There was a strange stillness about the Deurne bus station on that Sunday morning. During the course of the night, the snow had fallen heavily, covering sidewalks and roads with a crusted layer after initially being soft. Even the digital signs were blinking erratically by dawn, revolving through frozen schedules that were no longer relevant. On that particular day, Arriva would not have any buses.
Deurne wasn’t the only one. The typical rhythm of transportation—buses sighing to a stop, commuters rushing aboard—was completely absent from Oost-Brabant, which had become a pocket of suspension. Operating under Transdev, Arriva and Hermes made the early announcement that there would be no service until at least noon, if not later. The word of the day was safety, and to be honest, it was difficult to dispute. The stakes—drivers maneuvering heavy cars loaded with passengers—were not worth testing, and black ice is a silent enemy.
| Detail | Information |
|---|---|
| Location Most Affected | Brabant, Netherlands |
| Transit Operators | Arriva and Hermes (part of Transdev) |
| Cause of Disruption | Heavy snow, icy roads, safety concerns |
| Date of Events | Sunday, January 4, 2026 |
| Extent of Shutdown | No Arriva buses in Deurne, Oost-Brabant until conditions improved |
| Alternate Action | Normal service continued in Twente despite similar conditions |
| Official Reason | “Unacceptable risk for passengers,” per Arriva spokesperson |
| External Reference | Tubantia article |
Another image surfaced elsewhere. The same Arriva buses ran cautiously but steadily in Twente as planned. Even though the snow had not spared them, things continued to move forward. This disparity was not overlooked. Many people left comments on social media and local news, asking why some areas were able to maintain operations while others completely stopped. The question persisted despite a variety of explanations, including route elevation, regional decision-making, and road salting conditions.
By mid-morning, stations such as Oisterwijk and Mierlo were increasingly silent. Ice ridges had grown on metal benches. Unaware or perhaps hopeful, a few determined riders arrived and then withdrew home. No automated messages for announcements, no warming stations. Waiting, just cold.
The updates from Rijkswaterstaat resemble an ongoing warning sign. The roads in some places didn’t cooperate, even though they had already spread more than nine million kilograms of salt throughout the country. Salt wasn’t being crushed into the ice quickly enough because there were fewer cars on the road as a result of holiday closures. One alert said, “Watch for re-freezing on low-traffic lanes.” Nature appeared to be working against the plan as well.
Err on the side of caution rather than practicality, according to some. However, it was a very disruptive decision for many who rely on public transportation to get to care jobs, appointments, or groceries. Additionally, it brought to light something we frequently ignore until it disappears: public transportation is a daily necessity for thousands of people, not just a convenience.
The buses in Utrecht did start operating again that day, but not without making some concessions. The longer models were completely removed from service. Schedules no longer included line 28. The frozen points of contact, such as station doors, bus stops, and icy railings, revealed a tale of reactive coordination and half-measures.
Some routes in West-Brabant reluctantly reopened by noon. Deurne, however, did not move. Little respite was provided by the local forecast, which predicted that snow showers would continue. The municipal workers continued to shovel. It was an image of unrelenting upkeep in the face of an equally unrelenting winter.
The starkness of that one deserted stop I saw in Helmond at around noon—just a man in a red scarf stamping his feet next to a shelter where the screen flickered but offered nothing—was what really got to me. After the performers left, it appeared to be a stage set.
It made sense logistically. A single slip could result in a disastrous collision. It’s accurate. However, the more general question becomes more pressing every winter: How can we create public transportation that is more resilient and doesn’t crumble whenever the sky decides to drop?
Arriva, on the other hand, announced the freeze beforehand. Risk was highlighted by their spokesperson: “We can’t take that chance with multiple passengers onboard.” It was a responsible role with very distinct priorities. Different calls were made in other areas, though, and it is this discrepancy that sparks the most heated discussion.
Trains were still operating, despite delays, according to some passengers. The rail lines did not completely stop, but switches had frozen and service was inconsistent. The trains provided a detour for those who could afford the extra cost or rerouting. Others just had their day canceled.
That afternoon, a horse in Friesland fell into a frozen ditch. The animal was swiftly pulled to safety by firefighters. Many people who followed the news were affected by that image, not only because it was dramatic but also because it reflected the fragility that pervaded the day. This was not anticipated by anyone. Everyone simply answered.
Winter had taken over the nation since Friday night. Reports of slippages, collisions, and cars sliding into ditches became frequent from Drenthe to Utrecht. The weight caused trees to break. In that quiet, the lack of Arriva buses in some areas of Brabant became more than just a logistical issue; it became a representation of how much we still rely on—and occasionally take for granted—a system designed to continue operating.
In most areas, service had gradually returned by Monday morning. Just a leisurely return to the planned stops, with no dramatic speeches or apologies. However, people will always remember that pause and how easily the infrastructure failed due to the pressure of the weather, especially those who stood in the snow waiting for a bus that never arrived.