This isn’t my first trip to Europe. I’ve learned many things over the years: trains run on time, pastries are a legitimate breakfast, and museums will take your breath away.
And I’ve also long known this unshakable truth: Europe does not like giving adults tap water.
Not automatically. Not cheerfully. Not without a small emotional journey.
Even in Rome — the one city that gushes with free public drinking fountains like blessings from the gods — you still have to ask for tap water at restaurants. And sometimes, you still get the mineral water anyway.
Hydration here is not a right. It is a quest.
As a diabetic who needs water constantly, this turns our travels into an ongoing saga of survival and comedy.
Here’s this year’s chapter.
Berlin: The Chinese restaurant peace talks (and the bathroom sink revelation)
Berlin is famously unfazed by everything—techno at dawn, existential sculptures, people in parkas when it’s warm enough to melt steel. But ask for tap water in a Chinese restaurant?
Suddenly, protocol.
Round 1: “Just tap water, please.”
A bottle of mineral water materializes.
Round 2: After finishing it, I try again.
The waiter pauses. Blinks. Then walks to the manager, clearly needing clarification for this bizarre request.
The manager listens, nods, and calmly instructs him: “Give them the tap water.”
And like that, diplomacy wins. A glass of Berlin tap water arrives with the ceremonial seriousness of a ceasefire agreement.
Later, at a museum in Berlin, Boyd asked staff: “Is there a water fountain?”
The reply, cheerful and confident: “Yes, in the water closet. You may drink from the faucet.”
Sir.
Madam.
I’ve come for art, not for the experience of pretending to be a dehydrated raccoon in a public restroom.
Cologne: I surrender. I will bring my own.
Cologne is charming—warm people, stunning cathedral, excellent chocolate museum.
But when it comes to tap water? The vibe is: We respect your request, but here is mineral water instead.
So, I evolved.
I carried my refillable water bottle everywhere like it was a medical instrument, which, frankly, it basically is for me. Every restaurant gently encouraged bubbly water, as though carbonation were a lifestyle choice I needed to embrace.
Meanwhile, I unscrewed my bottle and hydrated like a man who had learned his lesson from previous trips.
Bruges: A tale of two cities in one
Bruges is breathtaking—cobblestones, canals, bells drifting through the air like the soundtrack of a medieval dream.
But its approach to tap water depends entirely on where you sit.
At a Chinese restaurant:
I asked for tap water.
Mineral water arrived.
Out came my refillable bottle. Europe: 1, Renato: also 1.
At a fabulous sandwich shop:
We sat down.
Without a word, tap water was immediately served—no negotiation, no translation, no surprise invoice.
I nearly applauded.
This was hospitality.
This was generosity.
This was Bruges, redeemed.
Amsterdam: A small pitcher, a big victory
Amsterdam, bless its canals and bicycles, delivered a rare moment of pure hydration joy.
One night at dinner, I asked — for the millionth time on this trip —
“Could I please have tap water?”
The server brought a small pitcher.
A whole pitcher.
Unprompted generosity. Unembarrassed enthusiasm.
I was so pleased I nearly forgot to look at the menu.
Amsterdam, you are now my emotional support city.
Paris (this time): not guilty, but not entirely innocent either
We didn’t go to the Louvre on this trip. We went to the Orsay and the Orangerie but didn’t hunt for fountains. So, Paris evades criticism this round.
But from past trips, the city’s relationship to tap water remains… theatrical.
Ask for a carafe and you often get a look that translates to:
“Tap? In public? Are you quite well?”
Still, I love Paris. I also love saving €6 for something more worthwhile—like pastries.
What a seasoned traveller knows
After multiple European trips, here’s my distilled analysis:
Berlin
Tap water: possible. May require managerial approval.
Museums: want you to drink from the bathroom sink.
Cologne
Tap water spiritually discouraged. Bring your bottle.
Bruges
Depends on the establishment. Expect inconsistency; hope for miracles.
Amsterdam
Delivers a pitcher without drama. A hydration oasis.
Rome
Public fountains: divine, abundant, perfect.
Restaurants: still expect you to ask for tap water—and negotiate.
Me
A Filipino-Canadian diabetic who refuses to spend €6 on water when it falls from the sky and flows freely in Rome.
Hydration in Europe isn’t just an act of survival—it’s a storyline.
And my refillable water bottle? At this point, it deserves its own seat on the plane.
Renato Gandia 