Buna Ziua From Buchresti!
It was with mild reluctance that I finally purchased a plane ticket to Bucharest, Romania- two days before the flight. I finally gave in to a friend’s persistence to sojourn to Eastern Europe. Thus I ended up in an area of the world, and a country in which I never imagined going. What did I know about Romania besides Transylvania? Well, any castle called Dracula’s Castle (there are many) was never actually inhabited by the count.
Bucharest is, to use the well-trod witticism, a land of contradictions. The slow decay of its fabulous French-style mansions is apparent, as are the worn away bits of ornate metal gates. There is also the ubiquitous feeling of a country recovering from the heady days of Communism, and its overthrow 20 years ago, like so many countries of the Eastern European bloc.
The elaborate old buildings sit alongside unsightly housing blocs, and other modern buildings, sometimes draped in regalia of the country’s democratic party, whose symbol is two crossed hammers, akin to the sickle and axe of Communist regalia. Although now, the Communist has a negative ring, even 2 decades after the execution of the flamboyant leader Nicolae Ceausescu, who pilfered the country of billions of euro to build a massive 20-story palace termed the “People’s Palace”.
Gypsy children flit into decaying mansions built in the French style, in the heart of the city’s center. It is the land of the Roma. Predictably, hated by the rest of the population, they are a benign bunch, quietly living in unexpected corners of downtown, doing odd-jobs such as digging holes, and sweeping up park leaves at midnight. Or sitting outside of churches, begging for money.
The Onion Domes of churches, the charmingly sagging and sometimes broken power lines, even in the most affluent of neighborhoods and the monotone of ethnicity, make you realize, ‘We are not in Western Europe anymore’. If that doesn’t jolt you to this realization, then the sight of street children digging food from garbage cans, or their chain-smoking seven-year-old friends will. By now, Bucharest either seems terribly backwards, or that I am patronizing it. But to understand this city I had to leave behind all of my cultural and ethical expectations, and to accept it for what it was. The Romanians whom I befriended, all of them friendly, certainly did. They soberly told me all of their country’s problems, but did so without resignation, nor a zeal for correction. Like Romans are wont to say ‘This is Rome’, I had to remember that this is Romania.
Bucharest is one of the most beautiful cities that I have seen, and rightfully deserves the name ‘Little Paris’. Unaccustomed to tourists, it is not a very cushy place, but knowing a little Italian, French or sometimes English helps enormously. A ramble down the side streets in the heart of the city, recalls the quiet elegance of old Europe, especially after the thick night fog sets in. The old houses boast triangular domed roofs, separate attic peepholes, personalized iron-wrought gates. No two houses are the same- each has its own particular motif and colors.
The exchange rate was of the dollar to the national currency Leu- is ~3:1. Nothing beats seeing the Opera for $2.25, and splurging on elaborate dinners that would cost north of $65 back in the states, but in Bucharest come out to about $20, as well as the ridiculously loud and drunk patrons at a nearby table- who got up to sing a round with the live band- at one of the nicest restaurants in the city! Now that I’m back in Western Europe, I already miss the idiosyncrasies of Little Paris.
interesting post. I can see you put a lot of effort into it. Keep up the good work!
I love the expression. Everyone needs to express there own opinion and feel free to hear others. Keep it up