Coffee in Bucharest
Bucharest in the rain is a study in grey. A low leaden sky presses down on cracked, graffiti smeared apartment blocks. The drains cannot deal with the deluge and the filthy street has become a river. Hunched figures scurry down the treacherous pavements, scarcely bothering to avoid the puddles.
Yet here I am, warm and comfortable, sitting in a new Belgian themed coffee shop. Another example of the contrasts that define Bucharest, that define Romania.
My “long” espresso arrives, it is perfect. As I sip, my eyes are drawn to the nearest window. A battered Dacia is struggling to pull out into the endless stream of traffic. A shiny, black Audi patiently waits for the precious parking place, it is the contrast thing again.
The soup I also ordered arrives, it is cold, of course it is.
the city flows down