Alo

As the story goes, there once lived a farmer in a village. And the farmer went forth to sow some maize. Now it came to pass, as he was sowing, that the Lord Himself chanced to walk by, Saint Peter at His side. Now, it would have been right and meet for our Lord to hold His

In a village, the story goes, there once lived a lad who had neither father, nor mother, nor any other kin; so obscure was his lineage, in fact, that for all we know, he may well have dropped there from the sky. As the boy was meek, long suffering and slow to speak, the

Around 1820, Barbu Paris Mumulean thus concluded one of his poems: Hankering I will not fade / Cupid cometh but in aid / thus in luxury I may / crave until I wilt away. In actuality, these verses word the ideal of a generation that sets out to inventory, and answer for,

An event that happened several years ago and has turned, in time, into an urban legend, goes like this: the employees of a German-owned media trust had become lazy and unruly, would come to work when, and if, they felt like it, and would actually work only between two coffee

excerpt They'd dozed off. The devilish furnace of the sun was blazing fiercely. They were positively stewing as through the shadow cast by their soles two Gypsy women walked by, bent under the burden of a galvanized bucket with a chunk of ice protruding from it. Ice-cold

The two Popescus had meanwhile agreed that the first settlement the current location of the village could be traced down to, with any degree of accuracy, dated back to the middle of the 18th century or thereabouts, and belonged to a band of plain raiders coming to rest in

excerpts Most traditional stories move from a bad start to an agreeable conclusion. The story I am going to share with you falls short of the traditional canon. For one thing, it begins agreeably enough, only to draw to an unsavoury conclusion with ambiguously loose ends.

I was born and I spent my childhood in the capital of the country that is called Romania, a state that at that time had prided itself for about a decade with the name of Greater Romania, which was a creation of the preceding generation, but also the outcome of a long series

Vasile Socoliuc was born on August 7, 1937, at Tisauti, Suceava County. After taking courses at the Fine Arts School in Bucharest, he attended the N. Grigorescu Fine Arts Institute, graphics department. He worked as a graphic artist with the Publishing House for World Literature,

excerpts CADIR: What you do?IANKE: Linger around!CADIR: What about the children? This is big trouble! Here you stay in the house so calmly and the children stay there crying. IANKE: I knew it! Didn't I tell you? They are crying and waiting for the train! Luckily there's

My grandfather Mehmed Ali was an old-fashioned Turk. He wore a long beard and the traditional Turkish costume. Each morning he would sit down next to the charcoal, the earthenware pot filled with live coals, sip his coffee and puff his long-stemmed chibouk. He would often

The history of Dobrudja, this ancient stretch of land between the Danube and the Black Sea, the territory thereof rightfully has been noted as an authentic ethnic blend, has along the centuries imposed a genuine model of co-habitation. Dobrudja was the trunk carrying the