Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

Life Begins on Friday

‘What do you mean there are not many people there at the weekend? What day is it today? Isn’t it Monday? Today was Monday!’ Petre did not deign to reply. He seemed clear in his mind. The horse was moving at a trot and the surroundings were innocent enough, and yet I was about to lose my mind. The trees arched whitely overhead, then the open road, the sun, again clumps of woodland and a lone bird fluttering without a care. We soon reached the main road, where many different tracks could be seen mingling together. ‘It’sFriday,’hecondescended to say – seemingly mollified. Having risen before dawn, after a night of restless sleep and exhausted by my own agitation, I think I then fell asleep.

‘Just a hob, a skib and a jumb and we’ll be there!’ My opening eyes were seized by the most astonishing scene I had ever beheld. The sun was high in the sky. The light suffused a bustling street: carriages to which were harnessed pairs of glossy horses, an ox cart creaking under a gigantic barrel, hansoms, irritable coachmen, one- and two- storey buildings in whose windows glinted the rays of the sun, shops with gaily painted signs. The people were seemingly all dressed in the same fashion, one matching the other. The ladies wore hats swathed in scarves tied beneath the chin; their waists were unnaturally slender and their heavy garments reached to the ground. The men all had bowler hats and canes. Two officers in

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