Snapshots of Bucharest

Bucharest...

Just doesn't have the same ring to it.

București, as it is by virtue of baptism, is more appropriate. The sharpness of the "ș" (read: "sh") and the abruptness of the "ti" describes my experiences with the capital. I've only been once, but I wouldn't return voluntarily. I'm not a village girl, but to the average Bucharest citizen, I'm probably just that. My city – an electrified village (without back-of-the-garden toilets). But perhaps that's the issue: deep down, I really am a village girl.

All the honking, revved up motors and exhaust fumes. All the people rushing past, to and from, always with a destination in mind. The overcast sky, sun somehow showing through in a way that you can see its shape but not feel your retinas crisping up. And me – a total stranger. Perhaps I had a destination, but it got lost when I stepped outside the Airbnb.

The Airbnb had two shishas laying around, one, smaller, on the window sill; the other, larger, next to the TV. Turkish decorations filled the room. I imagined the owner loved Suleyman the Magnificent as much as my aunt. Every evening at 8 sharp, plopped on the recamier, bathed in the flashing colours of the screen, trading the drama in her life for the one on screen.

Regaining my sense of direction, I remembered what I was there for: a NASA exposition. The most interesting part was the spinning spherical metal cage simulating something akin to an astronaut's experience. I was not sold on it, don't think astronauts spin around much. It would be quite concerning if the rocket ship suddenly transformed into a spinning top. But the feeling of my stomach turning inside out was enough adrenaline to trick me into having fun. Evolution has come so far! Fear of death or injury turned enjoyable, an experience to be purchased.

There is much to do, much to see, much to spend in Bucharest. Time flies by at a sickening pace, and perhaps I really am a village girl. I like my time to take a breath, not race in an endless marathon. I like my life slower, regardless of the accusations of being boring. I look at the ceiling, splayed out on the carpet and think of nothing. Absolutely nothing. The capital is sharp and spiky, ready to lash out and bite. While the streets are full of cars in my electrified city too, it's no match for the colossal capital, the place to be if you like wasting 3h a day commuting to and from your 9-to-5 soul-sucking corporate job.

But I was younger back then. I was not a village girl, maybe only a village girl in-the-making. I saw Antipa, many goofy taxidermy animals. I saw the moon and Mars from the observatory (and thought I might reach them some day). Got denied at the Romanian White House because I forgot my ID, that huge piece of plastic that feels more fake than an official document giving you your identity should feel. I always have to buy ugly wallets to fit it in.

And lastly, I went to the McDonald's at The Romana Square, fulfilling the prophecy of that one TikTok[1] my high school friend sent me in 10th grade during an English lesson, and I almost choked while trying desperately not to laugh. Although, instead of seeing the girls in lemon nets selling discount pills in exchange for promo on Insta story, I saw an old man drinking Heineken while watching reels on his tablet which he was charging next to the window. All of this while I was eating my daily portion of plastic in the form of the last available McToast of the day. I still don't know why my parents thought it was a good idea to have breakfast (or, for that matter, any meal) at McDonald's.

I came back with one piece of Bucharest that I forever carry with me, mostly to heavy metal concerts where I go to forget the world and submit to the animal inside. It's a pair of boots with steel toes, long black leather, real leather. Heavy and metal. Just like they're supposed to be. The ring in the shape of a dragon curling up the finger is now too large. It slips away. Serves as a reminder of what 6 years really means:

Change,

I guess.

[1] @stillapieceofgarbage27 "Mami, sunt la mc romana", go watch it. Seriously. If you know Romanian, that is. 

Large is your garden, Lord!