There are very few obviously homeless people on the streets. The streets are generally cleaner than in American cities. For reasons I cannot fathom, there are no big trucks in the city, even on the expressways. I’m not sure how products get into the city, but not by semi. As a result, the expressway a few hundred meters from the apartment never erupts into that assaultive roar of a semi downshifting – it sounds more like surf on a beach. There are far fewer obviously homeless people on the streets of this poor country.
Some aspects are worse than in America. The streets and sidewalks look as if the city had been shelled by howitzers, and parking often resembles the aftermath of a county fair demolition derby. Street signs are clearly optional. So take the trolley …
The food here is cheap, fresh and healthy. The tomatoes, cucumbers, peaches and cherries are consistently the best I’ve ever had. The farm cheese comes in many varieties and is more a staple than a flavor enhancer. You can live on salads, fruit, nuts in countless varieties and good bread with pleasure. The food is cheap. The wonderful cherries cost about a dollar a pound. A fermented wheat soft drink called boza is sweet and acidic, foamy, slightly thick and addictive.
A bottle of Bulleit bourbon that costs $28 in Connecticut and $36 in Massachusetts costs $23 here – after transportation across the Atlantic. Go figure …
After one week here, there has been much to appreciate.
