Twenty-five years later, he was holed up in a pool house in Harlingen, drunk, lonely, paranoid, and dying.
Thirty years ago much of our butter and beef and poultry sailed from Harlingen.
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.
On the 18th, Braccamonte, with his legion, arrived by water at Harlingen.
