2023, a specific post-pandemic condition in Czechia that was not common anywhere from Germany to Western Europe. After the pandemic, the downturn in Czechia was rather preserved—or even deepened. And this happened several months before the war, and during that period as well.

The post-pandemic period may have indicated that keeping something “down” was not accidental. This state lasted until the winter of 2023. Such an almost two-year condition after the pandemic did not exist anywhere in the more western parts of Europe. The population seemingly did not realize its situation for a long time when compared to the reality of Western Europe—apparently perceiving this state, one of the worst economic downturns in Europe, ?as their “normal condition.”? And yet, in contrast of a period of manipulation of an apparently unsuspecting public, today it no longer hides its politics. Apparently, some politicians know society better than that society knows itself. And this is exactly what I pointed out: what is being exploited are traits of this society that also are not inherently Western. Already dead, November GHOSTS. The positive thing is that the states were exposed, and therefore can no longer function as they were supposed to. In the Central Europe, I noticed a change only toward the end of 2023, which is also shown by economic models. It seems that some people began to speak up who want to hear the truth, a certain groups of people with certain values. Prague itself looks like that because of the result of election. However, this concerns only certain parts of society and certainly does not correspond to what the paper statistics show.

I have said before that a weak economy can show a certain level of growth without actually becoming stronger. Quite the opposite—when compared to strong economies that, for example, do not need any dramatic growth in a given period or do not currently have it, it becomes even clearer that this growth is purely statistical. Rankings themselves are misleading in this respect. In the end, growth stops again at a “dead point” that wealthy countries overcame many years ago, often decades ago. It stops because the economy is not set up in a way that would allow it to reach that level and catch up with those that overcame a dead point long ago—or never had one at all.

This is clearly visible in Czechia: the results of growth are reflected only among a certain segment of people. Mostly among those who gravitate toward a particular lifestyle and are able to stick to their values—both for better and for worse.

I have been observing this development for roughly the past ten years. The pandemic deepened it further. Meanwhile, in the more western parts of Europe, in 2022 I barely noticed that there had been a pandemic at all—“despite” much stricter measures. Likely due to politics and general mentality, these countries were able to get back on their feet relatively quickly after the pandemic.

Perhaps also under the previous government in Czechia, some things did move slightly, but the reality of Czechia remains ironic. Society is often illuminated mainly by high school students or students or by a certain group of people who hold certain values. Without them, society is often frightening. In comparison to this Czech reality, the West then appears as a gold standard.

Sidney SN in a book

 Hi, Sidney SN is here with something new. He decided to make a brochure :D

The brochure is about Sidney SN, but it also includes other posts. 

Sidney SN think it turned out well... 

In the Sidney SN brochure, you will find many things related to Sidney SN, his experiences—including those with you—as well as some articles related to drum and bass and electronic music itself. Or a posts about an events. 

The brochure mainly contains a selected set of posts from the Sidney SN blogs. 

To view or download, click on the photo. Enjoy!

More expensive is cheaper

 Based on my experience with food in the Czech Republic and in the Netherlands, I believe that I pay roughly the same for basic groceries in the Netherlands as I do in Czechia. There are, however, several differences. First, the quality; second, the much higher wages in general in the Netherlands, which are among the highest in Europe, compared to Czechia, where wages are among the lowest. In fact, basic groceries in the Netherlands are cheaper than in the Czech Republic.

I could again emphasize my own eating habits. Since conventional food in Czechia doesn’t suit me, and conventional Czech products don’t meet my standards, I eat almost exclusively organic food, Dutch cheeses, and veg products while I’m in Czechia. This leads me to an interesting realization: Czechs often complain about rising food prices, and yet I have been paying roughly the same amount for years. “Roughly,” because I truly do pay the same—possibly even less—since I no longer need to buy my food in specialty stores but can buy everything in supermarkets. My weekly spending on organic groceries (vegetables, fruits, dairy products, meat) and veg convenience foods in Czechia is about 50 EUR. To be fair, I typically eat meat only twice a week—unless it’s non-organic hamburgers in fast food. Fifty euros has been my weekly food budget for over ten years. So it seems that food prices in Czechia are rising somewhere other than in the category of the higher-quality foods I buy. Or perhaps I simply don’t feel the price increases.

The debate on food prices in Europe often collapses into the simplistic claim that “everything is more expensive in the West.” But the reality is far more complex—especially when prices are viewed in relation to income rather than in isolation. And this ratio—how many hours a person must work to afford a basic grocery basket—reveals one surprising trend:

In the Netherlands, basic food is relatively cheaper than in the Czech Republic.

