How to Survive a Dutch Summer as a South African

(Armed With Only Braai Tongs, a Dream, and a Hoodie With Pockets)

Listen, bru…

When a Dutch person chirps, “It’s summer!”, my inner Saffa does a little skud—like someone just whispered “Woolies sale” or “free biltong samples at the Spar.” I’m picturing plakkies, beach days, and someone in the distance yelling, “Yoh, who forgot the ice for the Castle?!”

But then—reality.

Hard.

I step outside in the Netherlands and boom: clouds, wind, and goosebumps that could sandpaper a plank. I’m standing on my mini balkon in a “Don’t Make Me Braai You” tee, sunglasses (for emotional support), and a hoodie because the wind is actively trying to ruin my self-esteem.

Below, the Dutch are sprawled in the sun like dehydrated dassies. Me? I’m clutching my braai tongs like they’re therapy tools. Because, let’s be honest, they are.

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 The Great Dutch Braai Catastrophe

(Now Featuring: Tofu Trauma and Emotional Damage)

Last weekend, I got ambitious. I invited my Dutch friends for a “real” South African braai in the park. You know—build bridges, share gees, start international relations with boerewors.

I pitched up like the barefoot braai queen I am, carrying:

• A mini braai I carried like a toddler in a car seat

• A suspicious bag of charcoal that had survived 3 train transfers

• Boerewors, Mrs. Ball’s, and my last shred of dignity

• And a dream… a soggy, slightly overconfident dream

The Dutchies arrived with… hummus. Couscous salad. Tofu sausages. I smiled and whispered “Shame” under my breath like a seasoned hostage.

As soon as the wors started sizzling, another random Saffa emerged from the bushes like a boerie-seeking missile.

“Howzit! Got pap?”

“Nah, just broodjies, my bru.”

He nodded, silent, devastated. We stood in that smoke together, two papless souls adrift in Europe.

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 Dutch Summer: A Scam With Excellent PR

This weather changes its mood more than your ex during Mercury retrograde.

• 12:00: Warm sunshine

• 12:06: Aggressive wind and regrets

• 12:18: Sideways hail that stings your soul

• 13:00: Sunburn through your hoodie

You wear a dress, but your bag’s got backup jeans, a raincoat, emergency poncho, and possibly a kayak. Because here, you never know if you’re going to braai, swim, or survive an apocalypse.

Meanwhile, the locals are swimming in canals like it’s Club Med. We’re on the edge, thinking, “This feels like medical aid fraud.”

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 Language Confusion & Cultural Landmines

Trying to teach your Dutch mate to say “lekker” is like asking your dog to make vetkoek.

“Leck-air?”

No, man. It’s LA-KKERRRR. With your chest. With your soul. Say it like you’ve just had chakalaka with slap chips on a bad day.

You say “robot,” they look for a Roomba.

You say “just now,” they panic and check their planner.

You say “sokkie,” and they think it’s a sock-themed rave.

“Eish”

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 Expat Saffa Moments You Know Too Well

• Spotting a fellow Saffa by her Havaianas, top-knot, and Mrs. Ball’s in her handbag like pepper spray

• Explaining “ag, shame” to yet another Dutchie who thought it meant “sorry, not sorry”

• Sokkie-ing on uneven bricks at a festival because “Pata Pata” started playing and your feet had no choice

• Getting teary when someone shouts “Howzit!” across the park and you just know you’ve found your tribe

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 Your Saffa Summer Survival Kit

Pack like you’re going camping in four seasons—at once:

• Braai tongs: Emotional weapon, tool of unity, meat flipper extraordinaire

• Mrs. Ball’s Chutney: Diplomatic offering and emergency salad dressing

• A hoodie with pockets: To store your lip balm, dignity, and side-eye

• Biltong: Snack, emotional support, cultural flex

• A survival stare: For when someone says, “We don’t eat meat”

• Raincoat, umbrella, backup shoes: Because the sky has no loyalty

• Confidence of someone raised on Koo beans and silent suffering

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 Moral of the Story?

You can take the South African out of the braai…

But you can’t take the braai out of the South African—even if she’s standing under a broken umbrella, holding soggy buns, while her Dutch friend asks if boerewors is “like a vegan-friendly hotdog.”

If you’ve survived:

• A Woolies till queue on pensioner day

• An N1 pothole that swallowed your tyre

• And Eskom’s mood swings

Then trust me, you can survive a Dutch summer.

Just remember to:

• Braai like no one’s judging

• Laugh like no one’s watching

• And keep your Mrs. Ball’s close, your friends closer, and your plakkies ready for any emotional exits

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 Grateful, Wet, and Slightly Sunburnt

Honestly? Despite the chaos, I’m blessed to have these wild stories. From soggy wors to unexpected sokkies, being an expat in the Netherlands is many things—but never boring. It’s not always perfect, but it’s perfectly real.

Here’s to sunshine, wors, and finding your people—even if it’s under a soggy picnic blanket in a Dutch park.

If this made you laugh, share it with a fellow expat still learning what “just now” really means. If it didn’t... ag, shame, go sit in the sun for five minutes until your gees kicks in.

 PS from the Vibes Boss

This post is brought to you by Coolest Xpat Vibes — the site that’s still getting its ducks in a row (some of them are drunk, one’s missing, and the rest are vibing in clogs).

The skeleton’s up, the soul’s loading. It’s all being built between shifts, bruised feet, cold coffee, late nights, and those questionable life decisions I call “character building.”

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So if you share this post — be a lekker human, don’t copy-paste.

Tag, credit, or shout me out like you’re calling your cousin to come fetch wors from the braai.

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