This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK).
I’m gliding down a narrow waterway on a small, open-deck viewing boat deep in the marshes. Next to me, wild horses graze on green plains, while on the horizon, ancient woods shimmer in the morning sun. “Nobody knows how this forest came to be,” says local guide and wildlife expert Daniel Petrescu, binoculars in hand.
Having joined a four-day, small-group cruise exploring one of Europe’s largest wetlands, I’m in Romania’s section of the Danube Delta. A UNESCO Biosphere Reserve, the 1,200sq-mile area is a haven for more than 300 resident and migratory bird species, including pelicans, whiskered terns and white-tailed eagles, making it a magnet for birders.
But we’re most excited about visiting Letea Forest, one of Romania’s oldest natural reserves, protected since 1938. It covers a tiny area less than 11sq miles between branches of the Danube in the Delta, where a layer of fertile soil rests over sprawling dunes. It’s home to Europe’s northernmost subtropical forests, and it teems with rare plants.
During seasonal floods, the boardwalk in Letea Forest becomes a water-side adventure walk through nature.
Photograph by Image Professionals GmbH, Alamy
According to late Romanian biologist Nicolae Botnariuc, multiple factors may have contributed to its origin. The Black Sea may have brought some seeds from Ukraine; the Danube may have collected more from Europe; and birds may have carried others on their feathers, in their beaks and inside their stomachs. “The sand dunes were formed about 14,000 to 11,000 years ago, but Letea only started to develop about 500 years ago,” says Daniel. “It’s one of Europe’s youngest virgin forests. There are parts that have never been touched by humans.”
Daniel was born in Letea village, the one settlement in the area, only accessible by boat, but he moved to the Delta’s gateway city of Tulcea when he was a child. He initially trained as a boat mechanic, but he’s spent the past 30 years offering tours of the wetland. “What makes it special is its large scale — the diversity of landscape, the diversity of wildlife,” he says. “I’ve been through these channels hundreds of times, and you always find something new.”
We step onto a wooden jetty, where a local waits for us with a horse and cart. As we clip-clop across pastures towards the forest, we spot glossy ibis strutting around feeding, showing off their iridescent plumage. A white-tailed eagle circles above as we arrive at the wood’s edge, fenced off to protect the trees from the horses’ insatiable appetite for bark.
While they live wild and look spectacular galloping across the plains, Letea’s horses are, in fact, feral — a non-native species that’s been out of control since Communism ended in Romania in 1989 and collective farms were closed. “It’s not the biggest joy, when I see them,” says Daniel. “They’re majestic animals, but too many in such a unique place isn’t good.”
Entering the woods is like journeying to another world. Creeping plants, like the silk vine and a climbing shrub nicknamed ‘old man’s beard’ for its wispy, white seed heads, grow around old oak, white poplar and ash trees. As we meander along a narrow path under the canopy, Daniel stops to wax lyrical about rare species such as the helleborine orchid, with its columns of wine-red flowers. The floor is jungle-dense, and I’m told it can look especially exotic in the spring, when seasonal flooding submerges it.
Whiskered terns are one of many bird species found in the Danube Delta wetlands.
Photograph by Marco Valentini, Alamy
On the other side of the forest, gently rolling dunes extend as far as the eye can see. We slowly trek across the sand, spongy under our feet, before reuniting with our horse and cart under the shade of a tree. After a bumpy ride, we enter Letea village. The dusty, unpaved road is lined on both sides with traditional thatched-roof cottages, some restored and fairytale-like, some abandoned.
Many villagers left after 1989 to seek economic opportunities elsewhere; in some gardens, wooden boats are now mere ornaments. “My grandfather had a tiny rowing boat, and one of my earliest memories is putting my hands on the oars,” says Daniel. “The village used to be full of life. Today, tourism plays an important role. It’s not easy to live in a place completely isolated from the world.”
Entering a courtyard, passing by rows of lavender and under a canopy of grapevines, we arrive at the home of local chef Viorica Maxim. On the table, wildflowers have been placed in a glass vase. The air is thick with the scent of fish and homegrown herbs, rising from a huge cauldron of soup simmering on an open fire. Our host serves us chunks of tender, boneless catfish in a crispy batter, with simple potatoes and a pungent garlic sauce. After, we gorge ourselves on fist-sized homemade doughnuts.
We head back to our boat, which is moored in a remote stretch of the river. “This is where I grew up, but I didn’t appreciate it the way I do today,” says Daniel. “The more conscious you become of nature and the danger of losing it, the more you start to look at it with different eyes.” Yet, as we sail surrounded by nothing but wilderness, I think the real magic of the Delta isn’t just its unspoiled nature, but the communities that live within it, too.
Published in the April 2025 issue of National Geographic Traveller (UK).
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