The land where  the tune of  the Shepherd’s flute  is still heard. 


• THE COUNTRY WHERE THE TUNE OF THE SHEPHERD’s FLUTE IS STILL HEARD • 

He is at the airport and is waiting to check in. He will leave Bucharest again and go and work for a company in Malmö. 

9 weeks work , 3 weeks free. 

He receives no salary when he is free. He receives no salary if he is sick one day. He receives less pay than the Swedish workers. – But! The salary he receives is still much higher than that in Romania. So he goes. He goes one more time. 

He really doesn’t want to leave his country. In fact, the only thing he wants is for the politicians , in his country , to take care of their people, that corruption should stop so that he can stay in his own country. The country where the inviting Carpathian mountains are calling him, where the music from the shepherd’s flute is still heard, where the sun warms him up and where the echoes from people’s  jokes are heard afar. 

His country where people are constantly fighting against politics , but where the old ladies invite you to elderflower juice , when you only ask about direction. 

The place where the sunflower burst into a smile in the summertime and where the smell of ‘leustean ‘ fills the whole garden. 

He wants to stay and eat the tomatoes from his mother’s farm and pick apricots from the tree. He wants to enjoy a glass of wine under the grapevines, discuss with friends and enjoy life. 
There is melancholy in this departure. He looks around and nods. So many as him , who is also on their way. 

Malmö.

London. 

Amsterdam. 

Rome. 

Madrid.

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