Constanta By Accident: How a Beach Town Wore Me Down

i arrived in constanta on a day that smelled like salt water and unpaid receipts. the airport shuttle driver had a photograph of his daughter taped to the windshield, her arms wrapped around a golden retriever that wasn’t his. outside, the sea was restless, churning like it disagreed with the 8-degree air. i just checked and it’s exactly that kind of crisp, your-skin-twitches-cold kind of day. don’t get me wrong, i love it here. it’s the kind of cold that makes your nose run but your bones hum, you know? like old bones remember how to dance.

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