A Walk in the Rain
It was one of those rainy autumn afternoons — not pouring, just soft, persistent drizzle. The kind that doesn’t stop you from walking, but makes the city feel quieter, almost more alive. I grabbed an umbrella, put on my rain boots, and stepped out with no fixed destination. Just time and curiosity.
The air was fresh. Raindrops clung to fallen leaves stuck to the pavement. I wandered aimlessly through Bucharest’s side streets, enjoying that simple pleasure of walking in a city I thought I already knew. I turned onto Henri Coandă Street, then left onto Nicolae Iorga, until I reached the wide, elegant stretch of Calea Victoriei.
Echoes of the Past
As I strolled along, something broke the rhythm — a sound. A branch creaking? No, it repeated. A rhythm like hooves on pavement. And suddenly, in my mind, the street changed. I imagined carriages rolling by, ladies in lace gloves and sweeping dresses, their hems soaked but grace intact. Men in fine suits and shiny shoes tipped their hats. I heard polite conversations, fragments of a different time.
The illusion vanished as I adjusted my umbrella, raindrops pulling me back to the present. That’s when I noticed where I had stopped: in front of a beautiful, imposing house guarded by two sculpted lions.
The House of Enescu
Massive wooden doors rose to the upper floor. Tall windows with preserved woodwork gave the home a noble stillness. It was the house of George Enescu, Romania’s greatest composer. A man and a building, both born ahead of their time.
The rain intensified, dripping from the edges of my umbrella in sheets. I decided to head home. I descended into the metro — the smell of damp concrete and autumn following me down the stairs.
The Sound of Return
The metro ride was quick; not many people were out. I surfaced near my apartment. The rain had calmed, but the umbrella was still needed.
Just as I reached for my front door, music floated from the building next door. Familiar, unexpected: George Enescu’s Romanian Rhapsody. Coincidence or fate? I paused. Behind a thick curtain, I imagined a golden room, people in evening dress, a violin bow moving with grace.
But the reality was better. Through the half-drawn curtain, I saw a teenage girl in a t-shirt, headphones resting on her neck, studying a printed score.
Final Thoughts
I opened my door, unsure what had been more powerful — what I’d seen, or what I’d felt. Some places reveal themselves only in the rain. And some stories, like Enescu’s, keep playing on.
This story was originally written in Romanian and translated/adapted for CheapWanderlust. Personal reflections like this are occasional features to bring destinations to life beyond budget tips.
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