On the outskirts of Bucharest, where urban blends with rural and past intertwines with present, rise the imposing ruins of Chiajna Monastery. A place steeped in mystery and stories that defy logic, this unfinished sanctuary has become, for the people of Bucharest, a space of legends: where shadows come to life, bells still ring beyond time, and a cemetery marked by tragedies seems to guard secrets few dare to uncover. In this article we explore both official history and myths amplified by imagination, in order to understand how reality and legend merged around Chiajna Monastery.

The construction and characteristics of the monastery

Chiajna Monastery was begun during the reign of Prince Alexandru Vodă Ipsilanti (1774-1782), with construction later continued and completed under Nicolae Mavrogheni (1786-1790).

The chosen style was neoclassical, an ambitious choice for its time, aiming not only to reflect dignity but also to impose an almost fortress-like monumental character.

The monastery’s dimensions were grand: around 43 meters in length, 17 meters in height, with walls between one and two meters thick.

These measures show the intention of creating one of the most important religious landmarks in Wallachia, a building meant to impress through massiveness and endurance.

However, even though it was meant to become a major sanctuary, Chiajna never fulfilled its intended role: it was never consecrated, no community of monks ever settled there permanently, and no priest ever officiated inside its walls.

The main dome collapsed during the 1977 earthquake, a reminder of the structure’s fragility, even though much of the building still stands.

Historical reality is accompanied by many myths, which over time have turned Chiajna into a pilgrimage site for curiosity seekers.

The curse of consecration and the absent priest

One of the most persistent legends says the monastery was never consecrated because, on the very evening it was to be blessed, it was bombarded by the Ottomans.

Mistaking the massive edifice for a fortress, the Turks attacked before the ceremonial rites could be carried out. Because of this, it is said, no priest has ever served within its walls — a fact that, in popular imagination, makes the monastery a cursed place.

The legend of the bell

Perhaps the most famous myth of Chiajna is “the curse of the bell.” Although the monastery has been without bells for more than two centuries, locals insist that from time to time, bell sounds can still be heard — echoes of a past that refuses to fade.

One version claims that, fearing further Ottoman attacks, villagers removed the bell and threw it into the Dâmbovița River. Another version claims the bell was stolen and sold.

Regardless of what truly happened, the belief in its haunting chime persists, giving the ruin its most famous supernatural reputation.

Shadows, ghosts, and the cemetery

Another enduring legend is that of the shadows that appear on the monastery’s outer walls. Locals and visitors alike claim to have seen silhouettes, ghostly figures, or human-like shadows that reveal themselves at dusk or in dim light.

A more tragic and documented case occurred in 1967, when the body of a young man named Chiriță Dumitru, about 16-17 years old, was found near the monastery.

Dressed in a navy-blue student’s suit, he appeared to have been fatally struck against a hard surface — possibly the monastery’s walls. Police investigated, but the event soon fed into the belief that Chiajna was haunted and cursed.

To this day, the ruins are flanked by two cemeteries, reinforcing the place’s association with death. For visitors, the approach itself — walking past burial grounds — adds to the eerie symbolism.

The verifiable reality

Beyond legend, certain historical facts give weight to the monastery’s aura of mystery, even if they don’t confirm it directly:

• Construction truly began under Ipsilanti and was continued by Mavrogheni.
• The building was unusually large and its massive walls resisted fairly well through time, despite the dome’s collapse in 1977.
• During Ipsilanti’s reign, a plague epidemic struck. Even Metropolitan Cosma Popescu is said to have died of plague inside the monastery.
• The 1967 case of Chiriță Dumitru is real, although details added later gave it a supernatural twist.

Why the legend persists and what it symbolizes

The persistence of these legends can be explained both psychologically and culturally:

• Ruins create anticipation – Abandoned, roofless buildings with empty window frames spark imagination. Shadows naturally morph into ghostly visions.
• Death, plague, and social tragedy – Epidemics and violent deaths left deep marks on collective memory. In societies lacking medical understanding, myths offered an interpretive framework.
• Unfinished destiny – Chiajna was left incomplete and unconsecrated. For many, the unfinished symbolizes a curse or an interrupted fate.
• The human need for myth – People love mysterious stories: phantoms, unexplainable sounds, eerie encounters. Chiajna offers the perfect canvas for such tales.

The monastery today

Today, Chiajna Monastery exists more as a ruin than as a living sanctuary. Its state of decay is advanced, but the structure remains accessible. The surrounding environment (unkempt grounds, neighboring cemeteries, and rough access roads) enhances the impression of an abandoned place, a threshold between the world of the living and the dead.

Alternative tourism and the curiosity of visitors keep the legend alive. Those who venture there often recount their own experiences: shadows glimpsed, strange noises heard, or simply an overwhelming sense of unease.

Chiajna Monastery: between history and myth

Chiajna Monastery exemplifies how history, reality, and legend feed into one another. Within its walls lie traces of genuine history: grand construction projects, plagues, human tragedies, collapse, and abandonment.

Yet the myths — the bell that still rings, the shadows that move, the young man’s death — weigh just as heavily in the public imagination. They give meaning to the ruin, humanize it, and transform it into a space of living memory.

For Bucharest locals and visitors alike, Chiajna is not simply an unfinished monument, it is a mirror of imagination and fear. It asks a timeless question: how much of what we “know” is fact, and how much is born of our longing for mystery and our fascination with the unknown?