Bullet holes in Bucharest

Time for another retrospective post. This time, we’ll complete the story of my journey through Romania in 1990. At the time, I was travelling with a group of 12 as part of a YWAM Christian missionary program, just six months after the totalitarian regime of Nicolae Ceaușescu had collapsed in a violent revolution. 

After spending a week in Romania's impoverished mining region, we made our way back to Pitești on 10 July. It was fitting that our final night in Romania was in the very place we’d begun our month-long circuit of the country’s southern towns and cities. We stayed again with the families who’d hosted us in June, reporting back on all we’d seen and done. The following day, we crossed the Danube and made our way to Varna on the Bulgarian Black Sea coast.

Our route east took us through the capital, Bucharest, for the first time. Driving there was a rather unique experience. A dual carriageway motorway, the Autostrada A1, linked Pitești with the capital. It was the nation’s first motorway, and for 15 years after its opening in 1972, the only one in the entire country. 

However, it wasn’t like any motorway I’d ever seen. Weeds grew in the cracks across the carriageway; waist-high grass filled the median strip and lined its shoulders, and a single, solitary, hand-painted, fading billboard (the only one we saw in all of Romania) promoted the nation's homemade Dacia motor car. It looked more like a set from a post-apocalyptic movie than a modern highway. It was just another sad example of the impact of Ceaușescu’s harsh austerity programs on infrastructure maintenance.

 
The image above shows the motorway as it appears today. The road surface and line markings are in much better condition. However, the dense corridor of trees and long grass on either side is exactly how I remember it. At times, it really felt like the highway was slicing arrow-straight through dense green forest.

Likewise, along the entire highway’s length, shredded black rubber littered the verge. Extreme austerity and growing poverty meant people used their tyres until they literally disintegrated. Then, once their remnants were dumped on the roadside, the waste was never collected. I’ve never seen anything quite like it anywhere else in the world.

It's also worth noting the unusual presence of a Dacia billboard. Promotional advertising was notable for its complete absence in Romania. We never saw billboards or posters anywhere, including shop windows, bus shelters and the like. Furthermore, under Ceaușescu’s regime, the automotive industry was never promoted through advertising. Dacia vehicles were in high demand and sold on a waiting list, with customers often waiting for several years to purchase one, so there was no need to promote them!

Our time in Bucharest was all too brief. We stopped long enough to collect a few supplies and walked briefly through a section of town. I was fascinated by the scars of battle visible on the surrounding buildings. Bullet holes from street fighting that raged for days after Ceaușescu’s fall were visible everywhere. You can see a typical example above. It was surreal walking the streets where gun battles had been fought just months earlier.  The image that opens this post was taken in 2010 when Garry and I revisited the capital.

At one point, we drove past the headquarters of the National Salvation Front, Romania’s new, democratically elected governing party. Its security perimeter was simply out of this world. The free-standing collonaded building was surrounded by an impenetrable ring of armed soldiers standing an arm’s length apart. Outside the main entrance, tanks, artillery and another line of soldiers were stationed on a ceremonial lawn. 

A block away, we stumbled upon a side street filled with more tanks and soldiers milling around. I’ve never seen so many soldiers on duty, or tanks for that matter, and certainly never in the heart of a modern city. The firepower on display was extraordinary and rather intimidating. I’ve since learned that the National Salvation Front’s headquarters was previously home to the Romanian Communist Party’s Central Committee.

However, the city’s biggest highlight – for me at least – came as we drove out of town. Our route took us along Bulevardul Ion C. Brătianu and then briefly across Bulevardul Victoria Socialismului (Victory of Socialism Boulevard, a dramatic arrow-straight throughfare that extends for more than three kilometres through the city’s centre. It’s since been renamed Bulevardul Unirii (Union Boulevard).

Bulevardul Victoria Socialismului was constructed by Ceaușescu as a showpiece processional avenue leading to his grand Presidential Palace. This monumental building was still under construction when his regime fell in December 1989. I was keen to see it up close. However, I had to satisfy myself with a passing glimpse in the distance as we crossed over Bulevardul Victoria Socialismului. Still, it was an astonishing sight. The intersection we crossed was a kilometre from the building, yet it still dominated the landscape.

The image above was pulled from the web. It captures the scene we briefly witnessed, including the forest of construction cranes surrounding the incomplete building. It would be another two decades before I’d return and see it up close.

Follow this link to continue our journey through Eastern Europe. Varna, on the Bulgarian Black Sea, was our next destination.