It's easy to lose yourself while walking through the streets of Tyumen. The cherry plums are in bloom, and the smell accompanies one from one corner of the street to the other, having one sole rival - music. Small speakers throne high from the poles, murmuring sweet arias. What can be more enchanting than to walk under blooming trees, listening to Frank Sinatra?!
Yesterday, though, a change occurred. I was waiting for the extraordinary transformation of red into green, at the crossroads, when a deep voice interrupted my daydream. For a short moment, I thought that it was a song sang in Romanian. The singer's voice was similar to the one of Furdui Iancu's; the same vibrant sound and, I imagined, the same facial expressions. Who is Furdui Iancu? Well, I'll tell you what's written in my registry - my mother's favorite folk music singer. Probably this explanation doesn't do much for you, does it?! Inevitably, I arrive to a conclusion - every country has its own Furdui Iancu.
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