Markus Anecdotes-Living with Four Seasons: A Perspective on Dutch Weather

When you live up in Singapore, the climate is something you rarely think about. Hot and humid, occasionally interrupted by thunderstorms, the weather is a reliable constant in daily life. You don’t plan your week around the climate. You don’t wonder when the sun will set. You don’t buy wardrobes for different temperatures. You simply know: tomorrow will be warm, the day after tomorrow will be warm, and a week from now it will still be warm.

Moving to the Netherlands shattered that sense of predictability. Suddenly, I found myself living in a country where the year is divided into four dramatically different seasons, where daylight hours change so drastically that it feels like you are living in four different countries across twelve months. For a Singaporean, used to steady sunlight and unchanging humidity, this was one of the most eye-opening parts of settling into Dutch life.

Spring: The Country Awakens

If there is one season that captures the imagination of visitors to the Netherlands, it is spring. After months of grey skies and damp cold, March and April arrive with a sudden sense of relief. Temperatures climb from single digits into the teens, flowers start to bloom, and people head outdoors in droves.

The tulip is, of course, the icon of Dutch spring. Fields explode into bands of colour — red, yellow, purple, and white stretching as far as the eye can see. For locals, tulips are almost ordinary, sold cheaply in supermarkets. But for someone coming from Singapore, where flowers are cultivated in greenhouses or in highly managed spaces like Gardens by the Bay, seeing entire landscapes transformed by flowers is breathtaking.

Spring also brings longer daylight. In March, the days lengthen rapidly, and by April, it feels like the sun has returned. After the long winter, people rediscover the joy of sitting outside with a coffee, cycling without heavy coats, or simply walking in the park.

By contrast, in Singapore, “spring” doesn’t exist. March and April are hot and humid, perhaps punctuated by heavier rains during the inter-monsoon season. The greenery remains lush all year, but it does not carry the same symbolism of renewal. The Dutch treat spring almost spiritually: it is a collective mood shift. In Singapore, we celebrate New Year or Chinese New Year as markers of change; in the Netherlands, the change of seasons itself feels like a festival.

Summer: Endless Days, Endless Energy

If spring is about relief, summer is about celebration. Dutch summers are not tropical; instead, they hover around 20 to 25 degrees Celsius, with occasional heatwaves pushing the temperature to 30 or above. But the real shock to a Singaporean is not the temperature — it is the light.

In June, the sun rises before 5 a.m. and does not set until after 10 p.m. Imagine walking outside at 9:30 in the evening, expecting darkness, only to find children still playing in playgrounds, people still sitting in café terraces, and cyclists commuting home in broad daylight.

For someone used to Singapore, where sunset is a dependable 7:15 p.m. every day, this is disorienting. The body’s sense of time is confused. At first, I would look out the window at 9:00 p.m. and feel it was only late afternoon. Friends would invite me out for a barbecue starting at 8:00 p.m., something that would be impossible in Singapore where nightfall brings mosquitoes, humidity, and darkness.

Dutch summers are a season of festivals. Music, food, theatre — everything moves outdoors. The canals in cities like Amsterdam and Utrecht fill with boats carrying groups of friends. Beaches along the North Sea, usually windswept and cold, suddenly become holiday destinations. Offices feel emptier, because July and August are the months when nearly everyone takes long holidays, often leaving the country entirely for Mediterranean destinations.

The cultural contrast with Singapore is sharp. While Singapore has year-round “summer weather,” outdoor life is often tempered by heat, humidity, and rain. Singaporeans prefer air-conditioned malls, food courts, or indoor events. Dutch people, on the other hand, crave the sun. After enduring months of grey skies, they seize every ray of light. Even a patch of grass in a city square becomes a gathering place for sunbathers.

Autumn: A Season of Change

By late September, the first chill of autumn sets in. Leaves turn shades of red, orange, and yellow before falling in piles along the streets. The air smells of wood smoke, rain, and damp earth. Temperatures drop steadily, and daylight hours shrink rapidly. By November, the sun may set before 5:00 p.m.

Autumn is, in many ways, the most reflective season. It is beautiful but fleeting, with colours that last only a few weeks before trees are bare. Dutch people prepare for colder months by layering clothes, changing wardrobes, and bringing out warmer bedding. Cafés begin serving seasonal treats like apple pie with cinnamon, pumpkin soups, and spiced cookies.

In Singapore, by contrast, “autumn” has no equivalent. The closest parallel might be the Hungry Ghost Festival or the Mid-Autumn Festival, where mooncakes and lanterns create a cultural sense of transition. But nature does not participate in the same way — trees do not lose leaves, temperatures do not cool, and the rhythm of outdoor life remains constant.

