Alis

by Sarane Alexandrian

by Michel Carassou

by Grigore Moisil (1906-1973)

by Ion Grigorescu

Cismigiu Gardens Every time I visit this place, I feel the same. Maybe it’s because the elegant flower beds, the winding paths and the chatter of happy kids. Or maybe it’s the young lovers who paddle rowing boats, the skeletal old ladies who gossip on benches of battered

Both me and the editor of the show listened with great delight to the story of the young American, of Romanian origin, who had come back to Romania in search of his roots and to set up a business. The young man had married a girl from Humuleşti, and now he spoke wonderful

In those days they used to go to the Eastern Station, visiting some acquaintances: friends, as they might, after all, also have called them. Except that on this point, at least, Olga was right: they were not their friends; indeed, there was no way or time when they could

Government Palace in Victoriei Sq. a fragment from the novel Derapaj (Skid), Iaşi, Polirom 2006 Maria’s life glowed with a murky sort of splendor, her past, though committed to oblivion, constantly closing in on her and obscuring her thoughts like the spots of a solar

Bucharest is a city that is difficult to describe, and difficult is a term that tends to suggest the word impossible. Many of us have probably at least once in our lifetime been in the situation of talking about the city that we live in. And, just as probable, among the

Go take a walk down the boulevards of Bucharest these days and breathe deeply. With your nostrils widely open. What a wonderful scent of spring! Without feeling it, in this package made up of the perfume of snowdrops and violets, you have just breathed in some sulfur oxides,

Several TV channels have been offering lately, especially on the lazier weekend days, shows about houses. They're filmed at more than sluggish speeds, with repeated shots and, usually, presented by voices that just can't contain their admiration for the ideas of

Peeled off plaster, broken windows, rats scuttling at ease day and night. And above all, the filth. Complete and utter filth reigning supreme over a piece of downtown Bucharest. But also over a piece of our past. The only part still living is the sign above the door, reading