In my North American-centric ignorance, I imagined Romania as a place bypassed by history and teeming with mist-draped castles. Eddy, amused by my skewed perceptions of his homeland, would fill the evenings with tales of the real Romania, the communist Romania, the totalitarian cult-of-personality Romania that was the closest thing to Stalin since…well, Stalin. His tales were the highlight of my biennial visits to Greece, and confirmed the wisdom of my cousin’s decision to marry him.
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