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Busted in Bucharest

Written by: susan 12/9/2005 12:00:00 AM
"It was my last afternoon in Romania, the fifth day of a visit that started and ended in the capital city, Bucharest.

The drive from the Carpathian Mountains deposited me at my hotel by 4:30 p.m., so I decided to spend the remaining sunshine photographing the neighborhood – a leafy enclave bisected by a wide boulevard.

The stone mansions, most constructed by wealthy industrialists at the turn of the last century, had been turned into ambassadors’ residences and other official buildings. I wandered north on Kiseleff Boulevard, snapping photos all the way to the Arcul de Triumf, its massive structure dominating a multi-avenue intersection much like the more famous triumphal arch in Paris.

After photographing the arch, built to celebrate Romania’s independence from Turkey in 1877, I headed back south on Kiseleff, marveling at the colonnaded balconies and intricate stone window frames of the villas. The light was beginning to fade, so I was especially pleased to find full sun illuminating the façade of a wonderful building on a side street.

My mistake.

The guards on duty instantly took exception to my camera.

Two sprinted across the street to confront me, one rather officious type in full uniform and the second a soldier in camouflage with automatic weapon.

I never argue with anyone pointing a gun at me. Yikes!

A quick conversation determined that we shared no language in common, but I clearly understood that they were escorting me away from the consulate and toward a place to resolve this evidently egregious violation.

That place turned out to be the sidewalk in front of the Russian embassy. After much discussion with the armed guards, and a flurry of telephone calls, a Romanian police officer, motorcycle siren blaring, screeched to a halt in front of us.

“What’s wrong, officer?” I asked in my most innocent, confused-tourist voice. “It is forbidden to take pictures of the Ukrainian consulate,” he replied in English, clearly amused by the whole situation. “It’s a restricted area.”

Hmm. There was no sign prohibiting pictures. I was on a public street. I’d been taking photos nearby for almost an hour. And I didn’t even know that the building I’d just snapped WAS the Ukrainian consulate. Evidently the Cold War has not quite ended for this former Soviet republic.

The policeman asked for my passport. “Ah,” he said, smiling. “American.”. Then, he carried on a rapid-fire conversation in Romanian on his radio.

“What now?” I asked.

“I write down your name, and you walk away.”

I did, carrying the camera concealing the forbidden photo with me.

Intrepid Indianapolis journalist Susan McKee has never worked as a spy. She may be reached at Susan@SusanMcKee.com.

"
 




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