Twenty-five years later, he was holed up in a pool house in Harlingen, drunk, lonely, paranoid, and dying.
Possibly it is still to be seen: certainly other visitors to Harlingen should be more energetic than I was, and make sure.
It is no joke when one lives in a town like Harlingen to act differently from other people.
Thirty years ago much of our butter and beef and poultry sailed from Harlingen.
On the 18th, Braccamonte, with his legion, arrived by water at Harlingen.