Ciaosescu Bucharest

'Check in is only after 2 pm', is how the small hostel owner, around 60 with a white beard and thinning hair, greets me gruffly, blocking the small entrance hallway of the narrow three-story building. 'I know, but I booked the pre check-in option.' Indifferently, he shrugs, 'Then you can wait in this room until 2.', pointing at a small kitchenette, apparently the communal area. 'Toilet is broken!', he calls across the hall as I start to look around. Well, this is a great start, I think, and check my phone for cafes in Bucharest to kill the remaining three hours there. Two young women walk in and he gives them the same information. As they leave, they introduce themselves as Selje and Jetse from Belgium. Mr. Grumpy seemed friendlier to them. I suggest going to the nearby botanical garden, which I think is a good idea considering the weather and the four heat wave alerts from the Romanian government on our phones. It turns out the two Gen-Zs took the same train from Budapest to Bucharest, but via Interrail and in a seat compartment. Tough! The generational differences quickly become apparent. My insightful movie references are met with ignorance. They didn't actually go to the cinema. For my part, I have no idea what the trendiest music festival in Europe is and thanks to the two, I realize I've always used the 'whoop whoop' emoji wrong as a 'high five' emoji. Super awkward. *Hand on forehead emoji*

We approach travel preparations very differently too. What the millennial has in Lonely Planet is what Gen Z has in TikTok. Short videos as travel guides - huh? Well, that way, many insider tips would be provided and therefore they would know that the parliament building is in the Guinness Book, among other things, as the heaviest building in the world. Aha, it seems Selje has quite a bit of Bucharest knowledge ahead of me. She asks me unironically if I have brought all my Lonely Planet books for each of my travel countries in my backpack. Lol, no, I wave off, it's already heavy enough.

Back at the hostel, our host gives us facts, facts, facts about the parliament. The most expensive administrative building in the world. Sounds like so many chandeliers, stairs, windows, so many tons of steel, concrete, sand, wood used, so many carpets, some so large they had to be woven in the building itself. 'You can read it all on Wikipedia.', he concludes his listing. 'Yes, but it's much more entertaining when you tell us.', I try to butter him up, and he is indeed nicer than in the morning. He tells Jetse, Selje, and me about a secret underground road to the airport. During the tour of Ceaușescu's mega building the next day, I ask the guide about it, and he says he hears that question daily. It fits perfectly with the myth of the communist dictator and his personality cult. But even he keeps it vague. There are certainly several underground levels, possibly a escape tunnel to the nearest house, but a 20 km long tunnel underground to the airport: unlikely. The exaggerated effort for that would not have been worth it. After all, the so-called People's Palace was built in the 80s but only completed after the end of the Cold War, in the late 90s. Moreover, the ground conditions in Bucharest are already difficult enough. I think this not only fits the myth of Ceaușescu but also the personality of our hostel father, whom you can always find reliably playing on his laptop in the common room. After his explanations about the parliament, he immediately gets lost in conspiracy theories. The Romanian parliament is made up solely of people who are only interested in enriching themselves. 'Isn't that the same in your country?', the Belgian women and I diplomatically respond and he starts talking about the EU parliament. 'Ursula von der Leyen, what she did with the pandemic...', he forms his hand into a gun and makes shooting gestures. We let his discussion with himself fade away and do not ask any further questions.

Our guide during the tour is more serious than Papa Smurf, but not as energetic about the matter. Routinely, he rattles off the same facts we had already heard the night before, in addition to a few tossed-in jokes that sadly fall flat.

For the free walking tour the next day, I can't convince the two Belgian women. The alternating of walking and listening is too boring for them. This doesn't mean the young generation is lazy. Our step counters are over 25,000 steps each by the end of the day. They independently check off their TikTok hotspots and miss nothing because I find the walking tour 'Highlights of Bucharest' somewhat superficial. 'Heyde' (='Let's go!'), calls the awkward guide after each stop. His tour is also full of cheap jokes, where the punchline is usually something about Dracula.

I want to go to the Athenaeum, the Bucharest concert hall from 1888, where a 360-degree mural traces Romanian history in its dome. According to the display board, Beethoven is being performed there in the evening. So, I buy a super light outdoor shirt that can also pass as concert-appropriate attire in case of need.

'There is no dress code because there are a lot of tourists in the audience as well.', reassures the ticket seller when I want to buy a ticket two hours before the start. However, there is only one left and he does not accept card payments. So, I quickly run in the pouring thunderstorm to the nearest ATM and back. When I come back, drenched, the man at the ticket counter over-apologizes. The last ticket had just been bought online. 'I am so sorry, the app is not connected to our system. That is so shit... Sorry for my English, is not very good.' My last joker would be to come back shortly before the concert starts and maybe snag a VIP ticket that someone has let expire.

So I pass the time waiting. Behind a villa, I discover a restaurant under a pavilion. As the only guests, a few Romanians in casual chic. Words like Mauritius, Ukraine, Ghana, Madagascar, Peru, Machu Picchu, Chile, China are thrown around. So, it's about traveling. 'Watson', Udo always said in such situations. As soon as someone said something completely obvious, he would say 'Watson' - because of Sherlock Holmes and his assistant.. Watson, quick thinker, duh, just say it. Udo was the one who repeated a class in the 8th grade and with one year older was anyway the coolest in class. But this casually thrown 'Watson' was extra impressive.

Back at the Athenaeum, my ticket dealer gives me a thumbs up and has a VIP ticket for me, which is even a bit cheaper. Fourth row, best view. My seat neighbor rolls his eyes as I squeeze past him in my outdoor going-out dress. Exactly on time, the orchestra appears, conductor appears, applause, Beethoven. The Romanians don't waste time. I notice that the orchestra consists exclusively of young people, at most in their mid-20s. It must be a youth orchestra. Watson.

On the day of my departure, I show Selje and Jetse my current favorite café in Bucharest's villa district called 'Die kleine Garage'. 'Why is the name in German?', I had asked the guy behind the counter on my first visit. He shrugged, 'It just is.' Okay, hipster logic.

The two Belgian women take a train back over Budapest to Bratislava, which leaves in the afternoon. I say goodbye to the two friends and am glad to have reduced some of my reservations against Gen Z. Maybe at their age I had a higher attention span for films, but did I have the patience and ability to independently walk over 20 km through foreign Eastern European cities back then? Probably not.. Together we explored the city and laughed about our quirks and especially those of the Romanians. Now alone again, it suddenly occurs to me how overwhelmed I feel by Bucharest. It is just too much city. Heat, hardly any parks, too many cars. As a pedestrian, you’re right at the bottom of the hierarchy, and this mix of Pyongyang and Marzahn is impressive at first, but after Day 4, the city is just giving me a headache.

As a final act and to pass the time waiting for the bus to Sofia, I booked one last walking tour focusing on communism, which has some depressing facts about Ceaușescu's reign of terror. At least this time there are no overly eager jokes. Tired, I take the metro to the bus station and wait for my night bus out of Bucharest and into Bulgaria.