The difference is clear:

– The Dutch minimum wage is among the highest in the EU.

– The Czech minimum wage, even after recent increases, remains significantly lower.

Therefore, the share of income that someone in the Netherlands must spend on basic food is much smaller than in Czechia. In other words: a Dutch worker earning minimum wage can buy more food for one hour of work than a Czech worker earning minimum wage.

Cheese is an interesting example. In Czechia, sliced cheese is typically sold in 100–150 g packs at relatively high prices. In the Netherlands, 300–450 g packs are standard—often of higher quality—and cheaper per gram.

This is no coincidence. The Netherlands is one of Europe’s largest cheese producers—Gouda, Edam, Maasdam, Beemster. These are not only cultural icons but also the reason why high-quality cheese is more affordable there than in Czech stores, which offer Czech cheeses that are simply not on the same level as Dutch ones.

Other structural differences in agriculture and retail also come into play. The Netherlands is a global leader in advanced greenhouse technologies and food production efficiency, which keeps the prices of many everyday foods lower than one might expect. Tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers are typical examples—produced in huge quantities with high efficiency. Private-label supermarket brands also play a major role: they maintain quality while keeping prices down. Dutch supermarket chains have a long tradition of strong private labels, and consumers prefer them, which creates competition that keeps the cost of basic groceries low.

Another reality is that the four-day workweek is extremely widespread in the Netherlands, with many qualified positions offering a four-day schedule while maintaining a full monthly salary corresponding to a traditional five-day contract. A Dutch worker therefore often enjoys more free time and a visibly higher income than someone in Czechia.

The Czech reality is thus paradoxical: people end up paying more for their basic cost of living than workers in one of Europe’s richest countries—workers who often work significantly fewer hours. 

Isolationism

 This article emerged from a comment I originally asked ChatGPT to produce.

 ‘It is often said that the United States is “the biggest” and “the most powerful.” But size does not equate to maturity or stability. And this is precisely where the fundamental difference between the today’s US and Western Europe becomes evident.

Countries such as Luxembourg, the Netherlands, or Denmark possess something that contemporary America increasingly lacks: a mentality and an institutional quality that generate genuine prosperity.

Luxembourg is today the richest country in the world per capita. Not because of its location. Not because of natural resources. But because of a mentality: low corruption, a professional and competent state administration, stable politics, long-term planning, and respect for expertise. This is a civilizational model. And if this model existed anywhere — including on American soil, that place would be escalate for wealthy and more advanced. It would flourish, just as the Benelux region does. Prosperity is not a geographic coincidence; it is a cultural pattern.

Western Europe as a whole — the Benelux, and Germany, the Nordic countries, Austria, Switzerland — shares a common foundation: a disciplined mindset, strong institutions, minimal chaos, and a high standard of living. It is not merely about statistics. It is about civilizational maturity.

Today’s United States, by contrast, suffers from problems strikingly similar to those of Central Europe: deepening polarization, declining educational standards, drug epidemics, regional poverty, brain drain, and a political culture built on populism. A mentality shaped — and amplified — by political chaos.

This weakness is laid bare in the era of Donald Trump. Trump is not only an American issue. He is a symbol of declining leadership quality, disregard for institutions, and geopolitical illiteracy. And the world responds accordingly. Australia holds him in contempt. Western Europe distrusts him and pushes back. Canada, South Korea, Japan, and South American countries keep their distance. Even authoritarians like Putin or Xi Jinping prefer to use him rather than respect him. Ukraine doesn’t agree. Trump is isolated — politically and mentally.

Paradoxically, this mirrors an illness familiar in Czechia: quick words, no plan, no strategy, just populism. In this sense, the United States and Czechia share more than one might assume.

Western Europe — including Germany — meanwhile maintains discipline, continuity, and long-term vision, even if Germany underestimated its own defense after the Second World War. It should possess technologies that safeguard its sovereignty, comparable to something like the B-2.

But despite its flaws, Western Europe remains more civilizationally mature. Not larger. Not more powerful in absolute terms. But of higher quality. More stable. More adult.

People often claim that wealth and advancement are matters of resources. In reality, they are matters of mentality.’

How Progressive Saves

  I think I’ve written before about fragments of my past—about the early experiences that shaped my relationship with electronic music. The truth is, electronic music has been with me since my earliest childhood in the ’90s. I once mentioned how, as a kid, I was a devoted fan of the German group Scooter. I had almost all of their albums.

But it wasn’t just Scooter. I remember the era when CDs and tapes from Corona, 2 Brothers On The 4th Floor, and similar acts were filtering into Czechia from Germany and Western Europe in the early ‘90s. I even liked Erotic back then.

