Bucharest

I wrote this at the Amsterdam Cafe, waiting for my food to be served, while we celebrated Maud's birthdya with her Romanian language class. It's written with a sense of humour and satire, so please don't take it seriously.

Bucharest is like that old prostitute crazy lady who is always at the end of your street. Sure, she's loud, obnoxious and screams unintelligible things at you, and you may even often wish that she wasn't there, but the times you've passed by her "spot" and she was missing, admit it, you felt a pang of longing. Deep down, you have a secret affection for her tight leopard print skirt long skirt and beautiful jewelery.

Bucharest is loud. It's also ugly, but I will always remember it for being loud. Horns are constantly honking, as if the drivers are trying to announce "My dick is bigger than yours!" An hour after I landed, a police blockade went by. Police sirens, a voice screaming unintelligibly into a megaphone and an entourage worthy of a member of the royal family (and not a minor politician). A lady in the crowd told us it was Basescu but apparently he was in Moscow that day. I thought I had arrived in Hades instead of the "Paris of the East".

Bucharest is ugly but it does have its charms. Interspersed amongst the old grey blocky Communist architecture are some real gems. French Neoclassical offices, Orthodox churches hidden like flowers between weeds, small cobbled streets curving silently into new neighbourhoods... However, the majority *is* ugly. Everything is grey, blocky and concrete. Some buildings are abandoned and left to crumble, like modern day ruins. The streets are uneven, covered in dirty black snow. now I know why so many people were wearing black: it doesn't show the dirt.

Clichees abound here. We're sitting in a popular eatery frequented by expats. outside, shiny new cars line the streets. Not a single Dacia to be seen. Street children diligently wash and polish the cars in hopes that their owners will reward them favourably. One boy, in a knit sweater and tuque, has been working on one car for almost the entire duration of my evening. Is the car that dirty or does he think the car's ownder is that rich? An older boy paces back and forth. Is he the leader? He's good looking in a roguish sort of way. I look at him and he looks at me. He helps a patron park his car and is rewarded with 10,000 lei for his efforts. The smile on his face tells me he's happy. Everyone has their own way of making a living, I guess.

This club is called "Amsterdam". Supposedly, it's modelled after a genuine Dutch establishment. It's generic, in a classy sort of way. Soft contemporary jazz-rock is piped through the speakers (even though it's from Winamp and not a band) and beautiful people sit together at tables smoking cigarettes. This could be Amsterdam or Bucharest or even my city in New Brunswick.

This feels less like Romania than a nameless concrete city. Piata Unirii could be any mid-sized city's equivalent Times Square. There's nothing that really distinguishes it to make it special. Sure, they have that wedding cake monstrosity, the concert hall and significant buildings from the Revolution but it was rare that I felt the warmth that I got from Timisoara and Arad. I've read articles saying that Bucharest is an untapped resource and the latest "it" spot for trendy travellers. I don't know how much I agree with this. Personally, I couldn't wait to get back to my beloved Timisoara.