It was the bitter last day of an epic year, 1989. Revolutions had swept across Europe. From Poland to Hungary to East Germany, communist regimes toppled like proverbial dominoes. The Berlin Wall was gone, the Cold War over. And now, the hated regime of Nicolae Ceausescu was gone as well, the only revolution won with blood in the streets.
Abruptly, I felt an overwhelming need to be out of Romania, out of Eastern Europe, before the New Year. Perhaps it was the visit to the cemetery and the poor innocents being buried in the snow. "Revolution overload," one friend called it.
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