A Love Parade CD that I bought around the turn of the millennium at Carrefour brought me into the world of techno. Yet the reality of techno events in Czechia didn’t resonate with me, and before long I stopped attending them altogether. What I didn’t lose was my affection for the music itself. The atmosphere—and the techno—you could hear at places like Belgium’s I Love Techno simply didn’t exist here. The Czech techno scene, even back then, lacked melody. And in my eyes, that hasn’t changed much. The same applies to DnB—here it’s mostly about raving to neurofunk or extremes like Hallucinator. The West, I’ve always felt, leaned more melodic.

Then free tekno exploded in Czechia, creating the largest free tekno community in Europe relative to population. To me, this is something for sociologists—how the link between drug use and the free tekno scene. Maybe that’s why Czechia never evolved in a melodic direction the way Western Europe did.

Even gabba was often dismissed by Czech techno purists because it dared to be melodic, because it shared DNA with EDM and dance music. For techno people, that was practically “disco.” Dutch happy hardcore didn’t stand a chance. 

My dissatisfaction with the local scene eventually pushed me toward progressive. This was sometime around 2006, when mainstream techno in Czechia had sunk deep into schranz—a perfect soundtrack for people on Czech methamphetamine, craving something as fast and hard as their drugs.

But I wasn’t interested in that. I was drawn to melody, emotion, depth. Aside from minimal—which felt like one kind of answer to that aggressive era—it was progressive that truly opened a new world for me. It was something completely different.

And this is where my belief comes from: that progressive, through its values and emotional architecture, has the power to save you from the kinds of realities you want no part of—realities you avoid simply to preserve yourself.

In a way, it took me seventeen years before I finally mixed something progressive myself. And I still believe that, because of its values, progressive cannot coexist with the realities I’m critical of.

I still love techno, and I appreciate many of the communities around it, but I never reached the point where making techno felt right for me. I like many people who create it, and I respect what they do, but it was never my path for a mixing. A decade ago—because of its meaning and its message—I began experimenting with liquid drum and bass. In 2017, I became Sidney SN. And thanks to the fans, the journey I’ve experienced since then has been incredible. I never expected to become known or even famous, and there were moments when I started rejecting some reality, simply because I wasn’t ready for it.

Progressive still fascinates me. I love listening to it because within it I feel my own reality—or the reality of the countries I love. Every time I listen my favourite progressive tracks, I slip immediately into that world. I listen to far more progressive than liquid DnB. I barely listen to DnB at all compared to progressive. But when a truly good liquid track appears, I’ll listen. It’s just that such tracks are painfully rare, especially next to progressive, which I listen constantly, again and again. 

It’s not a space for a normal person

 This is a critique I wasn’t sure whether to publish… but here it is. It might be irritating, but it’s also for a laugh. 

 I recently went to a drum and bass event in the Netherlands. I’ll get straight to the point: I’ve never encountered a worse community in the Netherlands. When I go to events of other genres in NL, or just walk down the Dutch street, I don’t see these types of people at all. Perhaps they’re a small minority in the Netherlands, or maybe they’re mostly from Central Europe. The second one is also definitely true. 

I don’t get this feeling also in Germany. In fact, because of the common people in Germany, I can honestly say: I ❤️ Germany. Ordinary Germans have good values: German’s strong architecture also looks like that. 

Related to that — should I be sad or just laugh when someone gets bothered by the fact that someone wears a watch?

“So according to Sidney SN we’re supposed to wear watches too…”

It honestly made me laugh what Central European drum and bass ravers think of me. Yes, it has the “smell” of people seeing me as conservative. That makes me laugh even more. Or another comment — that apparently I stood out at the smoking area again. I have no idea why I keep hearing this. If someone doesn’t like it, they probably should work on themselves. Or I share no “anarchistic/socialist” value. If I stand out among the “weirdos”, it’s not because I try for a stand out — that’s simply how I naturally am.

And again, this tells me a lot about how different the current international DnB community is compared to other Dutch communities, where I do fit in with my values, and where no one looks at you strangely for completely normal things. In a way, this shows just how off some people are if they start criticizing basic Dutch values. On the other hand, I still say I’m also “Aussie”. Among other things, I like Ripcurl :D

Another thing is hard drugs. When I listen to what SOLAH sings about, hard drugs just don’t belong there. Or I don’t see her music like something for a ravers. Or Flava D, her track Cats. Or I like LENS UK for her values. It also bothers me that SOLAH seems to be more of a DJ for questionable ravers than a singer. And again, compared to different Dutch electronic music festival community — at a DnB event in NL there are so many international people on hard drugs that I couldn’t even count them. At this last Dutch techno event, I saw only two obvious cases. One was actually shocking, because a girl was in psychosis, being calmed down by the lake, and two people had to hold her by both hands while walking. In my opinion, clearly typical from Central Europe. 

