The Best American Travel Writing 2015
“Then I walked along Avenue Kogalniceanu toward the university, a 2-mile trudge on treacherous, muddy sidewalks. A dense fog made everything—buildings, trolleys, pedestrians, mongrels—appear insubstantial. Through the gloom, thousands of shadowy crows watched from tree branches. Moldova’s weather was supposed to be mild for Eastern Europe, but during my time in the country it seemed to be perpetually raw and overcast. The chill went to the bones; I never felt warm, despite the high-priced cold-w...eather gear I had brought with me.
Stepping gingerly down the street, I always started to feel nervous as I approached the university. It was not the classes in American literature and culture that put me on edge—I enjoyed teaching the classes and I liked the students. No, the little spasm of dread I felt as I mounted the steps to the philology building each morning was entirely due to my unavoidable encounter with the gatekeeper, the Matron of the Keys—a short, stout woman about 60 years old who dressed in a starched white outfit reminiscent of a nineteenth-century asylum nurse.MoreLess
Stepping gingerly down the street, I always started to feel nervous as I approached the university. It was not the classes in American literature and culture that put me on edge—I enjoyed teaching the classes and I liked the students. No, the little spasm of dread I felt as I mounted the steps to the philology building each morning was entirely due to my unavoidable encounter with the gatekeeper, the Matron of the Keys—a short, stout woman about 60 years old who dressed in a starched white outfit reminiscent of a nineteenth-century asylum nurse.MoreLess
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