A Silent Smile.

Perfect strangers, abandoned.

Bucharest, Romania – The city smiles through chipped teeth.

A bygone splendour is tucked into the spiderwebs of cracked pink paint, rusted balconies, bleached façades and abandoned buildings. Beautiful Beaux-Arts awnings unfold like glass leaves.

They’re set against an adjacent symmetry of brutalist concrete cubes remaining from more than 40 years of communist rule. Lines upon lines upon lines.

In more ways than one.

Having to squint a little to see the remains of a city once described as ‘Little Paris of the East’ isn’t really much of a surprise. Covered in tattoo-like graffiti, Bucharest appears to wear much of its tumultuous history on its sleeve. Times have often been hard.

As a country, Romania has long been at the crossroads – and in the crosshairs – of various imperial powers and fascist regimes. Given these challenges, it’s easy to appreciate that smiles can at first seem harder to come by.

Like parachutes, falling from the sky.

I join one of the many fast-moving, but not insignificant, lines for a  Luca Traditional – ham and cheese baked into a pretzel – before settling onto the patio at Hop Hooligans. The air gets a jolt as friends come together over craft beers. It’s a great spot.

Heading back to the hotel, I walk through an alley with hundreds of umbrellas strung overhead. They paint a rainbow in the sky.

The city’s smile widens ever so slightly.

Nearby, a child-in-arms teases his mother with a giggle. Pouting teens tug on skinny cigarettes. An older woman presumably asks me for money. And others hustle along with groceries.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from travel is that languages may change, but regardless of our different and often-complicated histories, we are – at the core – very much the same.

Bună ziua, Bucharest.