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In the unbearable lightness of leaving Istanbul behind, we set out one evening by train. Even though we had no wings, we felt as free as birds as we rattled over first the Meriç (Maritza) into Bulgaria, and many hours later crossed the Danube into Romania. From Bucharest we had planned to travel northwards by train again over the Transylvanian Alps to Sighisoara, said to be the birthplace of the Wallachian Prince Vlad Tepes, but Bucharest held us enthralled for much longer than we had intended. The city reminded us of Istanbul: weary but still smiling a welcome. While we patted the street dogs, wandered the streets, went in and out of the magnificent stone buildings, explored 18th century churches, and relaxed in the cafés and restaurants, the city told its story. Its golden age was at the beginning of the 1900s, a time when Romania's culture, art and architecture were inspired by France. The architects of Bucharest dressed the city in Paris fashions, with broad tree-lined boulevards, neo-classical buildings, elegant parks adorned with lakes, and even a triumphal arch.
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