Long before the Palace of the Parliament, Ceaușescu and idiots driving white SUVs, this city was (and still is) about some covrigi, the remote sound of the bell at a hidden church, several mici, a sip of Turkish coffee joined by some sweet like hell chocolate cake, a small glass of țuică, the plăcinte and Maria’s immortal Aguridă or Ciuleandra. For all these reasons I shall never trade Bucharest for any other city on Earth, Mars or in any other “civilized” location.