Each morning, the streets are quiet, littered with confetti, glasses, and paper. By 9:00 the Zambonis appear a platoon of street sweeper that scoop up all the trash before people start drifting back in at noon.
They arrive in miniature versions of Sunday’s parade, pushing floats through the Wyck and playing polkas and Sousa marches as bands cross the Maas. Some set up on street corners to perform, while others cross the city, posing for pictures.
It’s a wonderful event, one I look forward to and that has no real counterpart in the US. I’m not sure why: maybe a country has to pass through it’s period as a world economic and military power, emerging with a more relaxed sense of itself.
And on Tuesday evening, it all ends. The bier is discounted one final time; the Moeswijf drops at midnight.