|De Weaze: a walk on the seedy side|
Once again, it occurs to me that there are no tourists here mid-August. No wonder all the people are so nice to me!
The felafel is very good, expertly fried balls and lots of salad stuffings, from marinated carrots to coleslaw to couscous. Healthy food for a change. I sit outside and chomp my sandwich as local kids hang at the next table. A young blonde woman with bookish glasses seems to know the Algerian youth behind the counter. When he asks me how I liked the felafal, she says, "If he made it, it's b-a-a-d." She seems to enjoy giving him a hard time. When I left, I intended to slip away but the kids insisted on saying goodbye.
The Procees - Henk and Gre - gave me what must've been their grownup son's former room. He is now owner of a tony bakery/café on the Nieuwestad, where I later consumed a bland tartar on a bun with some wilted lettuce. It was a comfortable enough single bed though no match for Janneke's fluffy but firm queen.
|The genius of Henk Procee|
|Deos "coffee shop"|
Retreated into what I think is called the Prinsentuin, an elegantly landscaped park with hills, a fountain clearing a hole in the stagnant greenery that forms a thin crust upon the pond. There's a tony cafe at the top overlooking the pond, behind a big willow. Strangely the place is occupied mostly by ghetto youth (I can tell by their baseball caps and sneakers). Anyhow, it's my last moment of peace in Friesland and I'm enjoying it to the fullest.