Summer on a 90-Day Clock: A Digital Nomad’s Romania

I landed in Bucharest with a two-month plan and a cautious optimism. By week three, I had a favorite shaorma stand, a metro routine, and a calendar reminder counting down my 90 days. This is the story of my Romanian summer—equal parts deadlines, dumplings, and the exhilaration of figuring things out as I go.

Setting Up in Bucharest: Finding My Feet and a Home

I started in a short-term Airbnb near Tineretului Park to catch my breath and adjust to the heat—July in Bucharest can be 35°C by noon, with late afternoon thunderstorms that roll in like a drumline. Within a week, I found a month-to-month one-bedroom in Timpuri Noi for €520 (about 2,600 lei), with utilities averaging €80 in summer thanks to the AC running on high. If you’re looking, Facebook groups like “Bucharest Expats” are lively, and local sites will try to rope you into longer leases. Month-to-month is possible; it just takes persistence and patient Romanian landlords.

Bucharest surprises you with how livable it is. A cappuccino is €2, a hearty lunch menu around €7–€10, and a monthly public transport pass cheap enough to forget about—under €25 for metro-only, slightly more for integrated tram/bus/metro. I pay with my card almost everywhere (tap-and-go works on the metro turnstiles), but Obor Market still charms me into keeping cash handy for berries, sweet corn, and fresh dill.

The Coworking Routine That Anchored Me

I tried a handful of coworking spaces before settling on a hot desk membership at Impact Hub near Universitate—friendly atmosphere, reliable AC, and the kind of serendipitous kitchen chats that make a place feel like a temporary home. Day passes around Bucharest ran me €15–€25; monthly hot desk memberships ranged from €140–€220, with 24/7 options if you need them.

Internet speeds are blisteringly fast; my apartment’s fiber is more stable than what I had back in the U.S., and every café seems to know the Wi-Fi drill. For coffee shop days, I stick to Beans & Dots, M60, and frizzled, shady terraces where waiters are unbothered if I linger with my laptop. Origo’s coffee is phenomenal, but they’re particular about laptop hours; fair enough—sometimes it’s nice to be forced off the screen.

Community wise, a Tuesday night “nomad potluck” at a coworking space is where I found my people—Romanian designers, fellow expats, and one retiree starting a substack about old Romanian cinema. We’ve since formed a hiking group and a WhatsApp thread for last-minute “Does anyone have a fan I can borrow?” heatwave pleas.

The Visa Clock and What I Learned (The Hard Way)

Let’s talk about the riddle that is time. As an American, I’m traveling under the 90/180-day rule that now applies to Romania along with the rest of the Schengen Area. My days in Romania count toward that total, which means my spur-of-the-moment plans to hop to Budapest and “reset the clock” were wishful thinking—no resets without leaving the Schengen tally.

In mid-July, with the countdown app blinking at me, I went to Bucharest’s immigration office (IGI) after booking an online appointment. I asked about extending my stay on a tourist basis. The officer was patient but firm: short-stay extensions are very limited—think medical emergencies or force majeure—so “I want to see more castles” doesn’t make the cut. Overstaying incurs fines and can complicate future entries. Message received.

If you want a longer stay, Romania has a digital nomad visa. It’s legit, but not quick. You’ll need proof of employment with a non-Romanian company, health insurance, a background check (often apostilled), and a monthly income that’s several times the national average—ballpark €3,500–€4,000, depending on the current benchmark. Processing time isn’t overnight. I didn’t have the paperwork ready, and by the time I did, I couldn’t get approval before my 90 days were up. So I sketched a plan B: a non-Schengen reset in Albania or Serbia, then reassess.

Not the romantic answer, but the honest one.

Day-to-Day Life: Sweat, Shade, and Small Joys

I love my weekdays in Bucharest. I take the M1 to Universitate by 9, climb out to a blast of sun, then tack between work sprints and cold mineral water. Lunch might be a bowl of ciorbă and a bread basket or a box of vinegary salads and grilled vegetables from a cafeteria that weighs your plate. In the evening, I walk through King Michael I Park to watch grandpas play chess and kids eat spun sugar that turns their hands electric blue.

Biking here is a choose-your-own-adventure where you hope the drivers are in a benevolent mood. When I’m not up for that, rideshare apps like Bolt are my crutch: €3–€6 across town, cheaper than blisters. The trams have character; some have AC, some do not. In August heat, you’ll know the difference.

Language-wise, Romanian has a melody I didn’t anticipate—like a cousin to Italian who traveled a lot. I practice with “bună ziua,” “mulțumesc,” and “o cafea, vă rog,” and people often switch to English with kindness. When they don’t, charades and Google Translate are a perfectly respectable duet.

Transylvania Weekends: Train Rattles and Ridge Lines

I tried to see as much as possible without sprinting. Bucharest to Brașov by train takes about 2.5–3.5 hours if you pick a faster line; it was my first escape from the city heat. I hiked a ridge in Piatra Craiului that felt like the roof of the world, then spent the afternoon eating papanși the size of a small animal. Sibiu charmed me with its “eyelid” rooftops, and Sighișoara glowed at sunset like a warm ceramic bowl.

