Romania is wild, contradictory, and deeply human – the kind of place where you can drink homemade plum brandy in a shepherd’s hut in the Carpathians and then end the night in a smoky Bucharest bar listening to jazz beneath crumbling communist concrete.
There’s old-world magic here, stitched into everything. Fog-wrapped castles, Orthodox monasteries glowing with candlelight, horse-drawn carts rattling down dirt roads like time never bothered to show up.
You’ll find layers of empire and occupation, a stew of Hungarian, Ottoman, and Slavic influence, and a kitchen that reflects it all – fragranced soups, grilled meats, smoked cheeses, pickled everything, and the kind of hearty food that makes you wonder why you ever needed anything fancy.
Romania doesn’t hold your hand. It rewards those who wander, those who sit down at a village table and say yes to whatever’s being passed around. It’s a place of stories. A place of myths and legends. I mean, what else would you expect of Dracula’s homeland?
