blog

Last night someone stole my husband’s bike. It was chained outside the apartment, in the hallway of our lovely communist block. The incident “inspired” me to write this hate letter to the city.

I’ve been living in Bucharest for almost nine years now, but only started to hate this city a couple of years ago. My hate wasn’t born overnight; it wasn’t like I was in love with Bucharest on Tuesday evening only to wake up on Wednesday hating it. It was a gradual process, fed by things that happened around me, or to other people during everyday life. I’ll try to express this in a list, in no particular order.

Ugly buildings

The derelict old buildings left to rot; the shapeless new constructions built out of old iron and wire which are used to sell matches and knickers on the streets; the new blocks of flats that suffocate the narrow streets; the steel and glass giants which tower above the dirt; the oversized nouveau riche “villas” which are painted pink; my lovely communist block that looks bleaker with every passing year.

Everywhere you go, ongoing construction blocks the street, makes unbearable noise and produces debris that no one cleans up. If this work didn’t contradict all the laws of beauty and aesthetics I might bear the sacrifice.

Cars

I must admit, I don’t drive, even though I have my license. Not only do I find driving in Bucharest scary, I also feel that the last thing our streets need is another car; mine. I do however walk a lot and it’s usually an obstacle race, mostly because of how people park. Dog poo and litter are the other reasons. It’s quite funny, but these are the three items that define Bucharest’s sidewalks: cars, dog shit and garbage. Nothing more pleasant than a nice walk home from work to clear your head after a long day… But I digress.

So cars, or, better said, the people who drive them. Why do they honk the horn so much? The soundtrack of this city is the horn sound: short and nervous, long and rude, or simply hysterical – either way it never gets the job done (the guy in front still won’t move faster, get out of your way or disappear off the face of the earth). It’s a pointless cacophony that accompanies our every day.

Litter

Our office is on a street between Dacia and Stefan cel Mare. I walked the entire length of it one day and counted 10 garbage “corners”: small or medium sized garbage heaps at the base of trees. The cleaners don’t touch them; they only take the garbage deposited in the bins. Don’t ask me why. I don’t have a theory about who throws their garbage in the street because I can’t think of why anyone would do that. What on earth can posses you to just drop your banana peels, old rags and decapitated doll on the pavement? It’s almost like doing your business on the street, in full view, doggy style.

Yapping

Obviously people like to share their daily lives with strangers, why else would they talk in the loudest voice with their friends, or on the phone, while on the streets, in the tram or in line to buy bread. I’ve heard about the cheating boyfriends, the lousy mums, the sisters who died only to be found a week later, the drunken binges, you name it. But I really don’t care about all that; I prefer to listen to my own thoughts. So Santa gave me a portable MP3 player. Still, there are people who talk louder than it.

Vulgarities

This happens mostly in the summer and is sometimes accompanied by touching. Some men, of all ages (from 5 to 65) feel a compelling need to insult women. I guess it’s a way to express frustration. It’s incredibly degrading and it makes me feel cowardly, because most of the time it happens, I pretend it didn’t and just walk on. I once saw a girl who had to guts to respond to such an insult and the guy started shouting at her and then he spat on her. Just like that.

Crowds

I probably suffer from sociophobia, but there’s always a crowd in this city: on the streets, in the malls, in the supermarkets, in the subway. Chaotic crowds formed by people who never smile, who bump into you, who either walk too fast or too slow, who talk too loud, who smoke when they shouldn’t, who throw their garbage wherever, who stare at you, who cut in line, who swear at their kids, who live in their own world.

I guess it’s not Bucharest that I hate, it’s the people who populate it. And they hate me.