Inside Rural Romania
'At some point I realized there was a deeper meaning to life.'
Mihnea Turcu was a successful Bucharest banker who was content with his career – but a chance encounter in the countryside persuaded him to quit his job and dedicate his life to photographing the disappearing world of rural Romania.
'Like a fairytale'
Taking a break from handling $500m contracts for London's Royal Bank of Scotland, the banker had been driving through Mamares County, an isolated region in Romania's north where life in many villages has changed little since the 1930s.
Sick of always hurtling towards a predetermined destination, he and his partner decided to take an impromptu detour and stop at the nearest village. After driving a few kilometers up a random sideroad, the couple came across a small monastery framed by rolling hills, where they were greeted by a monk who invited them for lunch among the picturesque surroundings.
Turcu met a man 1.5 meters tall; the 86-year-old was called Vasiliu. /Mihnea Turcu
Turcu met a man 1.5 meters tall; the 86-year-old was called Vasiliu. /Mihnea Turcu
Walking away with a few gifted books and religious icons, they were readying to leave the village when Turcu happened across an old man in oversized boots and a pixie-like hat, no taller than 1.5 meters, planting onions in front of a tiny hut. "He was so sweet. It was like a fairy tale, something from Lord of the Rings," Turcu tells CGTN Europe, speaking more than a decade later from the same village, just a stone's throw away from the fairytale house.
A woman journeys home. /Mihnea Turcu
A woman journeys home. /Mihnea Turcu
The 86-year-old farmer introduced himself as Vasiliu and invited Turcu inside, where they sat and talked together for half an hour. The banker took a few photographs and then went on his way. "But when I left that place," he says, "I was not the same person."
"It was like a rope around my neck, and on the other end of the rope was his house. I could only think about him and how to get back."
Farmers cleaning up the land in the spring; in Maramures County, you do that by fire. /Mirnea Turcu
Farmers cleaning up the land in the spring; in Maramures County, you do that by fire. /Mirnea Turcu
Back at his desk in Bucharest, Turcu couldn't shake the deep impression the experience had left on him: "It was like a rope around my neck, and on the other end of the rope was his house. I could only think about him and how to get back."
The meeting would be the start of a 15-year friendship with Vasiliu – and the catalyst for Turcu to leave banking for a far more precarious career as a full-time photographer.
In Mehedinti county, a woman caresses the image of her late husband, Isverna. /Mihnea Turcu
In Mehedinti county, a woman caresses the image of her late husband, Isverna. /Mihnea Turcu
Turcu had to spend several years getting his finances in order to make the creative leap. Despite being concerned about money, he says he was lucky to have the support of his partner who told him to trust his instincts. He also had the backing of his bosses at the bank, who understood his decision.
When he finally handed in his notice in 2013 after more than a decade on the job, he says it was like breaking up with someone: "I had to hide myself in the toilet and shed some tears."
An elderly woman photographed among her religious tapestries at the Maramures commune. /Mihnea Turcu
An elderly woman photographed among her religious tapestries at the Maramures commune. /Mihnea Turcu
To this day he has to depend on commercial jobs to pay the bills. But whenever he can, he returns to the countryside to capture the lives of Romania's traditional rural communities.
He chronicles these on his Instagram account, which now boasts more than 100,000 followers. Many of them come from the communities he documents, but have had to leave to search for jobs in the city. However, the isolated regions they grew up in have remained much the same.
"There is just something so much more about this life… There is a hidden world of things that connect us people all over the place."
In a way, Turcu was primed for the job from youth: he grew up in the countryside with his grandparents. "I knew that rural life was inside me," he reflects.
His father was an avid amateur photographer and would let the young boy stroll around with his expensive Soviet camera hanging from his neck as a toddler. Turcu can still recall the penetrating smell from its brown leather casing, seeing faces slowly materialize in the bath as his father developed photos in their makeshift darkroom.
A woman born before Romania’s communist revolution who grew up working the land. /Mihnea Turcu
A woman born before Romania’s communist revolution who grew up working the land. /Mihnea Turcu
Not all young people move to the city. This boy in Independenta grows up in his forefathers’ traditional surroundings. /Mihnea Turcu
Not all young people move to the city. This boy in Independenta grows up in his forefathers’ traditional surroundings. /Mihnea Turcu
An elderly man grieves at his wife's grave, Maramures village 2010. /Mihnea Turcu
An elderly man grieves at his wife's grave, Maramures village 2010. /Mihnea Turcu
A couple pile the haystacks ahead of winter in the Apuseni mountains. /Mihnea Turcu
A couple pile the haystacks ahead of winter in the Apuseni mountains. /Mihnea Turcu
Parasca Deacului with her pumpkins, which are sometimes imbued with a special green tinge. /Mihnea Turcu
Parasca Deacului with her pumpkins, which are sometimes imbued with a special green tinge. /Mihnea Turcu
Growing up on the land
Turcu has photographed communities from all around Romania, from northern Mamares to central Apuseni Mountains to the coastal Delta Danube region.
