Arrived Monday morning July 22nd after 20+ hours of relaxing air travel and always pleasant interactions with airport security personnel that bring back grade school memories of Mrs. “Weenie-buns” (nickname) telling me to close my desktop in a tone that I’m sure damaged my fragile self esteem and contributed to extending my bed-wetting years. I made this trip for work and had read prior to my trip, that Bucharest, the capital, cultural and financial center of Romania has a mix of neo-classical, Bauhaus, Art Deco, Communist-era and modern architecture. In between the two World Wars, the city’s elegant architecture and the sophistication of its elite earned Bucharest the nickname of “Little Paris.” There are numerous parks and tree lined boulevards along with a replica of the Arc de Triomphe. Although buildings and districts in the historic city centre were heavily damaged or destroyed by war, earthquakes and Communist Dictator Nicolae Ceausescu’s program of systematically destroying religious structures and monuments, many survived. Before visiting, my notions of Romania consisted of Transylvania – Dracula, Olympic gymnasts – Nadia Comaneci and gypsies. I’m pleased to report my horizons have been broadened by the trip and the hospitable, kind people I met. I was also privileged to experience the “Romanian stare,” which is a cross between the look your significant other gives you after you’ve gobbled a whole pie at Thanksgiving and then squeak, “I didn’t think you wanted a piece,” and the half pity/half disdain look you get from people in the check-out line behind you at the home center store when the cashier has to do a price check on the “stainless steel j-bolt with hex nut” left uncoded by you. After I arrived in Bucharest and checked into my hotel, I took a cab back to the airport to pick up another co-worker. My cab driver Florine, spoke no English, so I used my iphone translator to ask him: When we get to the airport what is the cost for you to wait? He looked in the rearview mirror, gave me the “stare,” giggled and shrugged his shoulders….I can only imagine what my butchered pronunciation produced, possibly: Can you take me to a pig farm so I can roll around? He called his English speaking supervisor on the phone to assist. Lesson Learned: Avoid trying to speak phrases or sentences in Romanian, unless you’re prepared to wallow in confusion. I was talking with a new Romanian friend during dinner about Vlad III, Prince of Wallachia or Vlad the Impaler (Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel Dracula was inspired by Vlad’s father’s name Vlad Dracul). During the Ottoman Turks drive to conquer Christian Europe, Vlad was renowned for his defense of Romania. I mentioned I’d heard, after killing Turks in battle, Vlad would mount their heads on pikes for miles as a warning to other Turk armies to reconsider advancing. My Romanian friend shook his head and corrected me by saying Vlad impaled their entire bodies on the pikes, not just their heads. To which I said, “Sort of like Turkish shish kabobs?” Oh Oh, there it was again, the “stare.” Lesson Learned: It’s very hard to stick to your point when you’re talking about impaling. Also at dinner, one of our hosts suggested we try a shot of “Tuica,” a strong Romanian drink made from plums. I said oh, kind of like the “Ouzo” drink from Greece? The group went silent and then, that’s right, a table full of “stares.” They all said, almost in unison, “Tuica is much better and stronger than Ouzo.” Lesson Learned: When discussing drinks that are a source of national pride, better to distill the good qualities of each and not allow regional animosity to ferment. Well gotta go. My wife just brought home some Kansas City BBQ, you know kinda like Texas BBQ.