The lower presence of hard drugs at some Dutch electronic music events probably also comes from their Zero Drug Tolerance policy.

At that DnB event, I even made jokes about the drugged-up ravers by widening my eyes the way they had theirs. I even got reactions back :D

And on top of that, someone next to me wanted to talk to me — and you could see he was thinking: in today’s DnB community, you barely even have anyone to talk to. That ties back to my previous post about a policy and their whole attitude. That’s why I’m saying: this is not for me, or this is irritating or for a laugh. 

In many ways, a laugh towards them, it’s the best reaction, I think.  

Yet, my favorite techno DJ — Enrico Sangiuliano — now wears the same watch with a different belt :D 

Luddism in the 21st Century

“It’s like if someone in the 19th century banned electricity because it threatened candle makers.”

 Recently, I wrote some praise for Giorgia Meloni, though I’m also skeptical of her. Another example might be banning cultivated meat instead of addressing problematic livestock farming. 

Sidney SN, 90’s 🇮🇹 

In my view, Italy’s decision to ban cultivated meat may seem like cultural protection or caution toward new technology. But in reality, it’s a much deeper issue. The ban isn’t conservative — it’s reactionary. It’s not about a protect tradition; it simply shows that the state isn’t ready for change, so it prefers to freeze reality in its current state.

In the context of human technological development, cultivated meat is just another logical step. Lab-grown meat is like hydroponics, vertical farming, fermentation, biotechnology — all ways to increase efficiency and reduce the negative impacts of production.

The argument that “meat should traditionally come from animals” is the same as someone wanting to ban hydroponics because lettuce has supposedly “always” grown in soil. But “always” lasts only until human ingenuity presents a better solution.

In space travel, long-term missions, or colonizing other planets — no one will be herding cattle. Cultivated meat is a necessity. This isn’t sci-fi. It’s technology we already know how to produce today.

To me, the ban on cultivated meat reveals something uncomfortable: if someone bans something solely to protect an old industry, it means they don’t know how to build a new one.

And here comes the key part: the entire ban on cultivated meat is a modern form of Luddism. 

The Luddites in the 19th century didn’t smash machines because they were dangerous. They smashed them because they threatened their roles and status in society. Meloni is doing the same thing: it’s not banning a dangerous product, but a technology that threatens old business.

Instead of supporting innovation, they would rather ban whatever complicates the status quo. It’s like banning machines because they threatened hand weavers. But the world won’t stop. Only those who are afraid will.

The Luddites lost in the end — the Industrial Revolution moved forward. And the development of cultivated meat will move forward as well. Just without Italy. And once other countries gain the know-how, investment, and expertise, Italy will be forced to import the technology.

Contrasting Reality

 At first glance, the Netherlands feels like a country where fun is a natural part of life—not only leisure, but the economy as well. It’s not just that a large part of the population now works four days a week. A sense of ease permeates the whole system and the atmosphere of the cities. 

A typical Thursday morning in Amsterdam reveals more than any statistics could. Around eight or nine in the morning at Sloterdijk, you’ll meet both young and older people returning from night events—on a Wednesday night. When you travel to Rotterdam, you pass small groups of people returning from a party in Amsterdam. It’s Thursday morning, yet social life is running at full speed.

The same applies to Sunday events, which often finish around 11 p.m. In the Netherlands, festivals or music events generally don’t allow themselves to be heard late into the night on weekends, and it’s also forbidden after midnight. Residents don’t want to be disturbed in their freedoms, and in Amsterdam it’s nothing unusual to see (18+) high school students returning home after midnight from a Sunday event, only to go to school on Monday…? Yet—and this is essential—you hardly see drunk people on the streets, groups doing hard drugs, homeless people, or as much THC and its substitutes either. The atmosphere is lively but civilised. This contrast is fascinating to me.

Entertainment is in fact a significant economic component in the Netherlands. People are more open, relaxed, and seem more content. Cities and the civilisation itself are enjoyable in their architecture—cities like Rotterdam are an experience of their own. It makes you wonder why some places build a reality that relies so heavily on extraction, monotonous industry, uninteresting landscape design, and generally depressive environments. Instead of biotope parks, interesting urban structures, and inspiring surroundings.

