After a two-day project at Vencon, I took a solo trip to Amsterdam over the weekend. As soon as I clocked out Friday, I caught an overnight ICE train and arrived in the city around 10 a.m. What immediately struck me was Amsterdam’s beauty – so cozy and effortlessly charming, each house crafted with such intricate, homey, and comfortable design and architecture, with canals flowing beneath, running and splitting up the city like veins. Each bridge adorned with flourishing flowers, like ornaments forced onto connecting bridges. The whole place looked like it belonged on a postcard.
Amsterdam isn’t just scenic—it moves. It’s one of the most walkable cities I’ve ever visited, but even more so, it’s built for bikes. There are separate lanes, traffic signals, and even ferries for cyclists. It’s as if each person is born with a bike as an extension of themselves. If they’re not riding it, they’re walking it. And when the ferry doors drop, it’s like watching a marathon of cyclists launch into motion.
Determined to make the most of my time, I explored the entire city in less than a day. Fueled by curiosity (and adrenaline), I walked nearly nonstop—at a fast pace too—and managed to experience nearly all of Amsterdam within 10 hours. I visited museums, explored flower shops and cheese stores, attended markets, ate authentic Dutch food, did a bit of shopping, and finally ended up in the Red Light District around nightfall. Everything was such a cool cultural experience. I loved sightseeing and watching the boats and ferries go across the canals.
By 1 a.m., I felt like I had seen it all. I had two choices: crash in Amsterdam or keep going. I chose the latter. I spontaneously booked a train to The Hague and then on to Rotterdam. Around 2 a.m., I boarded a train and started sleeping intermittently on trains, drifting in and out of sleep. Surprisingly, the train was filled with other young solo travelers from neighboring towns, also heading home after a weekend in Amsterdam.
I ended up exploring 2 cities before I made it to Rotterdam. I felt safe the entire time; it was super peaceful walking outside in the quiet night-time and sightseeing all the unfamiliar buildings, canals, and boats. By the time I finally made it to Rotterdam, it was 6am, and the sun was almost completely up. I visited a mosque to take a quick nap and then continued exploring the whole city. There were so many events that day; the city seemed so nautically inclined. Locals were participating in all sorts of water events: marathon swimming, canal surfing, and sailing. After a full day of exploring, I caught a train back to Berlin around 5 p.m. But due to delays and cancellations, I didn’t get back until 4 a.m, four hours before work started.
Somewhere along the ride back, I met a man traveling with his dog. He was completely off the grid—no phone, no internet, no cellular network—on a mission to curate 500 of his inherited paintings somewhere in Italy. He used library computers to check the news and print tickets, and he relied entirely on physical train schedules. I was stunned. It was a moment that made me think deeply about spontaneity, technology, and how we navigate change.
And then, on Monday, I walked back into work on zero sleep, 188,000 steps deep ready to lock in.
That contrast—between my spontaneous weekend and the structure of my internship at Vencon—highlights the cultural adjustment I’ve had to make. At Vencon, flexibility in the traditional sense (like remote work) isn’t possible, especially for interns due to cybersecurity and compliance policies. The workplace is structured, punctual, and high-performing. Just like the train system in Germany, you’re expected to be on time—to work, to meetings, to everything. There’s little room for leniency, but that doesn’t mean it’s stiff.
In fact, the workplace has a strong sense of community. Everyone eats lunch together on daily grocery store trips, and there are “Beer Fridays” to wrap up the week. But expectations are high. We’re expected to always be working on something, to show progress, and to perform impressively. You can’t just show up—you have to show results.
Adapting to this structure has been the biggest cultural shift. It’s not the work itself, but the pace and consistency of expectations. Spontaneity, while a beautiful part of travel, has little space in this kind of workplace. What I’ve learned, though, is that adaptability doesn’t mean becoming someone else—it means finding ways to operate within new structures while still bringing your full self to the table.
