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Gara Băneasa after midnight in darkness, the station shut, resembles a Scooby Doo episode. A dozen people in a splash of light on the platform are waiting for the 00.38 to Timișoara. Someone is playing manele, a musical genre I fortunately always enjoy. I have left my deracinated central Bucharest and find the Romania that made me love her. Now the train arrives and the search for my compartment.
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