Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

The Phanariot Manuscript

resonance of Bucharest . The music didn’t count at all for him right then, it was all about the glamour of a city of great dancers. “Don’t believe all of Mustafa’s nonsense,” Okimon said, agitated. “Firstly, Wallachia is at the end of the world! With the money spent on a journey there, you could build a house in the middle of the Căţol neighbourhood!” Okimon’s advice seemed right. After all, Ioanis would soon turn 17, the set age for men of the Milikopu can to take up weapons. AshebroodedoverOkimon’s words, he began sewing. The silk wool which had cost his family’s lunch began to take the shape of some trousers, somewhat short even after

or more dignified than enrolling in Lambros’s fleet. As disappointment was already beginning to swell in his nose, the teacher openly confessed that he didn’t have the least bit of confidence is his civic potential. “What will you do, young Milikopu? Will you take the road to Istanbul?” “Why not? Was it not you who said that beyond Istanbul there are some Wallachians led by a Greek sailor?” Although it was only a standard question, a think cord in his blood vibrated subtly. The word, that treacherous word similar to a razor, grew in number. Of course, he didn’t reflect for one moment upon the acute

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