Dobrogea

A piece of hilly land stretched or maybe squeezed between the Danube and the Black Sea, careless about all the surrounding water, stubbornly dry and arid. The general chromatic of the landscape remains the same, but the view seems to change with any little angle of the road: the familiarity provides the comfort, the surprise keeps us in the moment. We keep stopping the car taking more pictures and delaying any form of final destination, none of us interested anymore to remember the initial schedule. The side of the road takes over. Two good hours of conversation about bee behavior with a family of beekeepers shed a new light on feminism and women empowerment (Gabi, we need your antropo/zoo/sexologic entry here). A ripe watermelon savored in the shade reveals why Romanians have no missionary vocation. A local festival in Istria, imaginatively named “Lactate Dobrogene pentru piete europene” (Dobrogea Dairy for the Euro Market) provides a paradoxical mix of Tatar and Turkish dances with “Noi suntem romani” and “Tu Ardeal!” (as aggressive Romanian nationalistic songs as you can get) in a true tolerant European spirit.