An evening curfew, outdoor groups restricted to twosomes, country borders closed. So much of what has happened over the past two years seems surreal. The same disconnect from reality surprised me again a few weeks ago when Russia decided to invade Europe’s backyard.

Like a rabbit faced with headlights, I spent the first few days staring rigidly at my screen. Days passed in which I was refreshing the NOS news app every ten minutes, hoping to find an article telling me it was all fake news. Around me I saw powerlessness turn to frustration. Frustration that had previously found a welcome outlet in Hugo and Mark, our government corona management duo, during their umpteenth press conference. This time the ‘enemy’ is considerably more palpable than an invisible virus. But why isn’t anybody doing anything?

It is now a good month later and I am writing this column as I travel by train from Eindhoven to Amsterdam. At Utrecht central station two girls aged about twenty-one get on, deep in conversation about oatmeal cappuccino, which they are both just craving. Their conversation is interrupted by an announcement. A female voice says: “This is a message for all Ukraine people on board: Please get out here because Amsterdam is full! I repeat Amsterdam is full! Get out here in Utrecht. We still have places to stay.” One of the girls says, “Wow girl, heavy,” to which the other responds: “No kidding, but darling which pastry are we going to choose, because the air in this train is making me really hungry.”

For a brief moment it seemed that Putin’s invasion was going to be the glue that a splintered post-corona society needed. During the last leg of the journey, from Utrecht to Amsterdam, I watch the inland vessels chugging by, carrying their cargo of oil along the Amsterdam– Rhine Canal. I rack my brains to come up with a message that will give myself and others food for thought. I fail. Perhaps I needed a longer train journey or perhaps the pause between crises was too short.