Alexandra Raskin

I left the hotel with my guidebook in tow shortly after arriving in Bucharest, Romania. The first walking tour took me down Calea Victoriei, suggesting I duck into an alley that would connect me with the old town. It may have been the rustle of sheets hung to dry, although it was more likely the jetlag that led me into the wrong alley. It was nearly silent despite being open on either end to bustling thoroughfares, and entirely devoid of people. The laundry, perfectly still suggested I was in the wrong place. It was a mistake I was glad to have made.