During the communist era, young intellectuals managed to transform Vama Veche into a last bastion of freedom. Initially, the feeling of freedom was mixed with that of isolation. Cut off from other resorts and undeveloped, just 1 km from the Bulgarian border, Vama offered young people a sense of escape and intimacy.
Keeping proportions, the bohemian spirit born from encounters with intellectuals, the films made here, remind one of the story of St. Tropez, another fishing village on the French Riviera, which became famous after meeting with actors from Hexagon.

A tent, drinks, and a guitar were the ingredients that transformed the beach into a mythical, transcendental space. Only in Vama “Sex on the beach” wasn’t just the name of a drink but a promise that had every chance of becoming a reality.
Everyone came to Vama for their own reasons. However, Vama offered everyone a sense of camaraderie, low prices and lack of formalities.
During that time, the common experience was given by the sleepless nights, on the beach, in the light of the fire and preferably to the chords of Romanian songs or international repertoire.

This lack of formalities in the most closed form of society created a sense of belonging to a group for tourists. Thus, the “vamaioti” appeared.
Not even the “vamaioti” were all equal. Some were happy that they could sing a Beatles song, others that they could tell a joke. Most were happy that they could drink and walk around naked. You were considered a rebel for that. In the 70s and 80s, to be considered a rebel without risking ending up in the basements of the security was a badge of honor.

After 1989, when it seemed that freedom belonged to us all, Vama Veche lost some of its charm. Through Romania’s repositioning, Vama Veche remained without identity.
The lack of an adequate urban plan and a coherent strategy made the place gradually perceived as a cheap experience, destined for the misunderstood, without resources, or for the corporates seeking self-discovery, and the experience with ayahuasca from Peru is still too distant a dream.

I rediscovered Vama Veche in 2016. Around the Amphora bar, I found again a part of the free spirit of the old “vamaioti”.
In 2020, I had an unprecedented experience. In the midst of lockdown due to the pandemic caused by the Corona virus, the beach in Vama Veche remained empty for the first time on May 1st, devoid of life and “vamaioti”. I felt an apocalyptic feeling, like those you experience when watching horror movies. Desolate.

I returned in 2022 still unconvinced of the idea of making a documentary about Vama Veche.
Only in 2023, witnessing how the young people under 18 reinterpret Vama, did I decide to make this material.
Perhaps not coincidentally, in 2023 I took my youngest son with me. We left home with two more friends, Bogdan and George, a friend from my youth, and there we met Lucian, a friend from college.
It was very interesting to listen to my friends, on the terrace of the welcoming  The Old Border hotel, telling my son about me, things I had forgotten.

In a fascinating way, we witnessed the passing of the baton in Vama. Perhaps the beach campfires have faded a bit. Perhaps many end up in the hospital after a night without measure, and perhaps drugs amplify this problem. Perhaps few still know the old songs. Perhaps from the Beatles they moved on to Parazitii and from Parazitii, more recently, to Gheboasa, but the spirit hasn’t died.

It was just reinterpreted.