"There is no bad weather in Amsterdam. Just bad clothes." Or so I'm told by other expats who notice that the Dutch have learned to dress for success in the damp, chilly weather: scarves, hats, gloves, ponchos, and, of course, umbrellas (held in one hand when biking, while the other hand navigates the busy streets). I used to think it was just the expats here who are obsessed with talking about the weather. In a version of the old adage, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder", expats tend to wax nostalgic about the weather from "home". Magically, we forget about the piles of snow and ice, the heat and humidity, and complain about the rain and lack of sun here. After a few months, I developed another theory about all the weather talk: it's a safe topic when you don't know someone very well. It's kind of like when older folks - I know; I'm almost there - talk about their ailments. Instead of prattling on about knee replacements or sore hips, we endlessly analyze the weather. You are in this together, so why not bore each other with long laments about the lack of sun? Then I started to realize that maybe there's something unique about Amsterdam's weather that inspires all of this weather talk.

Even the displays of Spring clothes feature scarves. Scarves in Amsterdam are not just worn for decoration. These scarves are worn to do battle with the weather. They get wrapped around your neck to protect you from the wind, like a knight's co… — Even the displays of Spring clothes feature scarves. Scarves in Amsterdam are not just worn for decoration. These scarves are worn to do battle with the weather. They get wrapped around your neck to protect you from the wind, like a knight's coat of armor.

I recently returned from a 10 day sprint to the U.S. to celebrate birthdays (of my young mother- and father-in-law) and to catch up with lots of other family members. In that short time, I basked in the sun on Sanibel Island, Florida and slipped on the snow in New Jersey. I can't exactly complain about dealing with one day of snow, after what my friends in the Northeast U.S. have had to contend with this winter. Nonetheless, complain I will, since that seems to be the way we expats deal with the weather in Amsterdam. Snow on the first day of Spring? Come on, couldn't you bring me a little sun and some decent weather since I was only in N.J. for a few days?

This photo was taken near my mom's place outside Rocky Hill, New Jersey. O.K., it was pretty out there. I appreciated the effort that went into bringing me the blue sky. I don't get to see much of that these days in Amsterdam. — This photo was taken near my mom's place outside Rocky Hill, New Jersey. O.K., it *was* pretty out there. I appreciated the effort that went into bringing me the blue sky. I don't get to see much of that these days in Amsterdam.

Prior to braving that uninvited snowstorm, I did enjoy four blissful days of sun in Florida. All four Drucker-Vines had been counting the days until our visit. The weather did not disappoint. It was in the mid-80's and sunny every day. Never have I been so happy to see the sun, since it has been a rare commodity this winter in Amsterdam. The bike paths in Sanibel helped me get my bike fix, but the bike path behavior was quite different from what I have become accustomed to here. Lots of polite, "On your left"s delivered with a smile. No motorbikes nearly gunning you down.

Almost as exotic as the plants (and the polite bike riders) was the blue sky that greeted us each morning of our stay. — Almost as exotic as the plants (and the polite bike riders) was the blue sky that greeted us each morning of our stay.

Here's the view from the back patio of my father-in-law Danny and his wife Sandy's house. For all my Amsterdam friends, this is what we call a sunset. It's what happens when something called the sun sets.

Since my return to Amsterdam, we have had a long stretch of damp, grey, windy days.

I'm not placing any bets on seeing the sun on Sunday either.

The one word that best describes the weather in Amsterdam is "unpredictable". Het verandert steeds, they would say in Dutch. It keeps changing. You can't assume that a glimpse of sun at any given moment will stick around for any length of time. I have set off on my bike or on a walk with Casey, under a blue sky, only to be drenched in a rainstorm minutes later. Or worse, I've had to duck into doorways when a hailstorm descends. Then even Casey has a "O.K. this is ridiculous" look on his face.

A hailstorm that I watched from the safety of our kitchen windows. The first time I heard one of these storms, I thought the windows were shattering. Nope! Just another hailstorm in Amsterdam.

To be fair, we did have a little taste of Spring before I left for the U.S. Here is Peter on the rooftop deck belonging to our friends Darlene and Rob. We helped them usher in what we foolishly believed to be a long line of sunny days. Now… — To be fair, we did have a little taste of Spring before I left for the U.S. Here is Peter on the rooftop deck belonging to our friends Darlene and Rob. We helped them usher in what we foolishly believed to be a long line of sunny days. Now we know that we have to seize the sunny moments when they come, just like the Dutch do.

In fact, I think the Dutch may have the following song playing in their heads whenever the sun makes an appearance. They sit outdoors in cafes, wrapped in blankets provided along with the meals, and lift their faces to the sun. I also love this song because it reminds me of my 5th grade class last year. We sang it (along with many other Beatles songs) in the mornings to practice our reading fluency and, of course, because learning the lyrics to songs by the Beatles should be part of every kid's education, right?

It wasn't even sunny when I took this photo. Nevertheless, there were a few hearty souls outside at the café in our neighborhood. The temperature, you ask? The mid-40's. — It wasn't even sunny when I took this photo. Nevertheless, there were a few hearty souls outside at the café in our neighborhood. The temperature, you ask? The mid-40's.

