Stand

On the arm… downstream. Facing a grove with sparse trees, the Danube pauses in an endless lake, segregating at the bottom. Silvery waved, the Saint George Arm rushes to the right – a dead arm, with no fishermen's boats on it, only a decrepit Turkish town the likes

Once upon a time there were two naughty cousins, two little cute girls: beady-eyed Miruna and fair-haired Marina. The little damsels wore their hair in plaits and fastened in ribbons and had frilly, fancy dresses. Except that little damsels stands not only for some ladies

The Art Museum Institute for Ecomuseum Research in Tulcea The Tulcea County Museum, established in 1950, was – almost naturally – a heterogeneous structure, whose painting collection contained the works of a single artist: Geo Cardaş, a local painter who depicted

Organised by the Anonimul Foundation, the Delta Music Fest took place between the 30th of August and the 2nd of September in Sfantu Gheorghe. This was yet another polluting festival hailed by environmentalists fighting to save the Danube Delta. As places in need of saving

The Anonimul International Independent Film Festival celebrated its fourth birthday in 2007, a critical year seeing as many did not give the festival much chance of success due to the fact that, according to the naysayers, it took place in the middle of nowhere. In fact,

Only a few days to go before movie-goers and lovers of nature will be able to fulfill their dreams: films in paradise! A remarkable display of art in the enchanted Danube Delta, precisely where the mighty river flows into the sea, offering its own splendid aquatic and vegetal

My dear friends, I have arrived safe and sound at Portiţa. That's what the people from around here call it: Portiţa, not Gura Portiţei (at the barracks in Tulcea I saw some maps upon which other variations were written: Protiţcaja and Portisza Mündung; rather odd,

excerpts The wind is chilly and it is as though it has a taste, a taste of mulberries. The boat passes by a white poplar. Over the water hang scattered streaks of haze, whelps of mist. The boat leaves behind it a row of dwarf willows. What a bluish-black night, like ink!

I heard this story in Sulina one night, while waiting for a plate of golden herrings about to come out of the oven, as a boy about 10 years old was running towards us from the direction of the sea and shouting at the top of his lungs: “Rusalfa! Rusalfa! I’ve seen a rusalfa!”

Condrat stands, props the oar against the thick trunks of the oaks and pushes the boat through the wood. Bits of ice slam against the ribs of the boat-bits of ice mixed with broken boughs, clots of floating vegetation, old leaves, cormorant and heron feathers. The storm

From the hotel on the lake we proceeded to the fisheries. Leaden clouds began to lour in the sky, a sharp wind began to blow; and the willows on the banks writhed in every direction. Far off, in the lakes, as far as our eyes could see from the upper deck of the ship, the

excerpt Building materials, their textures and colors could also be the keys of an instrument on which the architect can play some cool music. Natural materials – earth, first of all, from clay to ceramic, but also stone, or wood – are here, waiting for us to come to