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Maybe an appropriate way of defining Bucharest would be "city of the contrasts". This city cannot be put in the books as a tourist attraction, because its looks and sometimes shaken and stirred nature are proofs enough to show it has not been conceived for tourists or their comfort, but rather for the heterogeneous crowd living here. Furthermore, it is not convenient, as it did not develop in a place where "convenience" has ever had any sense. So, better not expect things to happen in this place, the only thing to expect is that it will generate strong feelings, both to the good and to the bad. There's no "simply crossing Bucharest". Nay.
You might very well experience many contrasting and unexpected things: great, tasty (and oily) pastry, Aura Urziceanu's voice, drivers' crazy rush and lack of respect for anything, Maria Tănase, the manele, stray dogs' wandering around, "le Petit Paris", the world's second biggest building (and among world's biggest heaps of shit, respectively shit-heads), the Gypsies, a classical music concert at the Athenaeum's great acoustics hall, the omnipresent tupeu, Stavropoleos Church's Western and Eastern architecture mix, the fițe, the covrigi in Piața Romană, a good book and a sip of tea at the Cărturești, the typical Balkan "dolce far' niente" and that "don't know, can't do, wasn't me" in the air... In the end of the day, hot tar of hell, Bucharest is the only city in Europe to host monkeys living freely in the streets, as well as some live Bruegel art (see the sausage window), not to mention its being the capital city of a country where chaos and incompetence have managed to turn into a brand (and, of course, Bucharest alone, as an intangible entity, is guilty for that, the rest of Romania is a victim, I’ve heard that in nearly all failed countries I have been to).
I love Bucharest for its small, old times' houses or fine, secluded, unadvertised museums and churches (have you ever heard of Casa Melik, Casa Zambaccian, about Antim or Radu Vodă monasteries, not to mention the beautiful Great Synagogue?). I enjoy grabbing some of the fewer local donuts and langoși (i.e. not the 3 in 1 fluffy kind) in town on the way home or having some tripe soup at the Nicorești or some Pleșcoi sausages at the Rossetya.
Then, I hate Bucharest at times for the overwhelming despair in the air, for the ever tougher rush, for the brainless drivers that only respect the one next to them when they fear that by hitting him / her they would scratch their shiny, narcissist metal boxes. I hate the red tape and the lack of self respect, not to mention respect for the others. And then, these issues are nothing when compared to mortals playing gods, mocking at their and others’ impotence or doing things just for the show. But then, one can always look at it from a different perspective: this is an actors’ country, from head to toe.
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