I decided to do a little research on the wet weather here. Apparently, 217 days a year are "wet". And although January has the greatest number of wet days (22), August is actually the wettest month. That may explain why so many Dutch and expats alike go away for the entire month. http://www.amsterdam.climatemps.com/precipitation.php. But just as Americans are fond of their own weather phrase, "It's not the heat; it's the humidity," expats like to complain, "It's not the rain; it's the lack of sun." Is that really such a problem in Amsterdam? A quick Google search revealed that grey, wet, blah weather is the result of something called a low "sunshine duration". Northern Europe has one of the world's lowest sunshine duration levels. That explains why folks here here run off to places I have to look up on a map, like the Seychelle Islands, and the Maladives. Then they post photos on Facebook with the bluest-of-blue oceans, while you are drying your wet clothes on the radiator after yet another soggy walk with the dog, trying to ingore the wet dog smell that wafts around the apartment. Those exotic sun worshippers don't even tell you where they are when they post on Facebook. Instead, they wait for someone to post the comment, "OMG. So beautiful! Where are you?" Then they let you in on the secret, as if they just forgot to mention that small detail from the get go.

Those who can't make it to a deserted tropical island every month often resort to gadgets to help them get their sun fix. The other day at brunch with a bunch of expats, someone brought up the subject of the lack of sun here (of course). One woman originally from sunny Colombia mentioned a sun lamp and raved about it. She referred to it as a S.A.D. (Seasonal Affective Disorder) lamp. When I came home and investigated, I found that the lead author of the study on the effectiveness of lamps to treat "the winter blues" is from (of course) the VU Medical Center in Amsterdam. Where else would you live when studying the effects of sun deprivation? http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/01/06/light-therapy-for-depression/?

It turns out, my loyal blog readers, that I am not the only one to write about the weather here. Thrilllist published a list entitled The 99 Problems With Amsterdam. Let's take a look at the first eleven items on that list:

1. Not every day is King's Day
2. Lots of people don't even know what country it's in. Or that it's not its own country.
3. Outsiders think locals are all prostitutes and drug users. But only some of us are.
4. It rains here. A lot.
5. And hails more than should be normal
6. It's super windy too
7. Sometimes you find yourself biking sideways
8. Days get reeeally short in winter
9. And summer doesn't offer too many good beach days
10. OK, the weather just sucks
11. And everyone's constantly complaining about it

I promise to spend an entire blog on King's Day, so don't worry if you don't know what that is. Do notice that #4 through #11 are all weather-related.

Lest you think we are getting soft when you hear complaints about a little rain, I do need to mention the wind. When we first moved here, I didn't even know what those squiggles were on the weather map on my phone. I had to ask Ben, who advised me that they warn you about gusty wind. I see that symbol a lot these days. It's really windy here at times. I mean windy, as in knock-a-motorbike-over windy.

If it's windy enough to knock these motorbikes over, imagine what can happen to a person. I'm not exactly petite, but when riding on a windy day, I sometimes feel I might end up like these poor bikes. I'm guessing people here would be just as concer… — If it's windy enough to knock these motorbikes over, imagine what can happen to a person. I'm not exactly petite, but when riding on a windy day, I sometimes feel I might end up like these poor bikes. I'm guessing people here would be just as concerned about seeing me lying in the road as they are about these motorbikes.

Another clue that it is really windy is when the planes start flying over Vondel Park (right near our apartment) on their way to Schipol airport. The first time I saw how close to the ground the planes were flying, I almost ducked my head. You really get a close view of the bottom of a plane as they fly over on their rerouted-by-the-wind path.

So, what's an expat gal to do? Complain about the lack of sun (or "low sunshine duration", for you science types) or just make the best of it? Since I don't do well on a beach in the height of summer, and don't miss the frozen tundra that the Northeast has become over the past two winters, I think I like the weather here just fine. As my Dutch language books says, "Wat een heerlijk klimaat heeft Nederland! Het weer is nooit hetzelfde. Het is niet te warm, maar ook niet te koud. Het beste plekje op aarde!" Got that? I said, "What a lovely climate the Netherlands has. The weather is never the same. It is not too warm, but also not too cold. The best spot on earth!" I might not completely agree with this glowing assessment the next time it pours, but it's close to the truth. To help me survive, I'll just down my Vitamin D, don my newly-purchased waterproof rain pants (thanks to a tip from my Californian/sun-loving friend Tracy), and hop on my bike in the rain like a real Dutchie. I used to think I wouldn't be able to survive without the sun, but I've come to appreciate the joys of a less hot and cold weather world. For one, just think how good my skin will look after a few years here. Second, think about how a constant supply of rain leads to some gorgeous flowers right in your own neighborhood (which you have to constantly struggle to keep your dog from peeing on, I might add). It's important to be a half-full cup when it comes to the rain in Amsterdam, as this recent Facebook post from another American expat clearly shows:

"Today I can complain
because the weather is rainy
or I can be thankful
that the grass
is getting watered for free.

Just found it fitting for a rainy day like today."

So... is there something special about Amsterdam weather that makes it such a ever-present topic of conversation? I think it's the way it can change on a dime that makes it endlessly interesting to talk about. The weather also teaches you about the power of optimism: you can never declare any day a wash-out, because the sun could make its first glorious appearance at 5 p.m. Hope springs eternal here.

So, rather than mourn the lack of sun, I plan to celebrate it, much like The Weather Girls did in this 1982 hit song. At the time this song was on everyone's mind, I was living in San Francisco, another oasis of soggy weather. I think it rained for 40 days and 40 nights my first winter there. This song got me through those dark days then, so if I need it, it will be here for me during our time in Amsterdam. Here, it's not raining men (nor was it in San Francisco in 1982 - at least for me - for that matter). I'll just pretend it's raining appeltaart here and all will be well. And when it's still light out at 10:30 at night this summer, it will all be worth it.

The good ol' days! Thanks to all of our family, whether from chilly N.J. or sunny Florida, for all of the fodder for this post on the weather. — The good ol' days! Thanks to all of our family, whether from chilly N.J. or sunny Florida, for all of the fodder for this post on the weather.