Luxembourg is another example. There too, you can see that when a country builds a civilisation that is enjoyable, it brings economic results. They know how to sell things—like the “famous waterfalls,” which are essentially “just a weir on a forest stream”. Yet everyone wants to see them, because they’ve become part of the cultural value.

And then you find yourself in another country, one that seems to revel in depression and maintaining smallness. Where endless political nonsense is solved instead of developing an interesting civilisation. Where more sustainable policies are rejected, even though they work in countries that are visibly richer, more open, and more satisfied. And where people then wonder why young people and adults alike escape into alcohol or substances—maybe this is part of a logical response to an environment that creates not joy, but pressure.

Maybe, among other things, if instead of a depressive reality one built a civilisation that is pleasant, playful, and inspiring, some societal values would change too. And with them, the entire atmosphere of society.

The Controversy Of A Queer

 Futurama (or Star Wars) as a Queer Utopia of the Future

 Sometimes, when I watch Futurama, I think about exactly this. I don’t particularly like the show — maybe because at times it feels too absurd, too loud. And yet it evokes a strange feeling in me: it reminds me how profound what we now call queer can be. How within these attitudes — often incomprehensible to me — there lies a certain truth about a world that is constantly changing.

At first glance, Futurama is a comedy about a robot, aliens, and humans from an absurd third millennium. But beneath the layer of humor lies something much deeper — a vision of a society where the boundaries of identity dissolve and difference is not only tolerated but celebrated.

In Futurama, there is no such thing as a “normal” body, a “traditional” family, or a “natural” way of being. The characters move across the spectrum of gender, species, and forms of existence: the robot Bender displays both gender and moral fluidity, Zoidberg embodies otherness embraced with affection, and planet Earth itself is home to thousands of cultures — human and non-human alike. Such a world necessarily rests on radical empathy and openness toward difference.

Those who love Futurama or Star Wars often carry within them an unspoken agreement with the idea that diversity is natural — that being can take infinitely many forms, and that the purpose of progress is not uniformity but variety. These worlds are queer in the deepest sense of the word: they challenge boundaries, rewrite rules, and allow new combinations of forms and identities.

This spirit is reflected in real cities — vividly in Berlin. A city where fashion experimentation becomes part of everyday life, where individuality flows into the streets as freely as music from the clubs. Berlin feels like a terrestrial version of Futurama — a metropolis where freedom of dress, belief, and desire is not an exception but the norm.

Perhaps it is precisely because we can fall in love with the world of Futurama that we carry within us the potential to live such freedom ourselves — here, on our own planet, in real time.

At the same time, this openness does not have to conflict with respect for history and cultural heritage. Preserving old buildings, neighborhoods, and architectural styles is not an act of rigidity, but of reverence — a form of care for the memory of a place and the people who shaped it. To have a relationship with heritage does not mean to reject new forms of freedom; it means understanding that even the future needs its roots.

Queer aesthetics and futurist thought do not need to erase history — they can complement it, revive it, reinterpret it. Maybe cities like Luxembourg (or Luxembourg) prove this: they combine a modern outlook with a deep respect for the past. Just like in Futurama, tradition and experiment, stone and light, past and future coexist side by side.

Architecture Between Decay and Endurance

 Who knows these differences in certain parts of Europe, they don’t understand the architecture itself. Ordinary houses, almost anywhere, seem to decay — or already look decayed even when new. Construction often feels improvised: one wall made from old bricks, another from concrete blocks, covered with plaster that doesn’t last long and soon turns dirty. There’s a sense of fragility in materials that should represent stability.

Even construction companies profit well from the so-called green economy — the Central European version of it. There’s constant trade in polystyrene and external insulation, as if sustainability meant simply covering things up. Some new houses are designed to be “energy-efficient,” but often with strangely small windows, built more from fear of energy loss than from any sense of harmony.

In the Netherlands, the difference is striking. Architecture there is naturally durable — solid brick structures, without plaster, designed to last for generations. The Dutch live in a flat, open landscape shaped by wind and water, with air constantly moving from the North Sea. Buildings are made to resist the wind for generations, not to hide from it. Their strength is not accidental. A West surfaces remain clean not because West is repainted, but because the material itself endures. Large windows open to the world, and no one would ever think of covering such buildings with unsustainable polystyrene and a weak plaster layer that would crumble within years. I think Dutch architecture doesn’t pretend to be ecological; it is ecological by its very nature — through longevity, openness, and respect for material truth.

That is perhaps the quiet essence of difference: in Central Europe, “green” often means concealing weakness behind artificial layers; in the Netherlands, strength and sustainability begin with what is left uncovered.