Today I made an offering of breadcrumbs, but it was refused.
Learning about it quite suddenly in a conversation with a Romanian friend, I was once again reminded I am a stranger in a strange land -- and that is a sensation that is both phenomenally exciting and unsettling.
I have a theory that J.K. Rowling visited Romania, and rode around in taxis, long before she ever wrote about the Knight Bus. As fans of the Harry Potter series know, the Knight Bus is a little piece of wizard engineering that allows the bus to squeeze itself through the most improbable holes in the traffic, including right between two tight, moving lanes. Yes, I have experienced this in many Romanian taxis. Yes it is nervewracking the first half-dozen times or so.
It was just lying there without even offering to explain itself in the slightest.
This year I am thankful I don't have to look at dancing turkeys on the television.
It didn't particularly concern me that there might be a flock of pteradactyls coasting above the parking lot. That sort of worry has lost its power over me. A herd of elephants could suddenly appear on the street and I would probably not spend too much time thinking about it at this point.
I wasn't quite sure about it at first, as there is a strongish scent that hits you as soon as you put the glass up to your face. Reminded me just a little of boiled eggs.
We have, of course, been warned away from many types of alcohols, but since we can't remember the names of them, all warnings have been in vain.
As it turned out, a Very Nice Man who spoke only enough English to tell us he didn't speak English was there to disconnect our lights.
She's old, with ravines in her face as deep as the pit in my stomach everytime I see her. I always wonder where she lives, and if there's anyone there to greet her, or if she returns to a full house of laughing children tinkling the coins they've earned that day.
He's the kind of guy you wonder about, the kind you want to put into books.
The gentleman who printed our resumes a few days ago simply could not understand why two Americans would want to come to Romania.
Maybe it was because he thought we were funny-looking and wanted to satisfy his curiosity. Or maybe it's because, out here on the rim, things are different.
Step 5: Discover there is possibly only one laundromat in all of Bucharest.
There I was, the only passenger on the stopped train -- probably even the only passenger in the entire station -- when this particular uniformed man stepped on board and started speaking to me in Romanian.
Uniformed men do have a way of appearing suddenly on trains, which is always good for an adrenaline rush.
Romanian drivers will put their cars anyplace there is an empty spot, and if that place happens to be between two lanes of traffic, then by George, that's where he will go.
The last time we went to Club A, the floor was so packed, you couldn't help but writhe against strangers.
It has become somewhat a source of pride for me that I'm spreading the tentacles of the Deep South throughout the globe and finding...virtually all the same things I left behind in the first place.
On his first day in Bucharest, our friend Eysteinn was bitten by a dog. He wasn't just bitten; he was chomped.
 The Bucharest metro is a strange, surreal place. Graffiti artists have done their thing, as you can see by the very bad photo I took of one of my favorite trains.
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