Personally, autumn was the hardest season for me to adjust to. After the long bright days of summer, the sudden descent into darkness felt abrupt. I remember cycling home from work one October evening and realizing that it was completely dark by 6:00 p.m. The rain added to the gloom, and I understood why people often describe Dutch autumn as melancholic.

Winter: Darkness and Stillness

Winter is the true test of adaptation for a Singaporean in the Netherlands. Temperatures can drop below zero, though Dutch winters in recent years have been milder than in the past. Snow does occasionally fall, turning the landscape white, but more often the weather is damp, cold, and windy.

The biggest challenge is not the cold, however — it is the darkness. In December, the sun rises after 8:30 a.m. and sets before 4:30 p.m. This means you can leave the house in darkness, go to work, and return home in darkness. For someone used to Singapore’s unwavering twelve hours of daylight, this feels unnatural, even oppressive.

I vividly remember my first Dutch winter. It was 3:45 p.m., and I was sitting at my desk, only to look outside and realize the sky was already fading. By 4:15, it was pitch dark. My body felt like it should be dinnertime, but the clock insisted it was still afternoon. Many people in northern Europe experience seasonal affective disorder (SAD), a type of depression linked to lack of sunlight. To cope, Dutch homes emphasize warm lighting, candles, and gezelligheid — a cultural concept of coziness and togetherness.

Winter also shapes traditions. December is marked by Sinterklaas, a holiday distinct from Christmas, with gifts and sweets. Christmas markets bring light and cheer to dark evenings. Dutch food in winter becomes heavier: stamppot (mashed potatoes with vegetables), erwtensoep (pea soup), and oliebollen (fried dough balls eaten on New Year’s Eve).

In Singapore, Christmas is celebrated with lights on Orchard Road, but the weather is still 28 degrees, and people are still in short sleeves. For me, the first time I experienced Christmas with snow was magical, even if short-lived. At the same time, I sometimes missed the simplicity of a Singapore Christmas: bright lights, festive music, and no need for thermal underwear.

The Science of Daylight

One of the most striking differences between the Netherlands and Singapore lies in the sheer variation of daylight. Singapore, being near the equator, experiences sunrise around 7:00 a.m. and sunset around 7:00 p.m. consistently throughout the year.

In the Netherlands, latitude makes all the difference. Located at around 52 degrees north, the country tilts away from the sun in winter and toward it in summer. The result is a swing of more than seven hours between the shortest and longest days of the year. This cycle deeply affects daily life, mood, and even biology.

Farmers historically relied on long summer days to maximize harvests. Students adjust study habits depending on the season. Social calendars expand in summer and contract in winter. In Singapore, such considerations simply do not exist. The clock, rather than the sun, dictates life.

Impact of Seasons

Living with seasons shapes everything from fashion to food to leisure. Dutch wardrobes are rotated four times a year: heavy coats in winter, lighter jackets in spring, T-shirts in summer, and layered sweaters in autumn. In Singapore, the only real variation is carrying an umbrella for sudden rainstorms.

Food is also seasonal. Strawberries, asparagus, and herring appear in markets only at certain times of year, creating a sense of anticipation. In Singapore, imported produce is available year-round, and hawker food remains constant regardless of the month.

Leisure is seasonal too. Ice skating on frozen canals, though rare now, is still part of Dutch imagination. Cycling in summer is carefree, but in winter it is a battle against rain and wind. In Singapore, leisure activities are not dictated by the calendar — jogging, swimming, or eating outdoors is always possible, though often sweaty.

Singapore Orchard road

Christmas market The Netherlands

Adjusting to seasons has been both challenging and rewarding. I have learned to treasure the arrival of spring, to savor every long summer evening, to accept the melancholy beauty of autumn, and to endure the darkness of winter.

For a Singaporean audience, I would say this: imagine Orchard Road changing colour four times a year, or imagine your favorite hawker stall only opening for two months annually. That is what it feels like to live with seasons. Life becomes cyclical, with natural rhythms providing structure and variety.

At the same time, I appreciate Singapore’s constancy more than ever. There is comfort in knowing that you can wear the same clothes, plan the same routines, and never worry about icy roads or dark afternoons. Stability has its own beauty.

Living in the Netherlands taught me that seasons are not just about weather — they shape culture, food, traditions, and even psychology. For someone from Singapore, it is both fascinating and humbling to realize how much daily life can depend on whether the sun sets at 10 p.m. or 4 p.m.

If Singapore’s climate is like a steady drumbeat, the Netherlands’ seasons are like a symphony: spring’s overture, summer’s crescendo, autumn’s diminuendo, and winter’s silence. Each movement has its joys and challenges. Experiencing both makes me appreciate the stability of the tropics and the drama of the temperate zones.

In the end, perhaps the greatest lesson is this: whether you live under the steady equatorial sun or the shifting European skies, weather is more than just background. It is the stage on which life unfolds, shaping who we are and how we live.