As soon as I arrived at the Umbrella Hostel (curiously their motto was not "you can stand under my umbrella") I met an American, the only other American, who demanded to know my credentials. I provided them and summarily learned she was Allison from DC. In typical American greeting fashion, she demanded that we go out for a drink to celebrate the meeting. I agreed under the provision that I was allowed to cook something to eat first. I have been planning to cook the final bag of pasta given to me by Mike and Deana for days now and with only two nights to spare, I wasn't about to let such an opportunity slip from my grasp. She acquiesced and joined me for dinner after which we took to the streets of Bucharest.
She had been to Bucharest on numerous previous occasions and as such had a strong lay of the land; which was important because I hadn't even bothered to acquire a map. We met up with two of her Bucharesti friends and headed to the hip district, Lipscani. Lipscani is pretty much one bar/restaurant after another in an endless array of styles and themes. We stopped into a few places and it was at our last stop I noticed an interesting phenomena that Allison confirmed. Romanians, at least the vast majority, are inherently lazy. Or at least, when they don't want to do something, they simply don't do it.
The last bar we were in was slated to close around 2am. It was probably 12:30 or 1am and there were a good 20 or so people in there. It wasn't a very large bar. Everyone had a drink in hand and nearly all looked like they intended to keep the party going. However, at one point, one bartender looks to the other and says "should we go?" The other one agreed and within 10 minutes they had ushered us all out onto the street and closed the door. Just like that. Generally in the US, if a place says it's open until X time, it's open until X time- even if there hasn't been a soul walk through the door in hours. Just a different mentality.
Turned out onto the street Allison was determined to show me another Bucharest specialty- the shwarma. Or kebab or doner or gyro or however else you like to describe a stick stacked with meat that is cooked, carved, tossed in a bread item and topped with various vegis and sauce. The place we went to, recommended by her friends, was doing a heck of a business. I'm not sure what I ended up with on mine but I'm almost certain I had chicken.
On the way back to the hostel we were accosted by some gypsies. Gypsies are what you might call a "large social problem" in Romania. Not all, but there are a great number out there that prove disruptive to society. They'll steal, cheat, try and start fights, etc. In old language- hell raisers. In this case, a gypsy guy came up to me while I was eating my shwarma and tried to incite me into a fight so he could then rob me. Had he caught me a few days before in Sophia he might have gotten me, but this night I was cool as a fan.
I laughingly joked with him diffusing the situation. At one point he accused me of saying I was better than him to which I replied, "of course not. I'm poor- a man of the people eating the food of the people" and pointed to the shwarma. He actually cracked a bit of a smile at that and then turned to his friend and uttered me a quiet "eh, blah f*ck off grumble..." as they walked away in search of their next target.
The next day was my first and only to explore Bucharest. But before I could get underway I had an administrative task to take care of. Namely, I needed a haircut for the Mark's wedding. I had shaved the night before so this was the last step required to transform me from vagrant into the respectable citizen requisite for a high class NYC wedding. Allison agreed to accompany me and led me to what turned out to be a very respectable salon by anyone's standards. A Romanian barber (or maybe stylist?) was free and ushered me in and we got straight down to business.
I'm not sure he really understood what I wanted done with my hair but it didn't matter- he attacked my head with fury and gusto. Every so often he would get too rambunctious with the spray bottle and would pause, collect some tissue, and gently dab away the moisture from my face.
After 15 or 20 minutes of some very intense clipping, the maestro was finished; the cranial opus complete. I looked into the mirror not sure whether to expect Dracula or the Jersey Shore, but I'll be damned if it didn't come out looking good. Bravo sir, you have earned the $2 tip.
When we originally set out from the Umbrella, the owner stopped us and asked if we wanted to tour the inside of the Palace of the Parliament. In order to do so you needed to make a reservation and show up at an exact place at an exact time and then pay your fee. Seemed like an appropriately Communist-era hassle but we figured, why not? We can squeeze that in before the city tour.