People who have stayed in the villages tend to have been born before Romania’s communist revolution, are in their seventies or older, and grew up on the land. Many come from families with between seven and 13 children and were already helping out with the farm work by the age of six.
"There would be nothing, no stores, nothing to buy, so whatever you worked with your bare hands, you would have to put on the table," says Turcu. Many practices – like weaving your own clothes and keeping livestock in your living room during cold winters – are still entrenched.
"These people were born into that, where land is your life," says Turcu. "You've got to respect it, work it, so that it nourishes you. They are not afraid of working hard."
While some of his subjects would complain about back and knee pains, none of them would ever say they hated work: "Working is their way of expressing."
Turcu would return to Vasiliu’s house many times over the years, like here in 2014. /Mihnea Turcu
Turcu would return to Vasiliu’s house many times over the years, like here in 2014. /Mihnea Turcu
The land that time forgot
Romania may be toward the edge of Europe, but it has historically been at the intersection of several large empires and religious traditions.
That has imbued these remote mountains and villages with a certain spirituality, Turcu says. It can be seen in the holy icons worked into the famed woolen tapestries of Maramures, as well as in the attention to detail with which many farmers carry out their daily tasks.
But it is also home to some of the EU's poorest regions, and has the second lowest GDP per capita in the bloc, a fact the photographer's work represents.
"Yes, you see poverty because they don't have much money," shrugs Turcu. "They don't have a car, some maybe don't even have electricity, they don't have many things.
"But that's not poverty, that's simplicity. It's a very thin line... They have what they need. That's enough for them to push their existence into something deeper."
"There’s a depth in human being that I think somehow the West lost," he adds. "There is a lot of value about the sustainability of these lives that would help us in these very moments when we struggle with nature, with wars, with many things."
A different life
Despite loving his job in finance, Turcu is happy to have left that world behind.
"I think at some point I realized there's a deeper meaning to life," he says. "There's something bigger than us connecting people and if you don't grab it, you may get to the end of your life having lost all of your years, actually your life."
However, he stresses that such a dramatic career change does not necessarily answer one’s problems.
Those who stay in their corporate job, he says, often bemoan their lack of freedom. But on becoming a full-time photographer, he became quickly aware that all the thoughts he had prior to leaving were also present in his new work, "they were just reborn in slightly different forms… Then I realized, it's not the corporation – it's you."
A Christmas kiss on the northern border. /Mihnea Turcu
A Christmas kiss on the northern border. /Mihnea Turcu
The power of humility
Turcu says one of the ways of dealing with these realizations is by learning from the humble attitudes of the people in his photographs.
"There is this generation of people born in the 1930s and 1940s that have passed through several phases of difficulty in their life," he says. That lends them a certain wisdom and patience.
"They know not to become too attached to possessions or give too much importance to their concerns," he says. That includes the pursuit of happiness. "It's just happiness, it comes and goes. They are like that. Being next to them helps me keep track of my life."
A woman shares a picture of her younger self /Mihnea Turcu
A woman shares a picture of her younger self /Mihnea Turcu
A snowball fight outside Moldovita Monastery in Romania's Suceava County. /Mihnea Turcu
A snowball fight outside Moldovita Monastery in Romania's Suceava County. /Mihnea Turcu
A girl plays alone in the Danube delta. /Mihnea Turcu
A girl plays alone in the Danube delta. /Mihnea Turcu
An old couple in Rosia, Oradea county. /Mihnea Turcu
An old couple in Rosia, Oradea county. /Mihnea Turcu
A lady preparing a church for orthodox Easter. /Mihnea Turcu
A lady preparing a church for orthodox Easter. /Mihnea Turcu
Turcu's son looking at a cross carved into the attic of an old house in Maramures County. /Mihnea Turcu
Turcu's son looking at a cross carved into the attic of an old house in Maramures County. /Mihnea Turcu
Vasile, 93 visits a 16th Century church 40 years after he was the keeper, northern Romania. /Mihnea Turcu
Vasile, 93 visits a 16th Century church 40 years after he was the keeper, northern Romania. /Mihnea Turcu
Turcu remained friends with Vasiliu until he died at 99 years old. /Mihnea Turcu
Turcu remained friends with Vasiliu until he died at 99 years old. /Mihnea Turcu
Vasiliu, the old man he photographed back in 2009, passed away earlier this year at the age of 99. Turcu was with him to the end. He says it was Vasiliu, despite living on a $60 monthly pension in his final years, who would be the one to lend money to his community, the person the villagers would come to for prayers and advice.
Turcu is currently working on a book documenting their friendship and Vasiliu’s life. "It's not about me, I owe him," he says. "I find truth and value in those lives… I think all of us could take inspiration."
He adds that this is the case for many in Romania’s pastoral community. "The answer is right here. Just come and look at these people, talk to them. We don't need more."