On the road back from Hoek van Holland — literally, the “Corner of Holland” — something caught my eye that deserved more than a passing glance. The sheer scale of the boats docked near the Stena Line was breathtaking.
One was en route, I assume, to England; another was docked, looming like a steel colossus bridging continents. In that moment, I felt the magnetic pull of geography — just kilometers from the British border, yet still rooted in Dutch clay.
The Landscape of Glass
This drive isn’t just asphalt and engine noise. It’s a time capsule. The moment you cross from Hoek van Holland into the Westland, it feels like you’ve entered a different world. A landscape blooming with glass — the greenhouses of Naaldwijk and Maasdijk, bursting with paprikas, tomatoes, and flowers.
Zuid-Holland may be small, but within it lies a microcosm of global trade, local farming, and quiet Dutch ingenuity.
Windmills, Myths, and Metal Giants
And then there are the wind turbines. They dot the horizon like metallic dandelions. Are they even called windmills anymore? That word feels too nostalgic for something this industrial. They hum with tension — between progress and protest.
Clean energy is welcome, but not in your backyard. Sustainability is sacred, but not at the cost of landscape purity. Rumor has it that some decommissioned turbines are left to sink into the sea. Out of sight, but not out of consequence.
Roundabouts and Ray-Bans
Speaking of infrastructure, I got fixated on roundabouts. Not your typical circles either — these are hybrids: part roundabout, part traffic light. Studies show roundabouts are safer and more efficient. So why compromise? Maybe it’s psychological. We crave the illusion of control, even when we know better. Like traffic lights that stay up long after they’ve stopped blinking — monuments to our resistance to flow.
That thought merged with my latest experiment: combining Meta Ray-Ban smart glasses with live vlogging. I record what I see, narrate what I think, and let the tech capture the tangle of thoughts that usually evaporate in the rearview. It’s journailing — a blend of journaling and AI.
This drive becomes an interface between memory and moment, between visual stimuli and mental sprawl.
Transitions and Time Capsules
As I glide from the farmland of Westland into the denser rhythms of The Hague, the transition is stark. Greenhouses give way to apartment blocks. Horses and sheep are replaced by scooters and streetlights.
It’s a liminal zone — like crossing dimensions.
I even spot a giant waste pile that’s been there for over two decades. I remember a challenge was once offered: a prize for anyone who could find a purpose for that material. Spoiler alert: it’s still sitting there.
Near home, the contrast sharpens. A massive electricity plant looms next to peaceful grazing sheep. Locals protested, and I get it. It’s a jarring visual and emotional clash — just like the tension I feel about privacy while wearing these glasses. Should license plates be blurred? Is public space the same as public data?
Home Base: Wateringse Veld in The Hague
Pulling into my neighborhood — Wateringse Veld (Fields of Wateringen, if you will) — I’m greeted by the everyday. The Turkish restaurant that replaced the old Subway. A small shopping hub: groceries, pharmacy, flower shop, pizza place. There’s even a skate park, a soccer field, and a general-purpose park. It reminds me of GPT: General Purpose Technology. Versatile. Modular. Unassuming.
So here I am — a guy with a head full of thoughts, a pocket full of tech, and a drive full of contrast. This wasn’t just a commute. It was a meditation in motion, a reflection on infrastructure, landscape, and identity.
And that, dear reader, is what you see when you look through Mike’s eyes. Or at least, through his Meta Ray-Ban smart glasses.
What's on your mind?