At the conclusion of the dinner, boxes of clay pipes were brought and filled for the men, who separated into groups under the trees, and as I watched the wreathes of blue smoke curling lazily up through the summer air, the whole scene seemed like a leaf torn from some old romance.
At parting we were served with coffee or beer and bakkels, a peculiar sort of fried cake, much eaten by the Scandinavians with their coffee.
[this newspaper report was submitted by a regular reader of this blog to whom I am grateful]
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