After Sofia, I’m afraid I went to Bucharest with pretty low expectations. I’m really pleased to say they were surpassed by quite some margin. If it hadn’t been for the stifling heat (which we were told was unusual for June) I could quite happily have whiled away several more days exploring its faded glory and beautiful architecture.
As it was, our trip was a bit of a flying visit. The drive from Bulgaria into Romania was bad enough (car reversing down three-lane highway towards us? Check! Surly border police refusing to believe we could take hire car across the border? Check!) but entering Bucharest itself was possibly the tensest bit of driving I think we’ve ever done abroad. I say we – I was only navigating – but that was bad enough. Driving in Bucharest is like being inside a pin-ball machine as you are variously bounced this way and that by streams of traffic, all with horns blaring incessantly.
So it came as quite a relief to dump the car and get on with exploring on foot. With the exception of the Palace of the Parliament, which I’ll come to, there aren’t actually a whole lot of ‘attractions’ in the conventional sense in Bucharest. There are few ‘must-see’ museums or galleries, and it’s not somewhere you’d go to see ancient ruins, or even to shop. The point of a visit to Bucharest is just to wander down its streets and boulevards, soak up the atmosphere and take in the architecture.
As with a lot of the Eastern European capitals, the city’s political history was never far from my thoughts as we meandered from plaza to boulevard, arcade to lane. There’s the faded glory of the art-nouveau and art deco buildings of the early 20th century, through neo-classical buildings of the Communist era to the brash malls of the 1990s. Unfortunately it seems each era’s legacy is less attractive than that which preceded it.

Perhaps the most interesting of the plazas and squares which perforate Bucharest’s long avenues is Revolution Square, home to the building which housed the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Romania, from the balcony of which Ceauşescu made his final speech, before being whisked from the roof by helicopter the next day. The intimidating Central Committee building, now home to the Thick-Of-It-Esque Ministry of the Interior and Administrative Reform, makes a sobering contrast to the monuments to those who gave their lives in the course of the Revolution, the veracity of which is still under question.
Even Revolution Square, though, pales when set alongside the monstrosity that is the Palace of the Parliament.
Clearly designed to intimidate rather than to welcome, the Palace is incomprehensibly huge. It really beggars belief that such a huge building – second only to the Pentagon in size – was constructed by a country which at the time couldn’t feed its own people.

Ceauşescu intended to have his official apartments there, but also to accommodate his toothless Parliament, a theatre, numerous banqueting halls, the Politburo, etc, etc. Nowadays, the Romanians seem to have an ‘asset’ for which they’re searching for a purpose. Parliament is still there, but it’s joined by a clumsy mix of offices, random museums, and a conference centre. The building’s also rented out to film-makers (it had just completed being used as a substitute Vatican when we were there!). Basically, the intention seems to be to make the most of a bad lot, but the overall effect is County Hall on steroids.
One feature I did like was the superb Museum National de Arte Contemporana (MNAC) which anywhere else would be considered a really substantial gallery. As it is, it’s hidden away in one wing right at the back of the Palace, its twin glass elevators the only clues to its existence. It’s worth the (long) walk though, and its rooftop cafe reminds you just how recently the Palace was constructed, and gives some clues to the destruction Ceauşescu engaged in to create his ‘dream’:
Intrigued, we enrolled on a tour of the Palace itself, and were taken on what we were assured was a 2 kilometre walk through less than 10% of the Palace’s facilities. The amount of marble and crystal on display is obscene. The whole thing is quite shocking – just when you think you’ve seen what must be the biggest hall/chandelier/staircase/carving there could possibly be, you turn another corner and see something still more ridiculously opulent. The craftsmanship is extraordinary, but you feel almost guilty admiring it, knowing the circumstances in which it was put together.
Everywhere there are examples of the bizarre lengths to which Ceauşescu’s paranoia was accommodated -such as the staircase which was remodelled five times before he was happy it didn’t make him seem short, or the holes in the ceiling to allow air to circulate – he forbade the inclusion of air conditioning, fearing it would be used to poison him.
I’ve never been anywhere quite like it, and doubt I ever will again (unless North Korea ever falls, where I suspect we’ll find numerous examples of this kind of megalomania). It’s really obscene.
Once you tire of the Palace, though, your options are limited. I really wish the temperature had been slightly more accommodating, as I’d have loved to just wander from street to street and take in the architecture and atmosphere. As it was, though my paper-like skin wouldn’t really take it, so that will have to wait for another visit, which I actually am really looking forward to. Won’t take the car next time, though!