The time I love Romania most is probably walking along the crumbling streets of Bucharest's allegedly historic centre. In fact it is late nineteenth century, so not very historic, but it has the patina of dereliction you get in cities that were allowed or forced to decay because of Marxist anti-economic policies: like Havana and, before tourism, Tbilisi.
It feels half as old as time, while really old places in other countries are highly restored and look as if they were just built. People who read the Narnia books as children can think of the petrified city of Charn in The Magician's Nephew.
During the lockdown I took up my old hobby of aimless urban walking again and since the lockdown ended I continue the habit.
The first picture is of the church of St Nicholas Udricani, which I discovered today for the first time in a small uninteresting little street some way east of Piața Unirii.
The exterior wall painting dates from the late eighteenth century and miraculously escaped the Great Fire of 1847, so the priest told me. He gave me some delicious coliva, baked to mark the hundredth anniversary of the Treaty of Trianon yesterday.
He told me Udricani means inhabitants of Adrianople, a city that the Turkish republic renamed Edirne. It is graced by beautiful mosques and was capital of the Ottoman empire until Constantinople fell. The emigrants for whom this church was built would have mourned the previous Christian Adrianople.
It feels half as old as time, while really old places in other countries are highly restored and look as if they were just built. People who read the Narnia books as children can think of the petrified city of Charn in The Magician's Nephew.
During the lockdown I took up my old hobby of aimless urban walking again and since the lockdown ended I continue the habit.
The first picture is of the church of St Nicholas Udricani, which I discovered today for the first time in a small uninteresting little street some way east of Piața Unirii.
The exterior wall painting dates from the late eighteenth century and miraculously escaped the Great Fire of 1847, so the priest told me. He gave me some delicious coliva, baked to mark the hundredth anniversary of the Treaty of Trianon yesterday.
He told me Udricani means inhabitants of Adrianople, a city that the Turkish republic renamed Edirne. It is graced by beautiful mosques and was capital of the Ottoman empire until Constantinople fell. The emigrants for whom this church was built would have mourned the previous Christian Adrianople.