Since we still had probably 2 hours until our appointment at the Parliament, we decided to kill some time in one of my favorite western-asian ways to kill time: hookah (shisha). And the best place for that is on this funny little roofed-in V shaped, yes V shaped, street called Villacrosse Passage where every single cafe and restaurant is also a shisha bar.
Morocco had been the last time I had done a shisha. For those unfamiliar, it's essentially a big water pipe out of which you smoke flavored tobacco. And yes, tobacco is all you smoke out of it. The smoke is cool and mild and gives you a kind of low-blood-sugar light-headedness so it's best get something sweet to eat or drink as well. I don't like to do shisha that often and I especially don't like to do it when I've been drinking. I may have an iron liver but I've got lungs of tissue paper. That said, for a random Thursday afternoon with two hours to kill in Bucharest, I couldn't think of anything better. And with the practice in Morocco, I've clearly ironed out my technique.
At the shisha cafe a curious thing happened that I described thusly: "In a hookah bar in cool open air covered street. Guy comes in wearing shades and snapping his fingers. I say, "this guys loving it" and he goes "che?" and I say "cool man, you feel cool." He goes into the cafe and a second later comes back and goes "you need Xanax?" I laugh and say no and he gives me the rock on sign and heads back inside."
After we finished up we grabbed a snack on the way to the Parliament. Normally I wouldn't post every food or snack but this was awesome. Essentially it was a pretzel type roll stuffed with ham and cheese. Very basic, not greasy, not salty, just... so good. I could subside off this item alone.
I had heard that the Palace of the Parliament was the second biggest building in the world behind the Pentagon in DC but, having never been to the Pentagon (damnit when am I getting that invite??), I didn't really know what to expect. Expect this: it's freaking huge. As in, we had 20 minutes to walk to and around it to get to our meeting site and we ended up 5 minutes late.
The Palace was started in 1984 under the Ceausescu Communist regime and was designed to house nearly all elements of national government. Essentially Ceausescu wanted to keep them under the same roof and under his watchful eye. It was officially named the House of the Republic and was nearly completed before the fall of the Communist regime. At the end of the regime, the new government wanted to tear it down, however, they discovered it would be more expensive to tear it down than to finish it so the decision was made to spend the additional outlay.
These days it holds a number of government functions including the Parliament, however, some 1000 of the rooms are vacant, numerous unfurnished. Despite arriving a bit late, and being thoroughly chastised, we were able to talk our way into the tour. The inside is just as grandiose as the outside. The first thing we were shown was one of the auditoriums which boasts the largest chandelier in the palace. I forgot what she said but I feel like it was around 10-15 million euros. All crystal.
The hallways are equally immense, connected by highways of red carpets stretching into the horizon.
My favorite room was one of the main ball/reception rooms. Apparently for a cool 150,000 euros you can rent it out for your wedding. If you want to see some additional shots, check out flickr.
From the main conference room you can step out onto the balcony for a view down the Unirii Boulevard, the longest and widest boulevard in the world so they claim. Personally I don't see how it's bigger than the Champs-Élysées. Especially since it took me 4 days to walk down the latter. Ok, maybe a bit of an exaggeration.
After the tour we grabbed a snack and waited by the fountain for the walking tour to begin. Allison, having seen pretty much all of the city by this point, elected to pass on the free tour so I went the rest of the way solo. While I was waiting I got a nice shot of Unirii square and the Palace of the Parliament in the dusk.
The tour took us past a number of interesting spots. We learned that they subverted the river under the main square during the communist days because they didn't want it impeding the unity of the square as well as moved dozens of churches behind new-era communist buildings. We stopped by the oldest church in Budapest and saw a bust of Vlad the Impaler who was a particularly important figure in the history of Bucharest (but, as we discussed, not Bran). My favorite of our first stops was a place called Manuc's Inn. Manuc was a wealthy trader and built this inn for traveling caravans. Really cool architecture and one of the most unique wooden roofs I've ever seen (in the process of a facelift).
