Seraing didn't disappoint: we arrived at dusk and there was barely a soul around. Those who were looked at us with a mixture of disbelief and mistrust. Our car, which was parked on a vast and windy square, was inspected closely by a slightly threatening, disheveled looking guy. The neons told us that the only two shops still open were a turkish grocery and a 'Friture'. We never found the street from 'Arm Wallonië', though.
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