When you’re on your way to
Bucharest, right before crossing the bridge that stretches over the mighty
Danube, a narrow road splits away from the highway and leads you to the mediocre
provincial town of Cernavodă. This town is a special one, but not in a positive
way, it has a combination of characteristics that make it creepy, mediocre,
sorrow and washed up in the same time. The truth is that Romania is over packed
with towns that are similar to Cernavodă.
Towns that are in fact former
villages and raised to their over-night urban status as part of the RCP’s (Romanian Communist Party) plan
to turn rural Romania in to an industrial heaven, thing that implied that mass
urbanization of this former predominantly agrarian nation. To me, this town is
depressing, and constitutes the image of the socialist collapse mixed in with
the alienation of its citizens.
This is that type of town that will
be seen on the news only if a murder or a rape happens to be committed, and
it’s the same type of town that has no cultural scene, with corrupt and morally
depraved mayors that feed their voters dry imaged of an over glorified past. The
greenish waters of the Danube surround the town from three sides, the side that
is left if filled the hills that the town sits on. To complete the image we
must mention the interesting mix of old, new and kitsch that dominate the urban
landscape, the trashy looking bars try to simulate the traditional with the use
of cheap industrial mass produced ornament that are a true reminder of the
plastic nationalism that dominated Romania’s landscape until 1989.
Meanwhile, in the town’s cultural
center, a political organization, with members that mainly look like time
travelers, makes a desperate attempt to impress the bitter and suspicious
citizens that came to take a look at what’s happening. Even so, to many of them
the snacks and free coffee that were available on the entrance of the
conference room were of a greater interest then the political agenda that was
preached through a nationalistic tone
It rains outside, the culture
center, which is by the way shares the same building with the town hall, seem
to be alive on a Saturday day, which is quite unusual if we are not talking
about a mediocre show with nationalistic clichés performed by a local band.
People filled the building’s corridors, talking and talking about what
contributions will socialism may bring, and what psychological mechanism will
they use in order to cope with a potential disappointment.
The town seemed dormant on this
rainy September day, or more dormant that it would look on a sunny day. The
Danube is flowing slowly towards the north, and the majestic Saligny Bridge
dominates the town’s skyline if you look towards the west.
Not far from the town you can find
the only nuclear power plant from the country, from time to time you can find
comments on social media and roomers about the premature death that is common
between the employees of the power plant. The final product is sinister, and
unappealing by any means. You are presented with the picture of a
neurotic-depression prone community, an evolution restricted by both physical
and psychological traits, and an irrational guilt towards maintaining a culture
that lack authenticity.
Cernavodă is the town, that town, a town that
you’ve probably seen, its and archetype, a template, a model. In the same time,
it is that image of the failed dream, of the community which is trapped in the
cage of its ignorance, of its rigidity and incapacity to break away from the
mediocre principles that had governed our society for way too long, the same
principles that were in fact that were the perfect pills for dream abstinence.
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