One of the things that jumps out at you when you walk the streets of old Bucharest (what has survived the communist era and wars) is the striking resemblance of the architecture to Paris. Indeed in years past it was once referred to as "Little Paris."
We came next to Stavropoleos Monastery which has been in operation since 1724. Even though we were in an area of the city filled with hustle and bustle, the monastery gardens were strikingly quiet. And ask the sun set, the nuns paraded past us off to their evening chores and prayers.
The latter half of the tour took us by the oldest brewery and restaurant in Budapest, with the great slogan "probably the best food in town." My kind of place. And then we were on to another great example of French architecture, the CEC Bank Building. It was at this point when our tour guide was heckled by a Romanian man bent on singing opera to him. The best part was, our guide was too timid to just shoo the man away so for his entire spiel, the man was in the background yelling "figaro! figaro!"
We then passed through the old communist square where the building that was once the communist party headquarters was located. There you will find a number of monuments to important figures and events during that era as well as the Communist Era Memorial which looks like a potato or a birds next on a stick. The last stop was the Athaeneum, Bucharest's premier (and exceptionally gorgeous) concert hall.
While the natural choice for the symbol of the city may seem like the Palace of the Parliament, most Budapest citizens prefer the Athaeneum. The simple reason being, the Parliament was built by the Communists as a symbol of their power, whereas the Athaeneum was built with public money (money raised from the people) for the people. Makes sense to me. Plus, while the Parliament is a daunting structure, the Athaeneum has much more history and aesthetic beauty. But that's merely my 2 cents.
After the tour it was time to head back to the hostel, sort out the last minute details for my flight home, eat the leftover pasta and call it a night. No final blowout night in Bucharest. I needed to be clear headed, rested, and ready to rock for what would undoubtedly be an out-of-control wedding of my good buddy Mark and a few nights reunion with some of my closest friends in my favorite bars in NYC.
Romania was great. The Balkans, incredible. With the exception of a very few minor incidents, I've loved every minute in this region of Europe. It's been a whirlwind of a past month blasting through these 10 countries but it's also been some of the best experiences of my lifetime. Cheers my friends.
She had been to Bucharest on numerous previous occasions and as such had a strong lay of the land; which was important because I hadn't even bothered to acquire a map. We met up with two of her Bucharesti friends and headed to the hip district, Lipscani. Lipscani is pretty much one bar/restaurant after another in an endless array of styles and themes. We stopped into a few places and it was at our last stop I noticed an interesting phenomena that Allison confirmed. Romanians, at least the vast majority, are inherently lazy. Or at least, when they don't want to do something, they simply don't do it.
The last bar we were in was slated to close around 2am. It was probably 12:30 or 1am and there were a good 20 or so people in there. It wasn't a very large bar. Everyone had a drink in hand and nearly all looked like they intended to keep the party going. However, at one point, one bartender looks to the other and says "should we go?" The other one agreed and within 10 minutes they had ushered us all out onto the street and closed the door. Just like that. Generally in the US, if a place says it's open until X time, it's open until X time- even if there hasn't been a soul walk through the door in hours. Just a different mentality.
Turned out onto the street Allison was determined to show me another Bucharest specialty- the shwarma. Or kebab or doner or gyro or however else you like to describe a stick stacked with meat that is cooked, carved, tossed in a bread item and topped with various vegis and sauce. The place we went to, recommended by her friends, was doing a heck of a business. I'm not sure what I ended up with on mine but I'm almost certain I had chicken.
On the way back to the hostel we were accosted by some gypsies. Gypsies are what you might call a "large social problem" in Romania. Not all, but there are a great number out there that prove disruptive to society. They'll steal, cheat, try and start fights, etc. In old language- hell raisers. In this case, a gypsy guy came up to me while I was eating my shwarma and tried to incite me into a fight so he could then rob me. Had he caught me a few days before in Sophia he might have gotten me, but this night I was cool as a fan.
