Didn't meet Dracula, but had a few brushes with vampiric forces - Bucharest, a diary.

The imposing Casa Poporului - or Parliament Building

Sitting in the Lavazza coffee lounge at Bucharest airport and thinking back over the last couple of days, I would say on balance I enjoyed by whistle-stop viewing of Romania's capital city.  Sated on carbonara and sipping the remnants of a deliciously strong double espresso, I can't help thinking about the changes this most eastern of European states has gone through since the rather bloody revolution of 1989.

And if the point of revolutions is change and a new order, then Romania is as good an example as any, where it has perhaps surpassed its radicals' and militants' wildest dreams.  Tossed from side to side for two millennia, this crossing point between east and west has been conquered by almost all around it: the Romans came, the Turks occupied and finally the Soviets had the country succumb.  They all left their mark - and none more so than the Romans who graced the rolling plains from Transylvania to Moldavia and then onto the Black Sea with their Latin-based language.  Not that I could really understand anything spoken, but written down there are at least many things you can guess at.  These folk are not Slavic - and they're quick to let you know that.

In terms of leaving a mark, I was expecting the Soviet grayness to be a bit more prevalent and was pleasantly surprised to find that this isn't quite the case - with central Bucharest at least.

The old town is full of narrow winding streets, over-spilling with bars and clubs and some of the majestic monuments to 19th century independence and national pride are still standing.

The one edifice that towers above all the rest, however is the Parliament - also known as Casa Poporului.  Started in 1983 by the infamous and heinous dictator Nicolae Ceausescu, it wasn't quite finished in time to receive this bloody tyrant on its purpose-built balcony, when he was strung up along with his not-so-charming wife, Elena, on a neighbouring scaffold.

A 2 tonne chandelier - actually the 2nd largest in the place

The place is a string of superlatives - and a must visit for the tourist in Bucharest:  2nd largest building in the world, 300 000 tonnes of marble used in its great halls, the world's largest chandelier (at 5 tonnes) complete with 500 bulbs and the greatest fact of all, is that no-one actually knows how much it cost to build.  The communist state back then simply commissioned curtains in the north, carpets in the west, pillaged marble from wherever and conscripted the army to build it (20 000 of them worked in 3 shifts 24 hours a day for 6 years).  One investigative journalist, however, attempted to calculate what it could have cost back in 1989 - and he put the bill at a staggering jaw-dropping US$4Bn - all this at a time when the country could hardly feed itself and basked in the ignominious delight of accepting wood from then-called Zaire to carve doors from.  Mobuto Sese Seko rivalled our good friend Ceausescu in his equal prowess for state-kleptomania.

All this said, it was rather eerie to meander through the corridors of this enormous cavern - slogged together from virtual slave labour.  It's now used to house the 2 chamber parliament of Romania, as well as conferences, concerts and even weddings - room rentals apparently start from a modest €3 000 per day (excluding electricity !).  A site on which formerly stood 25 000 houses, 19 churches and 3 hospitals - all razed flat to make room for the Bucharest Project - by which this carnage of construction was known.

View from the balcony.

It seemed a million miles away from the previous evening's laughter and merriment in the old town - where I had the good fortune to stumble on a place serving Transylvanian goulash.  Walking down  Calea Victoriei with Gucci on one side and Max Mara on the other, I felt Romania was now in a completely different world - a free-market, EU- and Nato-belonging, self-confident rightful world.

My goulash.

I only spent time in the city and didn't get chance to visit Bram's Castle or dip my toe in the Black Sea - but I leave Romania (for now) with a very positive view of the place, wishing it well with its continued journey to ever great prosperity.

But remember, please, don't make the mistake Michael Jackson did when standing on that infamous balcony - that old Nicolae didn't quite live long enough to.  It was whence he shouted "Hello Budapest".

It's Bucharest - and I'm glad to have glimpsed it.

The obligatory selfie.

 

The largest hall in all its splendour.

The hideous divine representation of Ceausescu and his wife.