In the rural village of Hășdat, Romania, what might seem like ordinary surroundings are punctuated by extraordinary displays of wealth. Geese wander the streets, and bonfires flicker in backyards, but the real spectacle lies in the houses—each an extravagant testament to the Roma community’s newfound affluence.
Take, for example, a residence adorned with golden Versace Medusa heads and Rolex crown logos on its towering gates, flanked by marble pillars topped with cherubs. Inside, a group of women are busy preparing chickens, oblivious to the grandeur surrounding them.
Across the street, another mansion outdoes its neighbor, topped with a roof that resembles a pagoda and decorated with metallic fish. Golden columns gleam alongside oversized mirror-glass doors. A bright blue Ford Mustang shares parking space with an Audi, while two young girls in matching gold-trimmed velour tracksuits zip around on scooters.
These extravagant homes, built by wealthy Roma families, often stand empty, their owners rarely residing in them. They symbolize a reclaiming of identity and pride in a community that has faced long-standing oppression. The last two decades have seen a boom in such lavish constructions throughout Romania, with each palace vying for attention through ever more elaborate designs, pulling inspiration from Ottoman, Byzantine, and neo-classical styles—often with a touch of Las Vegas flair. However, many Romanians view these structures as unwelcome in the landscape.
Laurian Ghinițoiu, a Romanian photographer who has spent five years documenting these striking buildings, reflects on the societal perceptions. “Our society is completely racist towards the Roma community,” he shares. “These buildings often get dismissed as kitsch and bad taste. But this is the only recent style of architecture so closely tied to an ethnic group, which expresses their wish to be seen and to restore their dignity.” Ghinițoiu’s compelling photographs are currently exhibited at the Timișoara architecture biennale, showcasing acts of architectural rebellion in a city steeped in history.
The palatial homes serve purposes beyond mere habitation. They act as clan gathering spaces for significant events like weddings and funerals. Their lavish interiors often lack functional elements like kitchens or bathrooms; domestic life typically occurs in smaller buildings behind the main structures. “In Romani culture, there’s a separation between clean and dirty spaces,” explains Gräf Rudolf, a researcher of the palace phenomenon. He notes that such homes must remain sacred and uncontaminated.
Each property reflects a narrative of triumph over adversity. For example, in Buzescu, a mansion designed to resemble a courthouse stands as a monument to the aspirations of its owner, Dan Finuțu, who promised to replicate the courthouse where he was convicted. His construction symbolizes not only his wealth but also a striking commentary on his past.
Roma history in Romania is marked by centuries of oppression, from enslavement to genocide during the Holocaust, followed by forced assimilation under communist rule. After the fall of communism in 1989, financial opportunities began to emerge, allowing some in the Roma community to attain wealth through various means, including the return of confiscated assets. Their extravagant homes serve as visible markers of their struggles and successes.
In discussing the current state of wealth within this community, Gräf observes, “Some families invested heavily in building these houses, believing it would bring respect, yet they realize their children may grow up without valuable skills.” He hints at a shift in priorities among families, as the lavish spending begins to wane.
Despite the uncertainty surrounding future aspirations, these striking palaces remain bold symbols of a community that has transformed from nomadic traditions to grand permanent structures, representing a significant cultural and historical moment.
