Here’s How You Party on Beautiful European Beaches in a Pandemic

From the Black Sea to the shores of the Danube.

Unless you’ve been able to eke out a nice staycation, the global pandemic put a damper on this year’s summer holiday season. We threw everything we had at a two-week in-country vacation, our first wear-a-mask trip. What’s the Black Sea like in the time of Corona? Here’s what we encountered in the summer land of bikinis, Speedos, body shots, and medical masks.

Somewhere around the middle of June, right as our official sequester ended in Romania, my wife approached with a holiday suggestion. She bounded into our bedroom and asked if I’d be interested in visiting the Romanian Delta region for a few days, then crashing at a resort in Romania’s beach party town of Mamaia for several nights, and finally decompressing for two days in a vineyard on our way back. Her proposal piqued my interest and my apprehension. I asked what was the catch.

She kissed me on the cheek before saying, “We will do the trip with my parents.”

Flashback to several years before when she convinced me to take a road trip from Romania to Greece with her parents. Coming back, I swore, with Zeus as my witness, I would never spend more than 20 minutes in the car with those people again. Lovely couple, but hell is other people’s parents on road trips.

Still — boats, beaches, and wine are tempting. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, pass the chardonnay.

The Danube Delta

To reach the charming riverside town of Sulina, we crossed the Danube twice, once on a ferry that transported our entire car and later, after a short drive, on a small high-speed boat. On the passenger boat, we packed in like sardines under a half-canopy top that trapped heat, and probably other things, under its cover. Wearing my mask and sunglasses, I held my backpack in my lap, as my bare, sweaty leg pressed against the bare leg of the poor woman wedged in next to me. With no room for either of us to adjust, we bonded over the hot, clammy intimacy of limbs that should never touch, meriting a polite handshake when she and her son exited one stop before us.

The Danube Delta is a World Heritage Site renowned for the abundance of wildlife found along the river and its tributaries. If you’re a bird watcher, you’ll chirp at the chance to observe over 320 species in one of Europe’s premier wetlands. If you’re hungry, you better like fish because both fresh and saltwater varieties fill up local menus. If you loath mosquitoes, bring insect repellent and a hazmat suit.

We rented a boat on our first day to tour the channels, which are home to over 5,000 species of plant and animal life. The boat holds 10–12 people, but we booked the entire boat for the four of us. In less pandemical times, we wouldn’t be so extravagant, but the operator cuts us a deal for a private tour, meaning we wouldn’t have to wear masks. Even though tour companies told us business is stable, it’s worth inquiring about any Coronavirus discounts.

Wildlife pops up all around you on the waterways, from the large dragonflies swooping across the bow of the boat to the diverse populations of birds flocking along the shallows and banks. Wild horses roam the Delta, galloping from the water to the nearby ancient forests. As you cruise further into the wetlands, the experience takes on a Heart of Darkness feel, with reeds and grasses threatening to swallow up the boat. Our captain, Adrian, laughed as I quoted lines from Joseph Conrad’s novella, my wife looked less amused.

A highlight of these channel tours is stopping off in tiny villages for lunch. The lunch spots source everything locally, starting with their take on fish stew, or borscht. The second course of roasted fish with polenta arrived as they removed the soup bowls, paired with homemade wine. A dessert of large, fried donut balls followed. Loading up on a heavy lunch can be risky before boarding a boat and speeding across the Black Sea to return to your hotel, but if you’re fond of rubbing your belly while muttering, “The horror, the horror!” at the dolphins swimming in your wake, you’ll be fine.

Cruising through pristine nature makes a boy thirsty. It pleased me to discover a super-chill beach scene a few hundred meters outside our hotel room door, where the Danube meets the Black Sea. We rented sun loungers for $4 apiece. This isn’t the upscale resort you will find in Santorini or Marbella. It’s rough around the edges, but the lack of pretension offers a welcome change from other European beach scenes while still offering plenty of old men in Speedos.

The beachside cabanas crank out typical Euro club music while slinging cold draft beer for less than $2 a pint. Chair service isn’t available, but for two bucks get your lazy ass up and walk the 20 meters to the stand. When waiting in line, most people donned masks and respected the social distancing demarcations on the wooden boardwalk. People were patient, civil, and properly spaced.

Temperatures hovered in the low-90’s F, 32º C, but a quick swim in the brackish waters of the area cool you off before collapsing back onto your lounger and soaking up more sun. Who worries about skin cancer while a dangerous virus runs rampant?

Humans aren’t the only land mammals cooling off in the nearby waters. While walking to my lounger one morning, I encountered a wet cow exiting the sea after a quick dip. Despite feeling my life was complete after photographing the elusive Sea Cow, I continued on with our holiday.

The Delta is a family spot, evidenced by sand teeming with little ones running amuck. While family-friendly, the beach was also top optional. Women who understand what needs covering for the safety of civilization wore the occasional combination of masks and no bikini tops.

