retiredmartin

May 2026. Cluj. Romania.

Unexpectedly, we seemed to have a week free between “hosting” (ugh) Americans and Pep Guardiola’s farewell (of which less later).

As usual, Mrs RM was on the same wavelength as me. “Week in Cluj ?“. The flights to Romania’s second city cost less the large breakfast at Stansted Spoons, which is by a margin the UK’s busiest pub at 7am in the morning.

Note : £3.20 your Freedom breakfast in Hillsborough.

Our third Romanian trip in a year, having put completion of Europe on hold while Belarus remains less than alluring and opted to focus on ticking Transylvania.

You’ll know how fascinated I am by population stats;

A drop since Ceasescu met his comeuppance, but at nearly 300,000 it’s a city that has the status of a Leicester or Southampton, but with less curry and cask beer.

The airport bus drops you at the statue of Michael the Brave, facing away from the McDonalds,

and in truth on Saturday lunchtime it feels a bit quiet and rundown*,

though any city with quotes by Oscar Wilde and George Carlin on the walls is OK with me.

We only have time for coffee and cake before heading south, and the first cafe we see is a wonder.

Pralina has what tastes like those rum truffles my mum loved, except here they’re flat with toffee in the centre.

If someone knows what they’re called I’d be delighted to know.

A dull half mile slog to the station, bar the churches.

At St Nicholas the elderly custodian writes down our names as I leave a small donation,

presumably to pray for the state of our arteries over the next week.

*_{It’s not, the real centre is a bit south and it sparkles}