On the beauty of decay and abandoned places

As a teenager, the field of exploration goes deeper than it was when you were a child. You explore further your environment than before, going deeper into the city, exploring parts outside of your comfort zone and going down the streets your parents told you not to.

            This is how urban exploration became a passion for me, as it drove me to find the hidden layers of the place where I was living, the spots full of history that many forgot and left behind. For some brief context, privatization and inheritance in the aftermath of communism in Romania combined with people emigrating left a lot of buildings abandoned. The country was, in that sense, ripe for urban exploring, as palaces, mansions, individual houses, factories and even entire villages were left unattended, inviting whatever traveler would happen to discover them while exploring. The type of people attracted to these kind of places is also diverse, ranging from squatters, thieves who steal the entire steel structure to sell for scrap, urban explorers, vandals, drug addicts, graffiti artists, the curious and the adventurous. Therefore, entering such places is, as they say in that one movie, like a box of chocolate, you never know what you get. In the worst case scenario, you might encounter people inside that might not be so happy about you entering. Besides that, you are more than likely trespassing into private property, as well as entering buildings with structural damage, which can easily collapse. But if all works out well and you get the chance to explore, you can stumble on the most surprising of things. I remember well the excitement and shock of finding a series of interconnected caves on a hill close to the city center, only to find inside hundreds of objects, from briefcases, clothes, toys and much more. The people living inside probably numbered over 50 and it seemed like they left in a hurry, leaving everything behind. All of this happened detached from the outside world, while the people in the streets nearby went on with their lives. These kinds of places start to have a cycle of their own, in a bubble, separated from the interconnected world next to them, the moment the lock is put on the door and they are forgotten. I have been in my kindergarten, which became abandoned shortly after I finished it, only to find syringes in the toilet and ouja boards in the basement. I have been in a crumbling cinema in the center of town with a friend, debating whether we should jump down an almost 2 meter hole to the basement, which we knew beforehand had -3 levels underground. In hindsight, it was a very stupid idea to do such a thing, as we might have easily gotten stuck down there with no way to get out. Thankfully, we got scared by a sound and believed the police came, and quickly escaped through an opening in a wall (there was no police, but good we didn’t jump in the hole).

            What is really enticing about these places is their energy and what comes with it. They reveal themselves out of active observation, and they draw you in to their entrances. Inside, the energy is static. The vibration is usually peaceful and unusually quiet. The people that gave these places life are gone now and this can be felt throughout the place. They leave behind traces of their memory, their laughter, joy, tears spent there. Another type of life appears. Vines climb inside through the broken windows. Small plants and flowers emerge through cracks. Sometimes even small trees make a home among the ruins. The cycle of the world repeats itself. The elements become decomposed and become one with the source. You are reminded of the fragility of just existing. Nothing lasts forever, nowhere is that as obvious in a place that meant home to someone and now is disintegrating. That fragility is very touching, because you too, at one point, will reach that moment. It is melancholic, but it is also joyful. It is joyful because it is just merely reintegrated back to where it comes from. And at that point, when you are sitting in the middle of it all, you are the life. Everything is put into perspective, and you stop being yourself. You become one with the place and you are revealed the intimacy of the passing of time, of belonging somewhere, of home, loss, forgetting and remembering. It is human and it is universal. And when you go back in to the world, you carry the place with you in your memory, prolonging and tying its existence with your existence.

Yours sincerely,

-Vlad