Somehow the area survived Ceausescu’s urge to reorganize Bucharest according to the criteria of the “new man,” which meant a uniformity of shapes and colors-preferably gray. Instead, interwar capitalism somehow managed to survive for the feet of ladies who wanted beautiful, unique shoes.
Between CA Rosetti and Izvorul Rece Park, shoes were made in today’s mini-markets, which mostly profiles decorative items, body and home fripperys, or food.
In summer, it smelled of leather and glue from 10 meters away. Through the open door, on a clear obscure, you could see a shoemaker, almost always dressed in a blue robe, tapping a heel, stretching a leather or gluing a sole. Ladies traveled from all over the country to order a pair of shoes or sandals for a wedding, a christening, or who knows what fancy frolic.
In a time when in stores, clothing and footwear were all the same, true pride was having something no one else had.
Among female representatives, in Romania of the 80s, a unique pair of quality shoes was a real title of glory. And when the supply was limited, even with the stollen shoes from factories that produced only for export, shoemakers were the only solution.
The shoe journey, from Rosetti Square area, always began with the fear that the shoes you dreamed of would not be finished in time
It is easy to imagine Mrs. Popescu driving from Satu Mare to Bucharest, dreaming of a pair of sandals with cork soles. They were very fashionable in her city and they represented a symbol of “nobility”. She wanted them in green, her cousin’s wedding was coming up and she was having a green veil dress made by her tailor for the civil ceremony.
Arriving at the small workshop, stunned by the university, the statues, the Intercontinental, she bows and enters the workshop of Nea Grigore (her friend from Bucharest told her that he is the best when it comes to cork shoes, and that he has some connections where he gets quality raw materials).
She is freaking out, she does not know how to move, everything looks very dirty and the smell makes her dizzy. Nea Grigore is the second generation of shoemakers in his family, but not just any shoemaker, a luxury shoemaker. Madames came to his father, rich merchant’s wives and even ladies of royal blood. Some ordered shoes, others wanted to loosen their shoes that had just arrived from Paris or London. The first thing Grigore learned from his father was to be respectful. In the age of camaraderie and companionship, he still addressed him as “Miss.”
He could not break that habit, even in trade school, though his teachers always apostrophized him for not addressing people properly. But what did they know? They did not know how to make shoes. So many times he failed to tell them that’s not how you do it.
The lady from Satu Mare forgot the dirt and the smell, overwhelmed by the shoemaker’s tone. Full of emotion, she was able to say that she wanted a green pair of sandals with cork soles. The hard part was when Nea Grigore asked when she wanted them because he had many orders. She needed them in two months, but it took the shoemaker two months to make them. Desperate, the woman added something on top of the price. Finally, an agreement was reached, but she had to be back in three weeks for a test. So for 21 days, the Satu Mare woman slept and thought only about her future sandals.
At the test, only the straps needed to be adjusted.
The story of nea Grigore and the lady from Satu Mare was recreated in tens of thousands of pairs of shoes. The workshops of the Bucharest shoemakers, who have inherited the profession from several generations, no matter what they now house, have preserved a touch of the times when even a pair of shoes meant an event in the lives of those who wanted beauty and for the gentlemen who valued their image.
Worth a trip, at least as a symbol of resistance to a total and ubiquitous gray, by the shape and color of the steps on what was once called Little Paris.
