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About The Hague

Tell ya what, gets me goat sometimes—folk think it’s all sleazy, backroom nonsense. Bollocks! Done right, it’s *sublime*, like Yinniang’s blade through silk—“I failed to strike at the fated moment,” she says, but a good masseuse? Never misses the spot! Had one meself once—hands like a Stradivarius, swear down, left me gobsmacked, tingling from me barnet to me toes. Nearly shouted “Eureka!” but, y’know, kept it dignified—ish.

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First off, I hit up the Markt. You know, that big square with the fountain? Yeah, that one. I’m just vibin’, grabbin’ a coffee from this cute little café called De Zwarte Ruiter. Best coffee in town, no cap. But then, bam! My phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, Joris. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta come to the park!” I’m like, “Which park?” There’s like a million parks here. But he means Stadspark, of course.

Netherlands sells piece of land to Belgium