Cluj-Napoca stole a weekend in late July for Electric Castle. I brought a rain jacket I never used and sunscreen I applied twice an hour. Dancing in a field with strangers while a Romanian pop anthem thumped the ground beneath us felt like a culmination of something I didn’t know I’d been building toward—being here, open, on the other side of a life I used to imagine.

This week, with August 15 (the Feast of the Assumption) approaching, friends warned me some offices might close, the city might exhale. The parks already feel fuller at dusk.

Healthcare, Because Things Happen

I got an ear infection after one too many sweaty metro rides. Out of an abundance of caution (and a little panic), I booked a same-day appointment at a private clinic—Regina Maria. The doctor slot cost around 200 lei (€40), antibiotics about 25 lei. It was efficient and kind. Pharmacies are everywhere, marked by bright green crosses, and the pharmacists don’t make you feel ridiculous for miming your symptoms. Emergency number is 112, and I added it to my phone the day I arrived.

If you’re staying longer, budget for private health insurance. If you’re applying for the digital nomad visa, it’s a requirement.

Culture and Connection: What Felt Different

Romanians are direct in a way that I found refreshing once I stopped overthinking it. A “no” isn’t rude; it’s informative. Tipping 10% is appreciated. People give up seats on the metro for pregnant women without a second thought. In conversation, asking where your grandparents are from isn’t intrusive; lineage is part of the story.

Food is hearty and honest: smoky mici with mustard at a picnic table, sour cherry compote poured over dumplings, crunchy pickles that can redeem any gray day. Vegetarian? You’ll be okay—zacuscă spreads, grilled peppers, cheese pies, and summer tomatoes so sweet they practically apologize for every winter tomato you’ve ever had.

I met people through coworking, a language exchange at a bar in Dorobanți, and a hiking group I found on Meetup. My best connection came from helping a neighbor carry a new fan up four flights. She invited me for coffee and I got schooled on the finer points of polenta. “Mămăligă isn’t just a side,” she said, wrapping cheese in a towel like a treasure. “It’s comfort. It’s the winter, before there were supermarkets.” We ate in silence and it felt like family.

The Hard Parts (There Were a Few)

Bureaucracy is real. The IGI website translated halfway, then switched loyalties to Romanian on the second page. I double-booked an appointment because I misread a captcha, then panicked about cancellation penalties that didn’t exist. The summer heat got under my skin some days and I found myself irrationally mad at a tram. I missed friends’ birthdays and felt the distance like a physical ache.

And still, I felt myself expanding—spending a Sunday afternoon alone at the Peasant Museum, taking notes on embroidery patterns I don’t know how to replicate yet. Allowing myself to be new at things. Letting a place change me without demanding it explain itself.

Practical Notes and Advice

• Money and costs: Expect €450–€700 for a decent one-bedroom in a well-connected neighborhood; utilities €80–€120 in summer if you use AC. Coffee €2–€3. Lunch €7–€10. Day trips by train €10–€20 each way if you book ahead. Rideshares are cheap and plentiful.
• Connectivity: Get a prepaid SIM or eSIM on arrival. I paid €10 for more data than I could use in a month. Fiber at home is fast; coworking is rock-solid.
• Transportation: The metro is clean and simple; trams and buses fill gaps. Validate your ride. Carry water in summer; the heat is serious.
• Safety: I felt safe walking home from dinners, but keep an eye on your bag on crowded metro lines. Common city sense applies.
• Language: Learn a few phrases—they go farther than you think. People appreciate the effort, and you’ll feel less like a spectator.
• Visa reality: Don’t bank on a tourist extension. If you want to stay longer, either plan a non-Schengen reset or start the digital nomad visa process early—think months, not weeks. Show income, insurance, clean record, and patience.
• Healthcare: Private clinics are the path of least resistance if you’re short-term. Save receipts; keep your insurance details in your Notes app.
• Community: Say yes to one gathering a week. It compounds. The coffee chat becomes a hike becomes a weekend away becomes a lifeline.

Where I Am Now

I’m writing this from a shaded terrace in Bucharest, cicadas sawing at the afternoon, my laptop warm on my thighs. Two more weeks left on my 90 days, and I’ve booked a train to Timișoara before a bus to Serbia. I’m not done with Romania—I’ll be back, maybe on a longer visa, maybe with a sturdier backpack and better Romanian. For now, I’m proud that I listened when the city said “Come in,” and I respected it when it said “Not yet.”

If you’re on the fence about Romania as a base, consider this your nudge. It’s affordable without being bare-bones, vibrant without being performative, and generous in the ways that matter. You’ll sweat, you’ll get lost, you’ll eat something that tastes like a memory you didn’t know you had. And you’ll find a rhythm that fits.

Best wishes from Bucharest,