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About The Hague

Worst part? The awkward intros. “Hey, u up?” Cringe, fam. I’d rather die. One time, matched with a poet—her opener was “Roses are red, let’s bang.” I’m deadass laughin, like, “Aight, respect.” Didn’t work out, tho—she ghosted mid-haiku. Sex-dating’s a gamble, bruh. You win some, lose most. Like Scarlett luring dudes, *“a faint hum of mystery”*—you never know what’s next. I’m obsessed with the absurdity. Carl the iguana still haunts me. What’s your take, fam? Hit me up.

The Jewish population of Harderwijk and surroundings:

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First stop, I’m at the Vischmarkt. It’s this cute lil’ fish market, and I’m all about that fresh seafood life. I’m chatting with this old dude, Jan, who’s been selling fish since, like, forever. He’s got stories, man. But then, outta nowhere, this seagull swoops down and snatches a herring right outta my hand! I’m standing there, mouth agape, like, “Did that just happen?” Jan’s cracking up, and I’m just mad. Like, who knew seagulls were such thieves?

NOS withdraw correspondent Iris de Graaf from Russia over safety concerns