I impressed myself (not too difficult).
David’s recommendation was to find the scummiest purveyor of food down the nastiest back street, and to try eating there.
Bucharest has Pizza Hut, KFC, McDonalds, and numerous cheap knock-offs of said franchises. It was tempting to take the easy route and crawl into one of them, and fill up on ubiquitous carbohydrates.
In the end, I wound up in a back street, dining on food I cannot pronounce or spell. And it was good. And so was the beer 
So, what is with the language in this place? I can understand it written down – it’s like the bastard offspring of French, German and Latin all getting it on in a distinctly unpleasant fashion. Very confusing.
Went for a bit of a hike after dinner (possibly the fault of those beers), and it turns out there’s some real gritty backstreet watering holes and restaurants round the corner from the hotel, so I’ll be trying one of those tomorrow night. I didn’t find where I’m supposed to be doing the training on Monday, but I know the street now, so I’ll find it in the morning.
Right. The aircon is saying this room is at 29 degrees celcius, so it’s time to get away from the furnace that is my laptop and pass out with a good book. I’m discovering the joys of the cocaine-fuelled sleuth that is Sherlock Holmes. Don’t know quite how I missed reading the collected adventures before. Terribly remiss of me.
Breakfast at 7.30am tomorrow. That’s 5.30am UK time. Ouch.
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