New Year’s Eve 2012 – Bucharest, Romania

My first look at the city of Bucharest came as I emerged from the underground metro station at Unirii Square. The overcast sky and light gray stone buildings quickly explained the Romanian culture’s love for hot coffee. The environment evokes a need rather than just a desire to visit one of the abundant warm cafes that dot the central streets of the capital. Bucharest is a city of nearly 2 million people and as I looked around at the massive buildings accompanied by vast spacious parks it was hard to comprehend its size, having spent the last year and a half in a country whose entire population barely exceeds this city. I got an immediate sense of the convoluted histories wrought on Bucharest while I observed the complex architecture ranging from Gothic, to Baroque, to Renaissance, to Classism, which stretch continually outward in every direction.

Our apartment was located in the Jewish neighborhood today called the Jewish Ghetto which in its peak housed as many as 70,000 Jews and 70 synagogues. Few survived the horrors of Fascism and Communism as they tore through the region during the 20th century. Today only a few Jews and synagogues remain. Our apartment was on the seventh floor and we waited patiently at the elevator while teams of two ascended in the cramped car. The apartment was pleasant and well worth the inexpensive cost. It was spacious and provided everything we needed, the only problem, however no hot water. After a quick text/question to the management staff about the water she simply replied, “just let the water run and then see, sorry, this is Bucharest”. I guess water conservation isn’t hugely popular there yet? Surprisingly it did heat up after about ten minutes, which is apparently the amount of time it takes to pump the water hot water from the ground floor. After resting and settling in we went out on the town to accomplish our priority goal for the trip, securing an awesome New Year’s Eve location.

A little research of Bucharest will enlighten you to the popularity of Lipscani Street as the must-go location for nightlife and dancing. The street does not disappoint. Once reached, our group slowly sauntered along the cobblestone road underneath strings of white lights while noting our prospective disco destinations. As we walked, I wondered if it was possible to navigate the cobblestone and their deep grooves in the heels I had planned to wear the following night, but I was soon reassured after observing a passing group of Romanian ladies tip-toe through the would be gauntlet. I peered down the small winding roads searching for that certain place with a special attraction, there were plenty to choose from. Left and right were signs offering the best New Year’s Eve experience of your life. At last, the decision was made for a small dark underground club offering an open bar for the price of admission. The scene was set. We were all tired from traveling and walking and decided to stop off at a crowded pub to enjoy a local dark beer and muse about the forthcoming revelry.

The next night, after what seemed like extensive preparation, but in reality was probably skewed by the Peace Corps “get ready” perception, we all descended the stairs into the club, which throbbed in red and black lights lit from the club’s low ceilings and bounced of its red brick walls. As we sat down at our table I noted our decision to suit up was well suited (suited, get it) with our surroundings. Our entrance tickets to the club included drinks, hors d’oeuvres, and a myriad of party favors from masks to confetti. When the tray of hors d’oeuvres, containing spreads of meat, fruits, crackers and mussels arrived we confirmed our Americaness by devouring the plate with a vengeance, as I’m sure the locals looked on in horror, which only occurred to me later. Naturally, we followed the hors d’oeuvres with a round of dinks and salutes and at that moment the night officially started. The music worked its way up form subdued pop tunes to full blown thunderous funk. As the New Year grew near the tables were given champagne bottles and flutes. The night’s formal beginning grew informal as we repeatedly swapped cheers, (“noroc” in Romanian) and sang every word of “Beat It” with the other patrons. The dancing transformed everyone into year-end BFs.

Finally, the moment arrived… 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…simultaneously I saw confetti and champagne explode spraying the walls and people. The sound of party blowers and yells echoed off the narrow brick halls between each room. We toasted and yelled. We looked around and saw the locals putting on their jackets so we also donned our freshly champagne soaked jackets to file out into the streets and watch the city fireworks. Large booming explosions filled the black sky with glitter. Firecrackers and whirling flames buzzed down the streets. Plates and glasses shattered against the buildings in celebratory bursts. People yelled, gazed, danced, and kissed each one another. I stood hugging my husband, looking down the cobblestone road at my surroundings, a small white lit church, crowds of citizens, old hotels, and restaurants, simply enjoying the first moments of another new year abroad.