We had no trouble with our flight into Bucharest the next morning. We sailed in smoothly. When we landed, I realized how grateful I was to my Aunt Lucy for inviting me on what would be a life changing trip. And immediately as I arrived, I could see that Bucharest was both like and unlike anywhere I had been. I was alarmed at the amount of litter in the streets, at the poverty and how seemingly old the city was. Perhaps it should have come as no surprise but take nothing for granted when you travel. And I was scared. Scared in the way only a 15 year-old could be. Scared of the unknown. I was taking a big step by just coming on the trip.
When we arrived at the house, I was surprised to note the spaciousness of our host’s living quarters. Bob was a diplomat and Teresa was a dutiful mother, but that meant very little to a 15 year-old. They had a son, John, who was not much younger than I was. There were other guests at the house: Lauren, who was just a bit older than me and who had traveled to Romania independently. She would become a trusted ally for me during the trip. Margaret, the Catholic-American nun, who looked after children living with HIV/AIDS during her time in Romania. She would remain a sage, sharing her insights about Romanians and all matters of human nature. She was a dynamic woman.
Before dinner, we took the car out to run errands, like exchange money and get photocopies made of our passports. And, finally, looking at the relative poverty that existed next to extreme wealth, I had a point of comparison. I grew up until the age of 7 in the city of Philadelphia in Germantown, which had an amazing variety of old architecture next to new. What I was not conscious of at such a tender age was that, like in any city, extreme poverty could exist just blocks away from instances of extreme wealth. Co-existence is typical in any city.
No example is more appalling than the parliament building in Bucharest, which we visited on our second day. The building is the second largest in the world – second only to the Pentagon in size – and is a stunning feat of architecture and interior design. Gold and marble were used in nearly every room of the building. Moreover, it is a stunning sign of waste and extravagance. On the second day of my arrival, I witnessed up-close all of a city’s potential squandered in just one building. The juxtaposition of relative poverty to the parliament building was unsightly.
After the parliament building, we visited various churches. It was not unusual to find a church built inside a synagogue, built inside a mosque. My aunt and I came across one such monstrosity, and who was waiting at the front entrance, but a young girl with her younger brother. I will never forget them. They were alone and much too young to be alone. The young girl was wearing red patent leather shoes and the boy had a newly shaved head, exposing large, raised white bumps. One thing I was sure of was that with the demise of communism many government programs broke down, including the healthcare system. What I was not sure of was if this little boy would get the care he needed, when he needed it. First world healthcare was a world away.
During our excursions, we visited a Holocaust Museum which caused me to ask myself, why the Jewish people were persecuted? As I traveled from museum to museum the reasons multiplied. Upon reflection, I recognize just how deep, complex and unfortunate the rift was between Jewish people and some other Europeans.
Through it all, we still found time to shop. There was always time for clothes, shoes and souvenirs. And I found a dress and platform cork-bottom sandals that I adored. The more I saw of this city, the more I became certain of its potential. I admired the fashion sense of women in Bucharest. I wondered where they found their clothes. As I looked at the buildings, I realized that with a coat of paint and a good cleaning, many of the city’s buildings could be quite beautiful. What I could not understand then was that, in such a centralized system, it took the well oiled mechanics of working city politics to achieve that uniformly across the entire city. “What a dream the city of Bucharest would be,” I said to myself. I also noted that poverty did not appear to be quite the problem that I noticed around the airport. As a result, eventually, I felt as comfortable on the city streets of Bucharest as I felt in New York City.
One thing I was sure of was that the average driver in Bucharest drove rather quickly and erratically. Margaret figured, “it was as if the drivers were adolescents getting a new taste of freedom. They were rebelling because they could.”
I think that what Margaret meant was that, because society was not as closed as it had been and the state retreated from everyday life, Romanians were just getting a feel for who they were. That said, I did not witness any accidents during my time in Romania even though drivers drove as if there were no speed limit. Learning to become responsible drivers would come with time.
