It’d be fair to say that Bucharest isn’t the most naturally beautiful European capital city, though I’ve yet to get to Vaduz so I can’t give an authoritative ranking.
But Park Cismigiu is a delight, even if there’s not locals selling horse kebabs and foaming lager for 50p a pint as we’d been led to believe.
And if the buildings are a bit plain, the streets are clean and benefit from a notable absence of dog mess.
And they have hipster coffee shops, like this one, mysteriously called Coffee Store and doing a good Shoreditch High Street impression.
Mrs RM had picked Hotel Trianon, a £50 a night place that was spotless, had good WiFi and all the services a modern traveller needs.
On that theme it took Mrs RM about 7.5 minutes to work out why foreigners came to Bucharest as we worked our way through a mini-Soho in the Old Town.
Mrs RM notices these things; I was more taken with the historic architecture around the Orthodox churches.
Mrs RM led me away from unsavoury sights down a cobbled side street.
“Let’s go in there”
“But it’s not on my list“
“Stuff your list”
It was the right choice. A vaguely east Berlin feel extended to clientele (no obvious tourists), beer range, prices, and inevitable owner in the middle of a fag break.
A handwritten beer blackboard was easy to read, though the absence of ABV was to prove fatal later.
The bar owner tried to hand me the bound menu, but I assured him I was just there for beer. It turned out the menu was just beer, hundreds of them.
“Pint of “Split the Pot” and a pint of “Imperial **** ” please, mate.”
That’s how you order beer in Bucharest.
Again, really terrific local craft. Pleasingly, the half-litres were served about 80% full, in the European tradition.
The toilets had a winning combination of breweriana and modern art. Newbury Tim will be able to identify both.
On my return I could see Mrs RM struggling with her pint of 9% DIPA.
“How strong is this ?”
Wimp. I was happy to help.