București cosmopoliți

I have never lived anywhere that could be described as cosmopolitan.

I grew up in a village in Norfolk where I think racial diversity meant coming from Norwich. The only non-whites for miles around were airmen from the nearby US Air Force Bases, leading me to the conclusion that black people came from America (a conviction I held until I was at least 10, I'm sure).

At university I was determined to head for the big city; big it might be, but Sheffield is definitely not glamorous. It's been glammed up a fair bit in recent years, and there are probably parts of it that I'd no longer recognize, yet the oppressive post-war concrete structures and the permanent drizzle from September to late May always dampened the esthetic of what was otherwise a fantastic place to be a student.

My studies took me across the channel to France, at last a bit of the exotic! I was sure I was on to a winner by stating I wanted to be placed in a city for my year as a teaching assistant. The excitement continued as I was told I was going to be in the Burgundy region. Wine, mustard, snails and Boeuf Bourgignon, Dukes and history and second homes, this was it. At the welcome meeting we were told how lucky were to be posted to the most affluent region in France…except if we were in the region's second largest town, Chalon-sûr-Sâone, in which case the situation was different. My school turned out to be on the outskirts of said town, between a sink estate and a factory, where I lived in what looked like a nuclear fall-out shelter in the middle of the school field.

After uni I tried again, this time sure I could get that position on Aix-en-Provence. Fate saw differently and I packed my bags for Valenciennes in Northern France, chav-central and a building site. I had by now resigned myself to living slightly askew of the cutting edge.

So, whilst some may have been apprehensive about moving to Romania, having never really lived the high-life myself, I told myself "How hard can it be?"

This answer was, harder than I thought!

Despite certain first impressions, I do love all the places I have lived and will defend them vehemently against snobs and ignoramuses who try to do them down, and I have no doubt I will feel the same about living in Buzău. This doesn't stop me feeling that I am missing out on some fun somewhere along the way.

Last week, I went to my first ever expats meeting in Bucharest. I was a bit nervous about what I would find but all of the women I spoke to were absolutely lovely and it really was a pleasant way to spend a morning. However, I came away with a rather bizarre feeling, knowing that all these women could continue going to their bridge clubs, book groups and coffee meetings (not to mention Monthly Luncheons and aqua gym sessions) whilst I would be two hours away, on my Todd. I didn't necessarily want to take part in all their meetings (I came to Romania in order to find out about Romanian lifestyles, after all) but I envied the escapism it offered them and the company of other expats (of whom there surely are in the town, I just haven't found them yet).

I did enjoy my trip to the big smoke; taking the train, then a cab, speaking English, having a coffee and a chat but it didn't feel very real. I'm obviously not cut out for these bourgeois affairs.

So until further notice I shall be here, running from the dogs, escaping to the swimming pool and dreaming of the day I can understand what all the people around me are talking about.