I had two days before my little show in Bucharest introducing Romanian restaurants and liquor distributors to India’s finest whisky (in my humble opinion) “Bombay Blues”. After an early dinner at the Westin’s “Vlad the Impaler’s” bistro style restaurant I decided to take an evening stroll to Herastrau Park a huge park encircling a lagoon. I discovered a charming bistro on the lake and sat at a table on a patio overlooking the lake. I met the owner Sorine and we talked for a bit. Married a few years ago he and his wife voyaged to India for their honeymoon so we had something in common. We had a chat and consumed a large quantity of German beer sitting in tubs of ice by each table. I invited Sorine to my upcoming Bombay Blues reception.
I am going to relate to you a story as my publisher Wuhan Wet Market Publishing keeps inveigling me to keep amusing and titillating readers lest they be bored. I mean haven’t you been excited and thrilled so far? Haven’t I experienced an incredible life you will never experience? Who needs a Hollywood movie when you can read about me! Don’t read my story before you go to bed or you’ll never sleep.
So here we go to get you titillated and you can thank Wuhan Wet Market Publishing for insisting upon me relating to you this story although I think it is hardly racy.
Sorine and I had been chatting up a storm at his bistro whiling the night and early morning away. When Sorine closed at 2 a.m. he said that he would walk me home so off we wended through the park singing Romanian folk songs. I suppose it was the German beer talking but I was singing along in Romanian! A few minutes into our walk through the park a group of gypsies jumped out of the bushes with their musical instruments requesting a “donation”. I wanted to blow these hucksters away but Sorine said shut up or your throat may be slit like had been done to a few tourists each year. So we enjoyed the music paid out some cash and we were on our way.
The next day while having dinner at the J.W Marriot Bucharest Grand Hotel’s J.W. Steakhouse the sommelier approached my table and asked what wine I thought I might like with my ox steak. Our eyes met and when her beautiful blue eyes stared into mine my knees went weak. It was not wholly because she was the most beautiful women in Romania but rather in my CIA operative days in Bucharest we had a month-long torrid fling, I had met Corina at the Bucharest Ceauşescu Technical Institute. Her father at the time was a recent defector from the Ceauşescu regime so we thought at the CIA she might be useful to us which she was! But I could not blow my Indian travelling salesman cover so I held back at least knowing where to find her. But first I had to avenge Ginevra.
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