Traveler in November: November has become a constant presence in Romania. It is grey and cold, seeping into the bones and the soul, blurring sight and thought, wrapping around you and quietly stealing you away. The dense fog, the drizzle, the snow are generous — they have the power to cover the city’s ugliness, to soften the background noise, and to let the observer discover a bent silhouette leaning on a cane, a glance, a grimace, a smile, a splash of color from a lone umbrella, or a fleeting shimmer of light. I watch for long moments, I wait even longer, then I move closer and try to see, with my soul, the water drops — fluid or frozen. Man remains constant in his insignificance, in his transience; everything feels old and familiar. And yet, this day, restless and noisy as it is, must be preserved. Photography alone can capture, in a fraction of a second, a human life or an atmosphere that will never be the same again. A photograph must remain as testimony of today — and thus, it must always carry the value of a document.