Lessons in Europe: The bicycle (or how to survive the social pressure on two wheels)

There are things no one tells you before moving to Europe.
It’s not the paperwork. Not the weather. Not the language.

It’s the bicycle.

You arrive thinking the hardest part will be integrating, making friends, finding your place…
and suddenly you realize the real citizenship test is…
riding a bike like you were born doing it.

Level 1: The trauma starts early (just not with you)

In Belgium, children don’t learn how to ride a bike.
They’re born knowing how.

Well… not literally. But almost.

First comes the balance bike, that innocent-looking pedal-less thing
that is basically a military training device disguised as a toy.

At 2, they glide with perfect balance.
At 4, no training wheels.
At 5… honestly, ready for the Tour de France.

And you’re just there thinking:
“Wait… when did I miss this class in life?”

Level 2: Adult humiliation

I had to learn how to ride a bike in Belgium.

Sure, I had tried a bit in Peru, a little in Spain…
but confidently? Absolutely not.

I still remember my first bike ride after moving.
Spoiler: it wasn’t a ride. It was an emotional endurance test.

After a few meters (not even kilometers), I felt… nothing.
Not my legs. Not my dignity.
Just a deep pain in places I didn’t know could hurt that much.

Plan changed quickly:
from “cute bike ride with friends”
to “urgent mission: buy a gel-padded seat.”

(It saved me. Still using it. Don't judge me.)

Level 3: The bicycle as an official language

You learn Dutch…
but you also learn bike.

Because here, it’s not just transport.
It’s a way of existing in society.

Bike lanes, traffic lights, priority rules…
and yes, vocabulary too:

• brakes
  
• chain
  
• lights
  
• tire pressure
  
• Flandrien
  
• Allez!
  
• Mini fat-bike

You might not know how to conjugate verbs…
but you definitely know when your tire is flat.

And also:
you learn to let locals enjoy hours of watching cycling races.
I still don’t get it… but I let them be.

 

Level 4: Falls, drama and small tragedies

Everything happens on a bike:

You fall.
You brake wrong.
You hit something.
You get frustrated because your tire is flat. Again.

But one day… without noticing…
you can’t imagine life without it.

Because there’s something magical about that moment
when you’re riding… and your mind goes blank.

Silence. Air. Movement.
A small moment of freedom in the middle of migrant chaos.

 

Level 5: The “I’ve got this” trap

Just when you think:
“Okay, I did it. I belong now.”

Europe says:
HA.

Now you have to:

• carry a child on your bike
  
• balance with 15 extra kilos
  
• or… master a cargo bike

A cargo bike is not a bike.
It’s a lifestyle.
It’s an emotional truck on wheels.

There you are, pedaling, child in front, thinking:
“I just wanted to integrate… not conquer the world.”

 

Plot twist: you don’t own the road

And when you finally get your driving license…
you discover another uncomfortable truth:

Cyclists are not the kings of the road.
(Although sometimes they act like it.)

Learning the rules from the other side, as a driver,
is almost philosophical.

You realize coexistence requires more than balance:
👉 respect, awareness and a lot of patience.

Because… there are cyclists everywhere (like mosquitoes).

 

Final level: when they pass you the responsibility

And then… the ultimate moment:

Your “Gringo” partner looks at you and says:
“Can you teach our child how to ride a bike?”

Excuse me… me?

ME??

You’re the native cyclist here!
I was just trying not to fall five minutes ago!

 

What no one says (but we all feel)

A bicycle is much more than a bicycle.

It’s that silent pressure to adapt.
That uncomfortable learning curve no one talks about.
That moment when you feel clumsy… out of place…
and then, slowly, you find yourself.

One day you feel like you know nothing.
Like you’ll never get it.

And the next…
you’re riding, wind in your face, thinking:

“Okay… maybe I belong here a little bit.”

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And you?
What’s your story with the bicycle? 🚲
Did it take time to master it, or was it love at first ride?
I’d love to read you in the comments 💛

 

Autor: Andrea Ramos Cornejo