![]() And all the way to Babadag, between the Baltic Coast and the Black Sea, where Stasiuk sees his first minaret, and#8220 simple and severe, a pencil pointed at the sky.and#8221 and#160 Ī brilliant tour of Europeand#8217 s dark undersideand#8212 travel writing at its very best. ![]() On to Soroca, a baroque-Byzantine-Tatar-Turkish encampment, to meet Gypsies. In Comrat, a funeral procession moves slowly down the main street, the open coffin on a pickup truck, an old woman dressed in black brushing away the flies above the face of the deceased. Where did Moldova end and Transylvania begin, he wonders as he is being driven at breakneck speed in an ancient Audiand#8212 loose wires hanging from the dashboardand#8212 by a driver in shorts and bare feet, a cross swinging on his chest. ![]() and#8220 The heart of my Europe,and#8221 Stasiuk tells us, and#8220 beats in Sokolow, Podlaski, and in Husi, not in Vienna.and#8221 and#160 To small towns and villages with unfamiliar-sounding yet strangely evocative names. His journeys take him from his native Poland to Slovakia, Hungary, Romania, Slovenia, Albania, Moldova, and Ukraine. ![]() Andrzej Stasiuk is a restless and indefatigable traveler. ![]()
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