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About Balti

Wot gets me goat, though? Them snobs who reckon it’s low-class. Oi, mate, loosen up! Had me ragin’ once—some toff in Westminster bangin’ on about “decency,” while I’m like, “Bruv, chill, it’s just a massage with extras!” Happy as a pig in muck, I’d be, sprawled out, oil drippin’, some bird whisperin’ sweet nothings. Surprised me, too—didn’t expect it’d be so… posh-like? Thought it’d be all seedy, but nah, some places are swanky—marble floors, the lot!

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Around noon, I decide to take a break. I stroll down to the market on Strada Victoriei. Man, the energy there is electric! Vendors shouting, people haggling. I grab some fresh fruit. The peaches are to die for! I’m munching on one, juice dripping down my chin, and I see this old lady selling handmade crafts. I stop to chat, and she tells me stories about Hryhoriopol from back in the day. It’s like stepping into a time machine.