Broken hearts on Boulevard Unirii: Based on real events book cover

Broken hearts on Boulevard Unirii: Based on real events

Childhood friends Elia, Giorgio, Claudio, and Fabrizio had been meeting in their favorite café in the center of the ancient city of Arezzo in Tuscany for forty years. One day, they decided to go to Bucharest to visit their friend Angelo. They brought along Gert and Sebastian, more old acquaintances, to have a reunion. When they got there, Angelo had a surprise waiting for them. Little did they know that this visit would change their lives forever. Cracks began to appear in marriages and the wonderful friendships they had enjoyed for the past forty years. It all began with this first trip. It wouldn’t be their last. This book was written in Tuscany, inspired by real events that took place years ago.

Genre: Action and Adventure, Drama, Romance

I noticed that we talked comfortably with at least one of the girls by morning at breakfast. The division was passive; the girls chose us, not the other way. Whoever looked less "mischievous" was more popular. Everything went smoothly, with no competition between us. Everyone gathered for a light meal of omelets and bacon I had prepared in the hotel kitchen. We could get a clearer picture of "our" girls in daylight. Mihaela, Angelo's partner, was witty in her language. She was extremely nice and friendly. Holding Fabrizio's hand, Luciana looked like his twenty-six-year-old daughter, Rosanna, whom he left behind in Italy. Roxana and Claudio were like a match made in heaven. They seemed so happy together that their smiles never left their faces. The Gypsies looking, Simona and Carmen, got along well with Sebastian, who had introduced himself as Sabi Checker, a successful businessman from Australia. Silvia hit it off with Elia, who didn't leave her side even for a moment lest she would be kidnapped. What about Gert? He wandered alone, trying to capture one of the girls "in need" with his glance, but they didn't react. They looked at Sabi Checker like he was a cow they would milk. The two cars we rented from Hertz could not hold the whole group, so Angelo had to bring his own car. Mihaela sat next to him, bare-footed, resting her feet on the dashboard and her head against the side window with her hair fluttering in the summer wind. Sebastian and the Gypsies "in need" sat in the car's back seat, firmly attached to him on both sides, massaging his already inflated ego. In one rented car, Elia sat at the steering wheel with Silvia beside him, while Gert, Fabrizio, and the young Luciana sat in the back. I drove the second rented car with Mirella, the twin of Silvia, sitting next to me while Claudio and Roxana sat in the rear. As soon as they settled in the car, they vigorously began hugging and kissing each other. Mirella uttered some insulting words in Romanian, while Roxana responded by giving her "the finger." We started our trip with Angelo leading the way, then Elia following right behind, and I was last. We drove through the city of Bucharest, passing through the suburbs where the Gypsies live, along the outskirts of the city. From what I saw, it was clear that they lived in poverty. We continued in the direction of Boulevard Unirii and the parliament building, which was once the dictator Nicolae Ceausescu's palace. It is considered the second-largest building in the world, second only to the Pentagon in Washington. The only way to get to the north of the city was to drive right through Bucharest. And so we did. We drove toward the city of Brasov. As we began our ascent over the Eastern Carpathian Mountains, the road began to twist and turn. Occasionally we had to stop to attend to the physical needs of one or more of the passengers. Everybody got out of the vehicles at each stop and scattered like sheep in the meadow. It took several minutes of horn-blowing until everybody was back in the car, and we were ready to continue. Turning to Mirella, sitting next to me and yawning loudly, I asked, "Where are you from?" Before she had a chance to answer, I continued asking, "Do all these yawns stem from boredom or because you didn't sleep a wink last night?" "I slept very well. I knew right away that you weren't interested in me." Surprised by her answer, I asked, "What do you mean by that? Why do you think so? "First of all, you haven't spoken to me at all and didn't invite me to your room. Secondly, at the original meeting in the hotel, you didn't even try to come close to me." "That doesn't mean a thing. Everybody moves at his own pace." "You aren't moving at all. You are frozen in one place." "What do you want me to do? I am driving." "Most people can flirt even while driving, but you have barely looked in my direction." Taken aback, I thought for a while, then replied, "I have two daughters older than you are." "That does not seem to stop your friend from occupying himself with my twin sister. Besides, why should it bother you if it doesn't bother me?" "Maybe you guys stop babbling and get straight to the point," Claudio suddenly interrupted. "Leave them alone. You have somebody to mess around with. Mess around with me," Roxana said laughingly. We continued driving for two hours, climbing continuously up to the winding roads. The view from above was wild and desolate, without a trace of a village, a house, or any habitation for kilometers and kilometers. We slowed down as the incline of the road got steeper. When we reached a height of approximately two thousand meters, we saw several parked cars in the distance. We drove up alongside them and saw villagers with fruit and vegetable stands on either side of the road selling their produce. We parked our cars and got out. I mainly wanted to stretch my legs a bit, especially after driving for a long time. The girls all "pounced" on Claudio and emptied his box of Marlboro cigarettes. Since the distance to Lake Izvorul was still about an hour away, and we were hungry and tired, we bought some fruit and divided it between us. I distanced myself a bit from the group and just stood there, marveling at the amazing view with evening setting in and a cool breeze blowing. By the roadside lay huge boulders with sparse vegetation growing in between. It was so quiet and different from what I was accustomed to at home; Tuscany, with large yellow sunflower fields in the summer and green olive trees throughout the year. In the distance, I could hear the girls laughing. I could not help thinking what they must think of us; Italians old enough to be their parents coming to Romania for cheap sex. I returned to the car, sat down behind the wheel, and began honking without stopping. "What happened?" Elia asked with a panicked look on his face. "We have to get moving. Soon it will be dark, and driving will become very difficult." Angelo had found a shortcut to the lake on a map, which would substantially reduce our driving time. Although the road was unpaved, we took it anyway. And indeed, after driving for less than an hour, we saw Lake Izvorul unfolding before our eyes.
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Uri Jerzy Nachimson

Uri Jerzy Nachimson was born in Szczecin, Poland, in 1947, and two years later, his parents immigrated to Israel. In 1966 he was drafted into the Israeli army, where he served as a war photographer in the Northern Command and participated in the ‘six days war’ as a photographer in combat. His travels and adventures worldwide are recorded in the various books he has written, including Seeds of Love and Broken hearts at Boulevard Unirii. When he went back to Poland in 1990 to seek his roots, he was deeply affected by the attitude of the Poles towards the Jews both during and after World War II and decided to research the history of the Jews of Poland during that era. Thus the trilogy was born; Lilly's Album, The Polish Patriot and Identity. Uri's grandmother, Ida Friedberg, was the granddaughter of the known Jewish writer A.S. Friedberg, author of many books. In 2008, Uri relocated to Tuscany in Italy, where he lives with his wife. While in Cortona, he wrote: Two Margherita, Isabella, Into the depth of Silence, Violette & Ginger, Recalled to life, and Rembrandt for Sale. All of his books have been translated into many languages. more…

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