When I woke up in Romania on Wednesday morning, I had no idea what to expect. I’ve heard so much about cities like Jerusalem, Cairo, Paris, and Berlin, but Bucharest was a mystery.
The train was headed through Transylvania, a historical region in central Romania made famous by Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Some historians and literary critics contend that Stoker’s fictional vampire character was inspired by Transylvanian-born Vlad III Dracula, who ruled this region between 1456 and 1462.
Also known as “Vlad the Impaler,” this asshole killed 40,000 to 100,000 Europeans that he deemed useless to humanity, mostly by impalement with a sharp pole.
Transylvania is bounded by the Carpathian mountains, and the first revelation I made while eating breakfast in the train was that I felt like I was back in Washington state. A stunning landscape of lush green forests, mountain passes, and low-lying clouds whizzed by as I drank black coffee and conversed with Kate from London. I wish I’d thought to take some pictures.
For the outdoor enthusiasts out there, I hear that there is some kick ass skiing and hiking opportunities in Transylvania.
When I arrived in Bucharest, I was keenly aware of how far I’d come from the plush, sparkly facades of Paris, Berlin and Vienna. I described Budapest as “gritty”; Bucharest takes that grittiness a step further.
My guidebook’s description of Bucharest is priceless (albeit accurate): “Arriving in Bucharest, most tourists want to leave as quickly as possible, but to do so would mean missing the heart of Romania. Bucharest does have its charm and elegance – it just needs digging for.”
I was determined to dig up that charm and elegance, and I did, somewhere between the ruptured roads, disintegrating buildings, crumbling architecture and other vestiges of Communist rule.
And a stray dog problem:
And Bucharest has some of the best food I’ve tasted in Europe:
On Thursday afternoon, I found myself at a Pizza Hut. I consider it sacrilegious to eat American fast food while traveling overseas and offer these excuses:
- torrential downpour
- intense hunger
- desire to evade Franz #57
Once inside, however, it was obvious that this was no normal Pizza Hut. There was a fully stocked wet bar, an Espresso machine, and a dessert menu with creme brulee, strawberry tart, and profiterole. The crowd was decidedly business class; I didn’t see a single person below the age of 30.
I remembered the last Pizza Hut I went to. It was September 2010, it was dark, and I was driving near Missoula, Montana when hunger beckoned. Sister #1 and I shared food near a table of screaming babies, pregnant teens, obese wives, and men with pot bellies and cowboy hats. A row of arcade games flashed near the kitchen while the family talked animatedly about football, tractors and guns. It was Middle America at its worst, or rather, its finest.
I have one and a half days to unearth more of Bucharest’s gems before I take another train south to Bulgaria.