On August 6, 1967, Bucharest was shaken by one of the greatest tragedies in its recent history. Lake Tei, a favorite leisure spot for thousands of city residents, turned into a scene of horror after the ferry Haiducul capsized under the weight of its passengers. What was meant to be a simple crossing of the lake ended with dozens dead, hundreds traumatized, and a suffocating silence imposed by the communist regime. The tragedy was quickly buried by the authorities, but its memory has remained alive among those who witnessed it or who lost loved ones on that fateful day.

Lake Tei, an urban paradise turned into a scene of tragedy

In the 1960s, Lake Tei was a popular place of relaxation for families, young people, and tourists alike. The park and swimming complex in the area attracted thousands of visitors every hot weekend, when the capital seemed to abandon its usual rhythm in search of cool water.

Shady alleys lined with willows and cherry plums, swimming pools, and the pontoon where the ferry departed made the area a small urban paradise.

Sunday was the busiest day. Thousands of Bucharest residents gathered on the lakeshores, and the Haiducul ferry crossings had become a true attraction. No one imagined that, in a single afternoon, entertainment would turn into nightmare.

The ferry Haiducul, sunk by an unexpected storm

Around 5:00 p.m., the sky suddenly darkened. A violent wind began to whip across the lake, a clear sign that a storm was approaching. People on the far side, at Tei Swimming Complex, rushed to board the ferry to get back across the water and find shelter.

The Haiducul was designed to carry a maximum of 120 passengers, but that day, the pressure of the crowd and people’s insistence led to nearly 200 passengers being packed on board. The vessel, a simple structure with two floats joined by a wooden platform, was not built to withstand such a load.

The moment of disaster, the toll of the tragedy

As the ferry moved away from the shore, the waves grew larger. The excessive weight of the passengers caused the vessel to sink dangerously low toward the surface of the water. Within moments, the strong wind whipped the waves higher, and they began flooding the deck.

People, crammed tightly together, panicked. There were only a few life buoys, and most passengers did not know how to swim. Water seeped into the floats, and suddenly the ferry capsized, throwing dozens of people into the lake. Eyewitnesses later described the desperate screams and chaos as a scene straight out of a horror film.

The official report issued shortly after the accident recorded 24 people drowned and dozens more injured. The I.C. Frimu Emergency Hospital received over 40 victims, some in critical condition.

However, the official numbers were viewed with suspicion. Foreign newspapers soon reported that the death toll may have reached 70, even 100, but the communist regime refused to confirm such information. For the authorities, it was vital that the image of the “socialist society” not be stained by such a catastrophe.

Silence imposed by the communist regime

In Romania in 1967, the press was strictly controlled. Official newspapers published nothing about the sinking on Lake Tei. News spread only by word of mouth—among witnesses, survivors, and victims’ families.

Those who were there recall that the investigation was carried out under strict secrecy. Prosecutors, police, and the army all took part. Divers searched for missing bodies, and for several days the lake was partially drained to assist recovery efforts. Yet all these details were hidden from the public eye.

The guilty and the lack of safety measures

Archival documents reveal that the ferry had been dangerously overloaded. The captain, identified only as O.C., gave in to passenger pressure and departed, even though he knew the situation was unsafe. Moreover, the vessel was inadequately equipped: too few life buoys, no clear evacuation plan, and weather conditions ignored.

The tragedy could have been avoided if the rules had been respected. But in an era when responsibility was often blurred by bureaucracy and fear of sanctions, no one took accountability.

Although the authorities did everything in their power to downplay the event, people did not forget. Families of the victims carried deep grief, made heavier by the official silence. Bucharest residents who frequented Lake Tei knew the truth and whispered the story, passing it down from generation to generation.

Many who were children at the time remember their parents speaking with fear about the “Little Titanic of Bucharest.” The name has endured, a painful metaphor for an accident hidden away but impossible to erase from public consciousness.

Lake Tei today and the memory of the ferry

Today, Lake Tei and its surroundings no longer have their former charm. The ruins of the swimming complex and the neglected state of the area contrast with the days when it was one of the busiest leisure spots in the capital.

Still, for those who know the story, every walk along the shore brings back echoes of the 1967 disaster. The Haiducul, the ferry meant to bring joy and relaxation, became a symbol of collective suffering.

The sinking of the Haiducul ferry on August 6, 1967, was not merely an accident but a tragedy magnified by negligence and the censorship of an authoritarian regime. Dozens of lives were lost, hundreds of destinies altered, and the memory of that day still weighs heavily on Bucharest’s history.

The “Little Titanic of Bucharest” remains a bitter lesson about life’s fragility and about how official silence can deepen a community’s pain. Even though the regime tried to erase its traces, people kept the memory alive, turning Lake Tei into a place marked by history and emotion.