I had to wait 6 years to have the same feelings, my face is starting to ache. A mercyless clod wraps me up . I am in Bucharest, walking over the icy road, fighting a lost battle against “General Moroz”. Today we reached minus 12 celcius, tomorrow, if we are still alive, we may reach minus 14.

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At the beginning of the century Bucharest was called the litte Paris, its glamourous roads and a reconstruction of the Champs Élisés with is Arque du Triompe to conmemorate the I WW gave the rest. Nowadays it is a decadent city, covered with filthy soviet buildings, remembrance of the Comunist “Grandeur”. Noble villas yelded, decades ago, to the new red supremacy. Unique Bucharest is no more. Hail the new mediocre soviet world where you could live in the same apartment type regardless it was located in Perm or in Timisoara.