May 2026. Targu Mures. Transylvania.
Targu Mures was the surprise of our Romanian week, as classy as anywhere we’ve been in Europe,
and in the Palace of Culture (£5) you’ve one of Europe’s undiscovered gems.
A startling collection of stained glass,
three floors of modern art with obligatory pretentious narrative,
and a concert hall with wonderful acoustics where we were treated to half an hour rehearsal of Saint-Saëns’ Symphony No. 3.
“I feel quite emotional” said Mrs RM, a feeling normally reserved for the discovery for the hidden stash of Cadbury Dairy Milk.
A must on your Transylvania tour, as are the home-made crisps (US – chips) at Kurtos House,
one of a string of roadside eateries leading to the fortress church,
where you can walk the ramparts and step over the “courting” students and then join them for a pint of Kozel.
Honestly, Targu is a great place to see normal Romanian life, with just a touch of the weird,
such as the school where (I presume) you learn to get pregnant.
Among the little gems there’s the fusty but fantastic Teleki-Bolyai Library with its copy of the Declaration of Independence and some medieval maps. I think we were their first English visitors.
Showing rare restraint, just the one bar,
the suburban BrewGarden happy to chat Romanian craft and that rather thin tomato gose (top pic).
The top local brewery decided to be shut on Wednesday (bloomin’ micros), but the next morning we did have a 10am can of Noah’s Poet of Pale at the art nouveau Hotel Privo,
the barmaid both horrified by the morning drinking, and proud as punch we were drinking the local craft.
retiredmartin 