"Every Day A Sunday" the T-shirt says. Gail is looking around H&M and I am thinking, "Yea, that is a great thought."
Sundays.
Sitting with a cup of coffee, checking the news, reading, sometimes some work, but always the fun stuff like cutting the grass or pruning the roses.
Sundays.
You gotta love it.
And today is shaping up to be a rainy one. All the better for going slow, seeing just a few highlights of the city, and spending time in a warm café.
Last night we cruised the Old Historic City Center, looking for food.
Today I want to see the square where the December 1989 Revolution started; the huge palace that Nicolae Ceaușescu built using the people's money, and a few other places.
Other than that, no real plans for this, our last day in Romania.
We have a pretty decent room here. Back in February I reserved a room at Hotel Volo, but last week (6 days ago!) they sent me an email and said, "Sorry... you have no room."
Jerks.
So I got us a last minute place at the Hotel Rembrandt, down on the edge of the Old Town, and it is a pretty nice place. The room is big, with heavy wood floors and plenty of space. There is a sort of view of some rooftops, but we have two separate sets of windows so we can open the place up. It is pretty light inside, especially considering the heavy wood. And, we get a good discount at the bar that makes it very inexpensive to just buy our wine here, and they provide coffee on demand, 24/7
So, today we have a slow breakfast in the upstairs loft of the hotel dining room, tucked into the side in a cozy booth, looking out on the street below. The hostess is making strong coffee, a nice spread of good meats and cheese, some rolls, and fruit.
We ate slow and I finished reading my book. It is Father's Day and the Grogan book was a nice touch.
First, the amazing number of restaurants in the streets right here. Four, maybe six solid streets of cafés. The stores are outside this zone. It is just packed, and every café has someone standing outside asking, no begging you to come in.
Second, the leftover influence from the communist dictator says. The boxy concrete apartments and half-assed kind of infrastructure in disrepair. Not that things are shabby. They just aren't so cute. Wires strewn haphazardly, nicely restored apartments next to shells with crumbling balconies.
So we are trying something new today. Bucharest is kind of spread out, or at least some of the things we want to see are a couple miles apart. We could take taxis, or the metro, and if it wasn't raining off and on we'd just walk everywhere.
But today we are going to take the hop on, hop off red tourist bus. It stops close to the places we want to see, runs every twenty minutes or so, and costs only $5 each. And, my thinking is, if it really starts to pour down for an hour or so, we can just ride the bus and see the sites.
The cathedral bells started clanging about 10:00, echoing up and down the Sunday-quiet, cobblestone streets. No other noise save for footsteps and the occasional bird.
Around the corner we come upon the petite Stavropoleos Monastery. We saw these little bitty churches tucked here and there in Athens, funny to see one here. The monks are singing their prayers, and it echoes off the buildings and down the street.
Haunting.
We stop to listen.
The first stop of the tour is The Palace of the Parliament. It is huge; bigger in person than you can imagine. The only building in the world that is bigger is the Pentagon. This "Peoples Palace" cost about $3 billion to build, and it costs about $6 million a year to light and heat it. Perhaps 3,000 people died building it, and it extends eight levels underground.
We stop at Revolution Square to see the direct opposite of the palace. In the square is the Memorial of Rebirth, a tall spike stabbing through what I take to be a heart (But Wikipedia says it is a crown. I like the heart idea better.). There are plaques on walls in a semi-circle behind it, listing the names of those killed in the 1989 uprising.
I think back to 1989. I was 30, my daughter turned three, and I was starting a new career. I remember the uprising on the news, but I was too busy with my own life to really pay much attention. I do remember when they tried and killed Nicolae Ceaușescu and his wife.
Right after that the Balkan war started.
So much of this trip, and our last trip through the region in 2012, is going through the history of my own lifetime. These events are not abstract, like the D-Day beaches of Normandy in the Second World War. These are the times I myself lived through, and remembered or didn't, acted or was indifferent.
We move on, past the Arcul de Triumf (too rainy to get out, I shoot a photo from the bus) up the the big park and lake, Lacul Herăstrău.
Later, walking around, we see the statues to Roman Rule (the wolf mother) and the fine arts center, as well as the Natural History Museum.
The rain goes on and on, a loud rain, and I suppose we are due for it. We have had great luck so far this trip, with zero rain so far (that affected us). But it gets so hard we return to our hotel and hole up for two hours in the cafe, drinking and reading.
When there is a lull in the downpour, we make a run to Caru cu Bere for dinner. Part beer hall, part local hangout, part tourist trap, it has local beers and food.
Gail has cream of vegetable soup with a side of croutons. It is warm and pretty good. I have a traditional pan fried chicken, pork, beef and vegies with mashed potatoes. That was OK.
I tried the local beer.
Nope.
I can't wait until Munich, in late July. Or at least Austria.
During dinner, the restaurant turned into a lake. Even the waiters didn't want to wait.
Colorful crowds of umbrella people shuffled by, soggy rainbow mushrooms passing in groups down the street.
The rain stops for a bit, so I grab the camera for a few last photos.
There is a café umbrella, sponsored by Pepsi.
It says,
"Life is a moment. Live it."
Two lessons for today:
Every Day A Sunday
and
Life is a moment. Live it.