The Art of Sunbathing

Undoubtedly, one of my favorite days of the year is the first truly sunny day in the Netherlands. We all know how this country can go weeks without a glimpse of blue sky - a heavy, dark carpet of clouds stretching endlessly, the damp chill creeping inside even the thickest of winter coats, the wind cutting through the streets like an uninvited guest overstaying its welcome.

But then, on some random day in March, as if on a whim, the curtain of clouds finally lifts. The sun, patiently waiting above, stretches her warm fingers over frozen canals, empty parks, and frostbitten benches. It never lasts long, just an afternoon, a fleeting teaser of what’s to come once winter finally loosens its grip in April. But for that one day, it is enough.

And when it happens, when the golden light suddenly bathes the streets, turning the cold air soft and shimmering, it’s as if the entire country awakens at once. Within minutes, the terraces that sat barren all winter are filled with life. Empty chairs are occupied by people in sunglasses, their faces tilted upward in quiet appreciation. Tables that stood unused for months are suddenly burdened with steaming coffees, ice-cold soft drinks, and, inevitably, beers and glasses of Aperol Spritz. Like sunflowers, people lean toward the sun, eyes closed, an absent smile playing on their lips. Pale winter cheeks and even paler necks drink in every treasurable second, hair catching the golden glow of the afternoon.

One could say that Dutch culture lacks romance - their directness, their practical approach to life, their love for bland food and Heineken pilsjes. But no one can convince me that the way they cherish these brief moments of sun isn’t something magical. There’s a quiet beauty in the way they embrace the warmth so completely, as if saving it up for the next stretch of gray. It’s one of my favorite reminders of how wonderful it is to live here (at least when the sun decides to show up).