Whispers Beneath My Feet.

A lawnmower might help with curb appeal.

Bucharest, Romania – Stone streets tell their histories on my feet.

Rounded at the corners from retelling, many are still hard.

Yet, whispers emerge from alleyways where people planned a utopian society, where others protested and where more disappeared. They seep from crooked window frames long since left naked.

And, at times, they leave a chill despite unpromised sunshine falling on me at a 28-degree angle.

Walking along Calea Victorei, the city’s most famous street, has helped me thumb through some of Bucharest's history.

A block in, the Union of Romanian Architects Building merges these histories, tacking a glass skyscraper on top of a heritage building that once housed the secret police. Bullet holes in its facing whisper, in braille, the story of the revolution in 1989.

Stone-faced politicians.

Today, the avenue is lined by cafés, patios and high-end shopping. Bright red poppies bob gently like crepe paper in the breeze as well-dressed men and women step past. There's a new history being written.

Despite being tucked behind a construction gate, the stunning Cantacuzino Palace looms with the presence of an opera singer. It’s an aria to opulence and culture at the turn of the 20th century. Two stone lions flanking the door don’t flinch as I reach through the fence for a photo.

A little farther, roses and unkempt grasses wrap around communist-era busts placed in a circle outside a former aristocratic house. The garden urges us to connect with ourselves over generations. 

It’s an unexpected find.

And why I tend to walk everywhere.