Bloomberg writes about the Delta between concretes. How the megalomaniac nature of the communist regime defeated in Văcărești
In the capital of Romania, a failed megaproject from the communist era has become a model for a new generation of “natural parks” that provide space for both wildlife and people, writes the international press under the title “In the accidental urban wilderness of Bucharest”.
The international press praises Delta Văcărești. Photo by Shutterstock
At the end of November 2006, Romanian naturalist Vlad Cioflec set out on the streets of Bucharest on a seemingly simple quest: to identify the European pond turtle, a species in decline. Armed only with a tourist map found by chance in the glove compartment of his father's car, he was drawn to an unusual, unmarked area — a vast, square-shaped space south of the city center known as Văcărești, writes Bloomberg.
Ceaușescu's megalomaniac project
The name comes from the former monastic complex from the 18th century, demolished in the 80s during Nicolae Ceaușescu's regime, as part of a grandiose urban systematization plan. In its place, a huge artificial lake was to be built, fed by the Dâmbovița river, a project comparable in ambition to other monumental initiatives of the era, such as the Palace of the Parliament. However, the project was technically flawed, the publication writes, stating that hydrologists were unable to find viable solutions for filling the basin, and after the fall of the regime in 1989, the works were completely abandoned.
What was left behind was a huge pit lined with concrete, surrounded by a seawall about five meters high—an artificial landscape, empty and seemingly without a future. For 17 years, the place was ignored, becoming the subject of urban rumours: a dangerous space, associated with crime, drug trafficking or total abandonment.
A wild world in the making
When Cioflec decided to jump the fence and explore the area, however, he discovered the exact opposite of these fears: a wild world in the making. Inside the basin, nature had claimed its territory. Young trees had grown spontaneously, forming clumps of vegetation, and fresh water ponds and open meadows had appeared between them. Even though the place was littered with trash—discarded furniture, tires, household scraps—it had become a habitat for remarkable biodiversity: grass snakes, frogs, birds of prey, waterfowl, and many other species.
This discovery marked the beginning of a long-lasting relationship between Cioflec and Văcărești. Over the years, he has returned constantly, observing how the ecosystem evolves and diversifies. The area, about 180 hectares, gradually became an example of “passive rewilding” — a process by which nature reclaims abandoned spaces without human intervention. Unlike traditional parks, Văcărești was not designed or landscaped: the plants appeared from seeds brought by the wind, birds or even people, and the fauna settled spontaneously.
The involuntary contribution of crows
In the first years after the works were abandoned, the ground was colonized by diverse vegetation, including wild cherries, apple trees and walnuts. The crows involuntarily contributed to this process: they threw nuts on the concrete to crack them, and the lost ones gave birth to trees. In parallel, the rainfall formed a network of lakes and ponds, turning the area into a wet habitat.
The 90s, marked by the post-communist transition, also brought an unusual human presence to the park. Shepherds brought flocks of sheep and goats, and animal remains, thrown away after feasts, attracted scavengers and influenced the ecosystem. At the same time, some people have chosen to live in the area, turning it into a hybrid space, on the border between nature and urban. The story of the Enache family, who lived for years in Văcărești, was later documented in the film “Home, My House”.
In 2016, the park became the Văcărești National Park
As biodiversity increased, Cioflec became an unofficial defender of the area called Delta Văcărești by the locals. He patrols against poachers and fires, even using his ID as a civil servant to deter illegal activity. Over time, he found allies in civil society, including Dan Bărbulescu, who would become director of the Bucharest Natural Park Association. Together, they contributed to the official recognition of the area, and in 2016 Văcărești became the Văcărești Natural Park, the first urban natural park of the capital.
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Since then, the park has become an attraction for residents, tourists, photographers and researchers. Located just a few metro stops from the city center, it offers a unique experience: a “wild garden” surrounded by concrete, where visitors have to step off the pier to enter an ecosystem completely different from the rest of the city.
However, the importance of Văcărești goes beyond its borders. It has become a model for the development of urban ecological infrastructure in Bucharest. Similar projects appeared around Lake Morii and in other abandoned areas, and the idea of ”green corridors” — connecting habitats via the Dâmbovița and Colentina rivers — began to be integrated into public policies. The organizations involved estimate that such initiatives could add up to 800 hectares of green space in the capital.
These urban ecosystems are increasingly recognized globally as innovative solutions for conserving biodiversity and combating the effects of climate change. They can become refuges for threatened species and contribute to improving the quality of life in cities.
However, Văcărești is not without its problems. Romania has limited resources for investments in green spaces, and real estate pressures are constant. In addition, climate change directly affects the ecosystem: water levels have dropped dramatically, lakes have shrunk by around 70% in recent years, and some species have disappeared. Dense vegetation, especially reeds, covered large areas, altering habitat and raising safety concerns.
The management of the park has become a sensitive topic
In this context, the park entered a new stage with the approval of a management plan by the Ministry of the Environment. It provides for measures to restore habitats, protect water resources and develop infrastructure for visitors. Among the analyzed solutions are the controlled supply of water from the Dâmbovița river or the collection of rainwater from neighboring urban areas, through natural filtration systems.
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Also discussed is the introduction of methods inspired by European rewilding projects, including the use of animals to control excessive vegetation.
However, the management of the park has become a sensitive topic. After a law passed in 2018, NGOs can no longer directly manage protected areas, and Văcărești is now under the authority of the local administration, with the support of scientific and advisory councils. This change has raised concerns: there is a risk that excessive management will turn the park into an artificial space, while lack of intervention could lead to ecosystem degradation.
The story of Văcărești remains a deeply paradoxical one. A failed megalomaniac project designed to impose total control over nature has turned into an example of spontaneous regeneration and urban biodiversity. Today, this space is not only a refuge for nature, but also a model for the future of cities, where nature and the urban can coexist.
For those who discovered and protected it, the stake is that this fragile balance is maintained. And for Bucharest, Văcăreștiul remains proof that sometimes the most valuable projects are not the planned ones, but the ones that nature builds on its own.