I laughingly joked with him diffusing the situation. At one point he accused me of saying I was better than him to which I replied, "of course not. I'm poor- a man of the people eating the food of the people" and pointed to the shwarma. He actually cracked a bit of a smile at that and then turned to his friend and uttered me a quiet "eh, blah f*ck off grumble..." as they walked away in search of their next target.
The next day was my first and only to explore Bucharest. But before I could get underway I had an administrative task to take care of. Namely, I needed a haircut for the Mark's wedding. I had shaved the night before so this was the last step required to transform me from vagrant into the respectable citizen requisite for a high class NYC wedding. Allison agreed to accompany me and led me to what turned out to be a very respectable salon by anyone's standards. A Romanian barber (or maybe stylist?) was free and ushered me in and we got straight down to business.
I'm not sure he really understood what I wanted done with my hair but it didn't matter- he attacked my head with fury and gusto. Every so often he would get too rambunctious with the spray bottle and would pause, collect some tissue, and gently dab away the moisture from my face.
After 15 or 20 minutes of some very intense clipping, the maestro was finished; the cranial opus complete. I looked into the mirror not sure whether to expect Dracula or the Jersey Shore, but I'll be damned if it didn't come out looking good. Bravo sir, you have earned the $2 tip.
When we originally set out from the Umbrella, the owner stopped us and asked if we wanted to tour the inside of the Palace of the Parliament. In order to do so you needed to make a reservation and show up at an exact place at an exact time and then pay your fee. Seemed like an appropriately Communist-era hassle but we figured, why not? We can squeeze that in before the city tour.
Since we still had probably 2 hours until our appointment at the Parliament, we decided to kill some time in one of my favorite western-asian ways to kill time: hookah (shisha). And the best place for that is on this funny little roofed-in V shaped, yes V shaped, street called Villacrosse Passage where every single cafe and restaurant is also a shisha bar.
Morocco had been the last time I had done a shisha. For those unfamiliar, it's essentially a big water pipe out of which you smoke flavored tobacco. And yes, tobacco is all you smoke out of it. The smoke is cool and mild and gives you a kind of low-blood-sugar light-headedness so it's best get something sweet to eat or drink as well. I don't like to do shisha that often and I especially don't like to do it when I've been drinking. I may have an iron liver but I've got lungs of tissue paper. That said, for a random Thursday afternoon with two hours to kill in Bucharest, I couldn't think of anything better. And with the practice in Morocco, I've clearly ironed out my technique.
At the shisha cafe a curious thing happened that I described thusly: "In a hookah bar in cool open air covered street. Guy comes in wearing shades and snapping his fingers. I say, "this guys loving it" and he goes "che?" and I say "cool man, you feel cool." He goes into the cafe and a second later comes back and goes "you need Xanax?" I laugh and say no and he gives me the rock on sign and heads back inside."
After we finished up we grabbed a snack on the way to the Parliament. Normally I wouldn't post every food or snack but this was awesome. Essentially it was a pretzel type roll stuffed with ham and cheese. Very basic, not greasy, not salty, just... so good. I could subside off this item alone.
I had heard that the Palace of the Parliament was the second biggest building in the world behind the Pentagon in DC but, having never been to the Pentagon (damnit when am I getting that invite??), I didn't really know what to expect. Expect this: it's freaking huge. As in, we had 20 minutes to walk to and around it to get to our meeting site and we ended up 5 minutes late.
The Palace was started in 1984 under the Ceausescu Communist regime and was designed to house nearly all elements of national government. Essentially Ceausescu wanted to keep them under the same roof and under his watchful eye. It was officially named the House of the Republic and was nearly completed before the fall of the Communist regime. At the end of the regime, the new government wanted to tear it down, however, they discovered it would be more expensive to tear it down than to finish it so the decision was made to spend the additional outlay.
