Tomatoes and anchors
How we carry places within us when we leave — and how those same places became ground to build new roots.
Welcome to The Inclusion Room — a space for expats, explorers, and curious souls, where literature, science, and storytelling meet to help you intentionally build a life beyond the box.
Living abroad is about the anchors we set in unfamiliar ground, while also learning to say goodbye to the places that once held you steady. Here I share mine from the Netherlands, before passing the relay to Gillian and his new anchors in The Hague.
I lived in the Netherlands for almost five years. Five years ago, we filled the trunk of our little red Fiat 500, closed the door of our house, and handed the keys to the new owner — asking her to take care of the tomato plants.
Sometimes we wonder about those plants. Did she care for them? We’ll never know. That day, we left without looking back — and never returned. In France, we planted tomatoes again, with the seeds we had brought from our Dutch life.
The choice to go to The Netherlands was swift and had the taste of New Year’s resolutions; the choice to leave again was a long and winding inner journey, set against the backdrop of late-summer sunsets.
Unlike other places I’ve left, where I returned often to slowly unravel the ties, leaving just a thin thread connecting me to each place, The Netherlands was a clean cut — a bandage ripped away at once. COVID sharpened that break, robbing us of proper farewells. For years, I couldn’t explain why going back felt impossible.
What has changed?
I am now at peace with the reasons that led me to close the door on that life, with the friends left without a true goodbye, and with the opportunities that slipped away.
I am also at peace with what I thought I would find when I returned to Lyon and didn’t — and with what I never expected to find, but appeared like an oasis in the desert: a renewed sense of belonging, not to a place or a group, but to myself. Beyond borders.
Meeting Gillian, just as he begins to discover The Hague in these past months, gave me the desire to revisit that chapter of my life.
It feels like a kind of relay: passing on the places that once anchored me in The Hague, and listening to the places that, over the past six months, have become anchors for him.
Because expat life, once the bureaucracy, the trips, and the Ikea furniture are behind you, is really made of places and people.
Finding places that act as anchors in a new country is an essential step in building a life where everything feels in motion and unfamiliar. These anchors are the spots where you return again and again, the ones that steady you when everything else feels transient.
Here are mine:
Den Haag bibliotheek
After unpacking the last suitcases, I was overwhelmed by an uncontrollable wave: I had to sit at my desk and write. I began a novel that has never reached its ending. The library was my regular appointment with my characters — who, like me, were expats. It also became my place of discipline when I needed to learn German. You could find me there in the late afternoons or Saturday mornings, at least during my first year in The Hague.
Scheveningen Beach
Cycling down with a plaid, iced tea, and a book in my backpack gave me back a Mediterranean rhythm. The North Sea was rougher, the wind relentless — but together they taught me respect and resilience.
Korzo Theater
I performed several times for the French-speaking expat community, in a troupe where French was either the mother tongue or the language of the heart for serial expats like me. I discovered how linguistic communities can be as strong as communities of origin. When everything else is different, you cling to one common element. Those years strengthened my sense of belonging to French culture — an elastic thread that eventually pulled me back.
Delft’s Parks: Park Delftse Hout and Wilhelmina Park
They were my stage for long walks and inner dialogues,the place of freedom and for hard decisions during COVID, as well as the last place I saw, before leaving, during a farewell lunch with my Italian community. It was an anchor of freedom and thinking.
While searching for these photos,I realized once again how it’s important to say goodbye not only to people, but also to places — to honor a chapter of our life before closing it for good.
And now, the relay continues. These were my anchors. Gillian, who is discovering The Hague today, will share his own — the places that are slowly becoming his anchors in a life still being built.
I was delighted to inspire Emanuela’s reflection on her time in a city I am newly in love with living in. It’s even more exciting to share our favorite spots and feelings together — the old and the new coming together to give The Hague a fitting tribute.
My husband, William, and I moved to Rotterdam in January 2025, after a madcap race to give away, sell, or say goodbye to our life in Minnesota. We didn’t want to live in Amsterdam, hoping instead to be somewhere that would nudge us into learning Dutch. We enjoyed Rotterdam, but we’re so happy we settled in The Hague last March.
