Ciao, Ceausescu!

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After dropping the German girls off at a train station, Claire and I headed to Bucharest. We could tell we were reaching a capital city because the road-side prostitutes were more attractive and wore a superior quality hotpant. They lined our approach to the campsite and one was even checking in to one of the on-site bungalows with a client as we arrived. She only needed it for 20 minutes as it turned out.

Bucharest is a nonsense. For a start it's a city that wishes it was Paris. There is a Gare Du Nord, a Charles De Gaulle Strada and an Arc De Triomphe. Ceausescu was so obsessed with the Champs Elysees being "Europe's biggest boulevard" that he cleared a great swathe of Bucharest just so he could build himself a boulevard that is slightly wider and slightly longer. This he filled with hundreds of fountains, the biggest of which is about three storeys high – and on the day we were there had its own rainbow! This super-boulevard leads to his crowning glory – or biggest folly – the People's Palace. It's a preposterously big building, with a brain-achingly pointless number of floors, rooms and underground tunnels. It's like three Buckingham Palaces placed on top of each other.

Another frustrating area of the city is the old town, Lipscani. This is the trendy part of town where people go to drink in the bars and clubs that line the streets. Unfortunately the streets that they line are in a perpetual state of disrepair. They are constantly being dug up, filled in again or just left dug up. You find yourself walking over rubble or across exposed pipes to get from hip club to cool bar. The buildings, too, are either half-repaired or borderline derelict.

To escape the madness we managed to get tickets for a music festival just outside the city. But that turned out to be very hard work. Firstly the shuttle bus to get us there went from a street that had been closed that weekend for a basketball tournament. Then when we eventually got there (by cab) the times on the tickets were all wrong so we joined the queue of people who'd all got there earlier as we waited for the wristbands to turn up before we could enter. By this time we were hungry so we went to the "food court" – three stalls offering the dizzying choice of curry, nachos or popcorn. The beer was cheap though – once you'd worked out the strange token system they'd decided to adopt. Even after all that we managed to have a good time. The bands were great (and nearly all British) and we got to see Mystery Jets, The Noisettes and Plan B among others. We also had a go at "skydiving" on a giant fan. It was great fun (especially after cheap beer and vegetable curry) but I kept face-planting into the airbags. Apparently, the reason I wasn't very good at it was because I was too big – I was assured they meant height-wise not weight-wise – and they needed a bigger fan. At least I had something to blame.

We met a couple of British lads at the festival, Matt and Craig from Stoke, who were on a work placement in Bucharest. After the music had finished we got back to Bucharest and hooked up with them in rubble-strewn Lipscani. A very messy night ensued. A night that involved green drinks, dancing on tables, a snog from a fat bloke and a Canadian man losing his passport. We left the bar at 6am and got in a cab to go home. Half way through the journey the taxi driver decided he didn't know where the campsite was, stopped the car and told us to get out. We had no idea where we were and were astonished when he then tried to make us pay him for the journey thus far. The row that followed was hilarious and involved him threatening to call the police, me telling him to go ahead so I could explain to them how he'd kidnapped us and Claire storming off shouting, "Leave it Will, he's not worth it!" It was like being in EastEnders. We found another taxi and this time made sure everyone knew where they were going before we got in. We were home 10 minutes later.

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