These days it holds a number of government functions including the Parliament, however, some 1000 of the rooms are vacant, numerous unfurnished. Despite arriving a bit late, and being thoroughly chastised, we were able to talk our way into the tour. The inside is just as grandiose as the outside. The first thing we were shown was one of the auditoriums which boasts the largest chandelier in the palace. I forgot what she said but I feel like it was around 10-15 million euros. All crystal.
The hallways are equally immense, connected by highways of red carpets stretching into the horizon.
My favorite room was one of the main ball/reception rooms. Apparently for a cool 150,000 euros you can rent it out for your wedding. If you want to see some additional shots, check out flickr.
From the main conference room you can step out onto the balcony for a view down the Unirii Boulevard, the longest and widest boulevard in the world so they claim. Personally I don't see how it's bigger than the Champs-Élysées. Especially since it took me 4 days to walk down the latter. Ok, maybe a bit of an exaggeration.
After the tour we grabbed a snack and waited by the fountain for the walking tour to begin. Allison, having seen pretty much all of the city by this point, elected to pass on the free tour so I went the rest of the way solo. While I was waiting I got a nice shot of Unirii square and the Palace of the Parliament in the dusk.
The tour took us past a number of interesting spots. We learned that they subverted the river under the main square during the communist days because they didn't want it impeding the unity of the square as well as moved dozens of churches behind new-era communist buildings. We stopped by the oldest church in Budapest and saw a bust of Vlad the Impaler who was a particularly important figure in the history of Bucharest (but, as we discussed, not Bran). My favorite of our first stops was a place called Manuc's Inn. Manuc was a wealthy trader and built this inn for traveling caravans. Really cool architecture and one of the most unique wooden roofs I've ever seen (in the process of a facelift).
One of the things that jumps out at you when you walk the streets of old Bucharest (what has survived the communist era and wars) is the striking resemblance of the architecture to Paris. Indeed in years past it was once referred to as "Little Paris."
We came next to Stavropoleos Monastery which has been in operation since 1724. Even though we were in an area of the city filled with hustle and bustle, the monastery gardens were strikingly quiet. And ask the sun set, the nuns paraded past us off to their evening chores and prayers.
The latter half of the tour took us by the oldest brewery and restaurant in Budapest, with the great slogan "probably the best food in town." My kind of place. And then we were on to another great example of French architecture, the CEC Bank Building. It was at this point when our tour guide was heckled by a Romanian man bent on singing opera to him. The best part was, our guide was too timid to just shoo the man away so for his entire spiel, the man was in the background yelling "figaro! figaro!"
We then passed through the old communist square where the building that was once the communist party headquarters was located. There you will find a number of monuments to important figures and events during that era as well as the Communist Era Memorial which looks like a potato or a birds next on a stick. The last stop was the Athaeneum, Bucharest's premier (and exceptionally gorgeous) concert hall.
While the natural choice for the symbol of the city may seem like the Palace of the Parliament, most Budapest citizens prefer the Athaeneum. The simple reason being, the Parliament was built by the Communists as a symbol of their power, whereas the Athaeneum was built with public money (money raised from the people) for the people. Makes sense to me. Plus, while the Parliament is a daunting structure, the Athaeneum has much more history and aesthetic beauty. But that's merely my 2 cents.
After the tour it was time to head back to the hostel, sort out the last minute details for my flight home, eat the leftover pasta and call it a night. No final blowout night in Bucharest. I needed to be clear headed, rested, and ready to rock for what would undoubtedly be an out-of-control wedding of my good buddy Mark and a few nights reunion with some of my closest friends in my favorite bars in NYC.
Romania was great. The Balkans, incredible. With the exception of a very few minor incidents, I've loved every minute in this region of Europe. It's been a whirlwind of a past month blasting through these 10 countries but it's also been some of the best experiences of my lifetime. Cheers my friends.
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