The third-largest city in the Netherlands has a global sensibility thanks to its central role in international affairs, yet it also feels like the world’s largest village. The city isn’t arranged in neat squares but rather in a patchwork of pockets, each one worth exploring. Amid the busyness of the heart of the centrum, here are three places and one feeling that have made it feel like home.
Our Safe Haven: The Bieb
I, too, found my way to the Centrale Bibliotheek not long after landing in The Hague. We were still knee-deep in setting up our apartment, having shipped only seven boxes. To keep my commitment to writing, I set out for the library and soon discovered a favorite spot on the third floor, overlooking the old church. Several months later, I learned someone was organizing Shut Up & Write! events in the same space, giving my initial escape a new and more established reason to return.
My Meditative Oasis: Het Haagse Bos
My favorite place in The Hague, aside from our apartment, is the Hague Forest. This green space near Centraal Station features winding trails for walking, biking, and even horseback riding. Ponds shimmer with swans and ducks. A nearby wildlife preserve allows passersby to marvel at the majesty of a bevy of deer. As often as I can, Ik maak een wandeling (“I take a walk”) along the crushed seashell paths, helping root me in this place in all its splendor.
A Heart of Culture: Lange Voorhout
On my first day in The Hague, I was viewing apartments while William was ill in bed back in our temporary rental in Rotterdam. Orienting myself in a new place, I stumbled upon this marvelous strip. Just a short distance from the Hofvijver, which separates the Binnenhof palace from the city center, this wide boulevard is lined with trees and dotted with embassies. Early in our time here, I watched the trees just beginning to bud as we wondered if this place would ever feel like home. Most recently, we shared it with a new friend, spending several hours over biertjes and indische gehaktballetjes on the terras of the legendary Posthoorn.
Winds of Change: North Sea Air
Last but not least, as someone in the midst of change leaving my home country and beginning to find my place in a foreign one, I feel constantly met by the breeze. This close to the North Sea, where the wind whips around the Hoek van Holland, there is almost always a crisp gust blowing. On the hottest days, it pushes away the heavy, humid air. And as summer fades, the first whispers of autumn touch my skin while the days begin to shorten.
Dutch life has been a refreshing change of pace, allowing both of us to step back and reflect on how we thought about ourselves, our careers, and even how a society can function when human welfare, rather than commercial profit, is at its heart.
Though our initial plan was to stay for two years, we’re already determined to do whatever we can to make our time here extend beyond. While no place is perfect, we’re finding ourselves thriving and gladly setting sail into the sea of change that comes with moving abroad and becoming an immigrant.
Come visit, and I’ll take you by the palaces, along the museum route, to the best shops…and show you where the curious pop-up urinals appear during busy days. The Hague has a way of wrapping its arms around you, and I’d love for you to feel it too.
And you? Which places have become your anchors — the ones you return to again and again, that ground you when everything else feels uncertain?
If you enjoyed this walk through our places in The Hague, let us know with a little 💓.
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This was so fun, guys! What a great way to showcase a city's unique eccentricities. I'd be all over the biblioteek too — looks so fancy! The library in Valencia was maybe the only thing I was slightly disappointed in. And @Emanuela I love that you took your tomato seeds from the Netherlands to replant them in France! That is such a beautiful way of bringing home with you.
I'm still here in the States (goodness help me!), still in New England, so I can't say I'm an expat, but I do have things and places here that help ground me and make me glad to be here. My own backyard has all sorts of birds and insects singing 24 hours a day, except in winter - though even then the barred owl wants to know, "Who cooks for you?" I even saw a huge snowy owl swoop silently over my head one night, perhaps an expat from Canada? I put out hummingbird feeders to supplement the natural and cultivated flowers, and we're rewarded by a beautiful acrobatics show every day from late spring to early fall. My husband has become more interested in the natural world during his marriage to me, and has been discovering all sorts of critters I'd never seen - just last night, he went out for a late-night walk and returned with footage of a snowy tree cricket he'd found in our backyard - they are very tiny, but very loud! We hear the loons warbling in the early mornings and evenings. I love this place.
I haven't been able to go for the past few years, but I love visiting Lake Winnipesaukee, too. If you find a part that's still wooded and natural, it's easy to see why the Abenacki called it the "Smile of the Great Spirit."
Last thing is a question. I've read that tomatoes are perennial if they're grown in warm climates. Have either of you seen this? I love the idea of an everlasting tomato plant...