The George Enescu Museum

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The George Enescu Museum

On Sunday I decided to walk north on Calea Victoriei from city center, Bucharest. I had seen a large park on the map and I wanted to see if people were enjoying the Romania on this perfect Sunday.

About half way to the park, I noticed this striking mansion with an extremely ornate facade, even by Romanian standards. It had a wrought Iron fence that was open and no signage forbidding entry. I also noticed the front door was open. I called out but nobody answered, "Hey! Is anybody home?" No answer and no dogs barked.

So I walked through the open gate and up the steps into the open front door of this great mansion. Life is an adventure if you have courage and act.

Inside was a female guard who spoke only Romanian. The ornate nature of the architecture continued on the inside in the crown molding and murals on the ceilings. I signaled asking permission to continue past her inside.

She asked in Romanian, whether I was there for a tour. I often understand what people mean even if I don't know what any one particular word means. I have learned if you just relax and don't try to translate expression in your mind, the main idea often arrives.

So I nodded yes and she called behind her to someone I couldn't see and waved me through. I was able to walk through 4 rooms. The other rooms were locked. It was a museum dedicated to a composer named George Enescu.

In the first room, a beautiful woman in her sixties approached me and asked me which of George's works I would like her to play as I toured his home? She spoke perfect English. I asked her if she had a favorite, and she replied in Romanian. I knew she was speaking the name of a piece written by George. So I said, "Yes, that would be lovely."

It was lovely. From memorabilia on the walls, I learned that George had married a very wealthy widow of a family that had built this mansion, which now bears his name. It was an extravagant testimonial about life for the privileged at the turn of the century. I don't know anything else about George except that he married well and wrote music that entertained me and at least one other person, who married him.

Here is the piece she played for me:

I am on the train going from Bucharest to Brasov, Romania.

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