Ferentari, one of Bucharest’s most controversial neighborhoods, is today often seen as a socially and economically troubled area — a kind of urban ghetto located in the southwestern part of the capital. Yet behind stereotypes and sensational headlines lies a complex and deeply human history. The story of Ferentari begins in the interwar period, when this territory at the edge of Bucharest was nothing more than a patchwork of vineyards and modest houses. Over time, it evolved into a fragmented, neglected urban zone. From its beginnings as “the road that led nowhere” to its modern label as “the Bronx of Bucharest,” Ferentari reflects, in essence, the social history of the entire city — with all its hopes, failures, and contradictions.

From the vineyards of the church to the “Field of Merriment”

Before it became a neighborhood, Ferentari was a semi-rural area at the edge of old Bucharest. Calea Ferentari, the main road that today cuts through the district, was considered in the interwar years to be a road that “led nowhere.” Starting from the city center and crossing Calea Rahovei, it ended abruptly in open fields, with no connection to other major routes. This isolation, as historian Andrei Răzvan Voinea explains, was a major handicap for the area’s development.

Historically, the land in Ferentari belonged to the Metropolitan Church and various monasteries, which owned vast vineyards there. Over time, these ecclesiastical properties were sold, the land was divided into plots, and cheap lots were offered for sale. Thus emerged a peculiar form of habitation — a mixture of rural and urban — where migrant workers from the provinces could rent cheaply and live close to the first industrial areas of the city.

Ferentari began to grow significantly once the industrial zone of Dealul Filaret — the first true industrial hub of Bucharest — developed. Workers attracted by factory wages and low rents settled here, building modest, often informal homes, usually without authorization or access to modern utilities.

Up until around 1940, the area was known under the picturesque name “Câmpul Veseliei” (“The Field of Merriment”), a name that spoke volumes about its character. Numerous wine cellars from former vineyards had turned into taverns and pubs. At one point, there were nearly a hundred such establishments, and the main street was called Strada Veseliei (“Merriment Street”).

Ferentari — or, more precisely, the “Field of Merriment” — was full of life, yet completely ignored by the authorities. There was no sewage system, no running water, electricity was scarce, and the streets were unpaved. Nevertheless, amid this poverty, a strong and diverse community was forming, held together by neighborly bonds and mutual help.

Interwar houses and the first signs of modernity

Although most residents were poor workers, a few small businesses and more affluent households appeared in Ferentari during the 1930s. The first villas and modernist homes were built, reflecting European architectural trends of the time.

One example was the house of the Jewish businessman Littman, constructed in 1935 by architect Paul Rossini in a sleek, international modernist style that mirrored contemporary European aesthetics. Another notable building was Vila Coca, on Strada Veseliei no. 43, with its warm, balanced architecture — one of the few examples still standing today.

Unfortunately, this modest modernization was abruptly interrupted by the violent events of the early 1940s. During the Legionary Rebellion of 1941, Ferentari was one of the sites of anti-Semitic violence, and Littman was among the victims of the pogrom. The war and the political shift that followed brought the area once again into decline.

The “red blocks” and the communist utopia of the “new man”

After the communist regime came to power, Ferentari became the target of a major urban redevelopment plan. The official goal was noble — to provide “the working people” with decent living conditions — but in reality, it was also a form of social engineering, meant to concentrate the working class into collective, controllable housing.

On the vacant lands where vineyards once stood, the regime built the so-called “red blocks”, made of brick and designed by architect Gheorghe Popov. These represented a new model of urban life — vertical development, with green spaces, social services, and community facilities. Around 20 blocks were constructed in the first stage, housing roughly 600 families.

The new residential complex included a kindergarten, a cinema, a barbershop, various stores, and even a swimming pool, which remained functional until after 1990. Residents benefited from a local heating plant and a relatively modern urban infrastructure. During the first two decades of communism, Ferentari seemed to have escaped its old image of a poor, neglected periphery.

However, this small oasis of progress had its limits. After 1966, urban development stagnated. The regime devised another plan for large-scale systematization, but with little tangible outcome. A few schools were built, a sewage collector and public lighting were added, yet the broader modernization effort was abandoned halfway.

The “islands” of blocks and silent marginalization

From the mid-1960s onward, Ferentari was included in an ambitious urban renewal plan. The Bucharest Design Institute (Institutul Proiect București) proposed demolishing the old houses and replacing them with new apartment blocks along the entire length of Calea Ferentari. But the plan was never completed. The blocks were built chaotically, on isolated “islands” behind main streets, disconnected from any coherent urban structure.

Thus, Ferentari took on a strange appearance — modern blocks standing amid old houses, irregular courtyards, narrow alleys, and empty lots. What had begun as a socialist dream of order and equality turned into a symbol of incomplete, improvised urbanism.

During the 1970s, over 150 small apartment buildings were erected, mostly studio flats and two-room apartments, intended for workers from the Vulcan factory and other industrial enterprises. 

The neighborhood became a transitory zone, inhabited temporarily by laborers who came to Bucharest for work, rented small apartments for short periods, started families, and eventually moved elsewhere. This sense of interstitiality — temporary, unstable residence — would come to define the identity of Ferentari.

After the 1977 earthquake, the authorities drafted yet another plan for the full urbanization of the district, but due to lack of funds and shifting priorities, almost nothing was implemented. Until 1989, Ferentari remained a collage of disconnected structures, with poor infrastructure and a working-class population constantly in flux.

From post-communist transition to social stigma

After the Revolution of 1989, the entire social fabric of Ferentari began to crumble. The factories that sustained the local economy closed, unemployment spread, and many residents left. Those who remained were mostly low-income families or newcomers from other parts of the country, often without stable jobs or housing.

The 1990s brought accelerated decay — infrastructure deteriorated, public spaces were abandoned, and local authorities gradually withdrew. In the absence of coherent social policies, Ferentari became a breeding ground for marginalization. Entire families lived without legal documents, without rental contracts, and often without consistent access to water or electricity.

Over time, the media amplified the area’s negative image, labeling it the “Bronx of Bucharest.” While the comparison drew on urban pop culture, in Ferentari’s case it concealed a far more complex reality — one shaped by public neglect, lack of investment, and systemic discrimination.

Ferentari today – between stigma and renewal

Today, Ferentari is a district of sharp contrasts. On the same street, one can find communist-era apartment blocks, dilapidated houses, and new residential buildings constructed by young families attracted by lower land prices. Civic initiatives, educational projects, and NGOs are working to reshape the area’s image and offer opportunities for its residents.

More and more voices from civil society are calling for Ferentari to be seen not just as a symbol of poverty, but as a space of resilience and diversity. In recent years, artists, anthropologists, and historians — including Andrei Răzvan Voinea, Dana Dolghin, and Gergely Pulay — have documented the district’s evolution in works such as Ferentari Incomplet, aiming to recover its lost memory and human depth.

Ferentari is no longer merely a “road that led nowhere.” It is a living part of Bucharest — an urban laboratory where the city’s past and present collide, often painfully, but also creatively. With its struggles and its energy, the neighborhood mirrors Bucharest itself: imperfect, divided, yet full of life.

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