As we left the beach, we’d stop at one of the two restaurants on the sand or one of the food trucks for our daily dose of fish. I devoured large baskets of hamsii. These are European anchovies, fried whole and served with garlic sauce. After drinking pints on the beach for several hours, a helping of fried fish evens out one’s keel.

Five days of swimming, sunbathing, birdwatching, and late-night strolls along the beach flew by and soon we packed up the car and made the three-hour drive to Mamaia.

Constanța and Mamaia

I’d been curious about Mamaia for years, having spent portions of my youth partying in Cancun, Mykonos, and Ibiza. I wanted to see what Romania’s top beach locale offered.

We stayed at a boutique hotel located off of Kudos Beach in Mamaia. Here the daily price of a sun lounger with a giant umbrella jumps to $12 if you want to sleep next to the blue waters. While still brimming with cloisters of families, Mamaia also displays a younger, less-child bearing contingent who spends the day sizing one another up from beneath parasols. Beach officials spread out the sun loungers, but I witnessed a lot of non-socially distant flirting on the white sands. Coronavirus might not be spreading, but other contagions were likely exchanged.

The wind blew throughout our three days at the beach and the skies above the horizon filled with kite surfers, sometimes ten or more, racing beyond the buoys of the swimming areas. The water is cool but not cold, and the sea bottom is sandy. It’s perfect for a refreshing swim or if you like peeing with the fish.

Each morning, the chairs on the beach fill up around ten, with waiters bringing iced coffees and freddo lattes to the sleepy beachgoers. Around two p.m., the beaches empty, as people break for lunch or a nap in their hotel rooms. Later in the day, close to five, people return and the transition to party begins with the beach bars cranking up the dance music. However, the beach was far less crowded than we were expecting.

Despite there being plenty of party spots along the shore, we felt compelled to check out one of the big clubs in nearby Constanța. We dressed like a middle-aged couple on vacation and rolled into Fratelli Beach and Club around ten p.m. After one drink, we rolled out. It’s a large place, capable of holding hundreds of party people, but the small crowd made it seem sad. I considered a second cocktail, but then a group next to us began discussing taking body shots off one other, and we took that as a sign from the universe it was time to go.

Maybe it was the pandemic or a poor choice, but the club felt awkward, so we were happy to return to Kudos. We popped into one of the colorful little pubs along the boardwalk blaring 80s music and enjoyed a fun evening with no mention of body shots.

Police officers asked us to put on masks while walking around the crowded boardwalk, but once we entered a restaurant or bar, all masks came off, except those we use to hide our true selves. I never take that one off. Bartenders in masks served drinks until dawn while the waitstaff diligently scrubbed clean the tables between seatings, and disinfectant dispensers sat next to every venue entrance. Beyond these measures, the world of beach partying appeared live and well, though in smaller numbers.

Conacul din Ceptura Winery

Nine days of sun is a lot for a man whose ancestors obviously lived in below ground caves. My crispy skin welcomed the gorgeous hills of Romanian wine country and Crama Vinalia — Conacul din Ceptura.

Normally, I’d feel guilty ordering wine at breakfast, but when staying at a vineyard, why bother with trivialities such as water? The attentive staff paired my Croque Madame with a demi-sec white wine. They’ll put another in a to-go cup so you can refresh while traipsing through the vineyards. So I heard.

We took long walks in the mornings before the sun became too strong, winding through the hills and snapping photos of the sweeping vistas. Once the temperatures rose, we retreated to the pool between the restaurant and our rooms. From underneath large parasols, you can gaze out into the rows of grapevines as you sip what might be your third, possibly fourth, wine of the day, but as a wise man once said, “Anni, amori e bicchieri di vino, nun se contano mai.” Loosely translated from Italian — don’t judge.

The restaurant operates all day, taking the last order at nine p.m. We wandered over mid-day for a snack of fried eggplant and grilled polenta with a crisp Sauvignon Blanc and then returned several hours later for a fantastic rack of pork ribs paired with a decadent Cabernet Sauvignon.

Once again, all seating was alfresco with interior spaces shut down completely. The staff wore masks and gloves, but the patrons donned them only upon check-in and check-out. Until edible masks are a thing, eating with a mask won’t be easy. This was by far the location with the fewest signs of a pandemic, and that’s because it’s difficult to ponder the madness of 2020 when the next wine tasting is minutes away.

In three short days, our Bacchanalia came to an end, and so it was time to leave. During the drive home, I considered how modern life can continue close to normal if you take precautions and wash your hands.

When time and travel bans permit, I recommend finding your way to Romania. With beautiful scenery, friendly people, and friendlier exchange rates, Romania remains a hidden gem. Although the crowds were smaller and the masks were abundant, we had a fantastic time. Is this the new normal? Will the summer holidays ever be the same? As long as there are still old men walking around the beach in Speedos, we’re fine. Ish.