Letters to a Young Gymnast (20 page)

I was so wrong. When Bart and I got off our plane in Bucharest, thousands of Romanians waving signs and tossing bouquets of flowers were at the airport; even the new prime minister was there. It was really something.
Incredible
is too simple a word to describe the moment I stepped out of the plane. I have never in my life felt so lucky or loved by so many people. I remembered the fears I had in 1976 when I was greeted by screaming crowds after the Montreal Olympics. I hadn't understood, then, what I'd meant to the people of Romania. How could any child conceive of that? But as an adult and a woman who'd finally returned to the country she loved, I grasped the personal significance as well as the import to the people. I had been a symbol of someone bright and young and talented and Romanian—a symbol of what Romanians believed they and their country could be if only they were given the chance.

ABC had asked to send a camera crew to accompany Bart and me because they wanted to document my first return home. I'd agreed with reservations, since I wasn't certain exactly what would greet us in Romania or that I wanted it on film! Now I am so glad that I have the memory saved forever on a videotape because the entire trip was such a whirlwind that I might have forgotten
some of the magic of the moment. ABC caught everything. And after spending my young life being followed without ever quite seeing the secret police, it was a nice change to know that the network's cameras were in plain sight.

On our first night in Romania, Bart and I stayed in Bucharest and visited my mother and brother. Bart had met my mother before (she comes to visit us every year for at least a month). She definitely approved, as did my brother and sister-in-law, because it's impossible not to love Bart. We had a great night as a family. Once, I had believed I would never see my mother and brother again, let alone spend time in Romania with them and my fiancé. It was all a bit surreal.

Early the next morning, we formed a little caravan of four cars and began our drive to Onesti to see my father. Bart had never met him before and wanted to personally ask him for my hand in marriage. It took
forever
to get to Onesti. Every small town along the way—and there are tons of them—was filled with crowds waving flowers and hundreds of little girls singing Nadia songs. People were so proud to have me back home that they turned out in full force to make me feel welcome. The sentiment about my defection was simple: “Good for you,” they all said. “We wish we would have had the guts or opportunity to leave, too.”

In each small town, we stopped so that the mayor could make a speech and give me a pretty bouquet of flowers. Then we went to his office because it would have been impolite not to share a glass of champagne. Bart was overwhelmed at the crowds and speeches and all of the kissing. In Romania, people always double-kiss each other's cheeks. It's a bit different from the American
custom of shaking hands or giving a manly slap on the back. At any rate, the four-hour trip took nine hours. Everyone wanted a minute with me, and I was so happy to give each of them what I could.

When we finally arrived in Onesti, I showed Bart around the village, and then we went to my father's apartment. My dad was nervous. The television cameras and strangers were overwhelming. He didn't know very many words in English, so when Bart asked him for my hand in marriage (in front of the rolling cameras), he said, “Thank you.” He'd gotten his words confused. I joke to this day that at least he didn't know the English words for “Thank God.”

Onesti held a huge celebration, and thousands of people packed into the gymnasium where I had trained with Bela and Marta Karolyi. Everyone made a speech, even my grade school teacher and the priest who had baptized me. I felt an enormous wave of gratitude for all of the people who had cared about me back then and still did five years after my defection. It seemed they had all developed a newfound respect for me after I defected, though I think to this day that many Romanians still have misconceptions about exactly what I left behind. They assume I sacrificed wealth, an enormous home, expensive cars, jewelry, and luxurious comfort. It makes me uncomfortable to correct those misconceptions about me, even today, because I still find the entire situation humiliating. I have fierce pride, and sometimes it can get in the way.

Bart and I were invited to visit the president and prime minister of Romania after our time in Onesti. We were received in their version of the White House, which is a gorgeous mansion. The president asked us if
we'd considered having our wedding in Romania. I remember being really taken aback at the suggestion. Bart and I hadn't even talked about the wedding because we'd only recently gotten engaged and were just enjoying the moment. I said something about the fact that we lived Norman, Oklahoma, but Bart immediately said, “There's no better place in the world—we have to be married here. It would be a complete shock to Romanians if you weren't.” And that was that.

I don't think Bart knew what he was getting into. We spoke with Adrian Nastase, then speaker of the House and now prime minister of Romania. He's an incredibly charming, brilliant man, and he asked Bart who was going to be his
nasu
(godparent). In the Orthodox Church, a couple chooses a prominent person who is willing to act as a godparent to them and their children. That person also throws the wedding. It is a big responsibility, but most weddings in Romania are very simple affairs, so the financial cost is nominal. Bart asked Adrian and his wife to act as our godparents, and they happily agreed. Adrian's wife was thrilled. She felt that the event had to be glamorous and beautiful, and she ran with the idea. So much for an inexpensive wedding!

Bart and I sat back and decided that not only would we not try to exert any control over the planning but also that we'd just enjoy every minute of the event. We were incredibly busy with our jobs, and other than choosing a wedding dress that was made for me by Yumi Katsura, a designer in Japan, I did absolutely no work for what turned out to be anything but a “simple affair.” Adrian's wife chose the venue for the wedding, a beautiful old Romanian Orthodox monastery, and arranged for the reception and party at the Parliamentary Palace,
hosted by President Ion Iliescu. We invited fifteen hundred guests, including Juan Antonio Samaranch (head of the International Olympic Committee) and Arnold Schwarzenegger. Bart had been on the board of the Special Olympics for sixteen years, and at the time, Arnold was, too, and they'd become friends.

You may not know this, friend, but Orthodox weddings are two-day events. On the first day, you get married in the mayor's office in a civil ceremony. In the days of communism, people were discouraged from getting married in a church, and some of the old laws hadn't been changed yet. So when it was time for our wedding, Bart and I flew back to Romania and went to the courthouse in business clothes. We were married on live television by a Romanian official so that all the people of the country could watch the event. Since the ceremony was in Romanian, I translated for Bart. At one point, the official paused and looked expectantly at Bart. “He wants to know if you want to marry me,” I whispered. Of course, the microphone picked up my voice, and I guess everyone in the country had a good laugh. People thought that was hysterical. Bart kept saying “Da,” which means “yes” in Romanian, over and over again to every question throughout the ceremony. We were both happy and relieved when it was over.

When we left the government building, the square outside was packed with thousands of people who wanted to catch a glimpse of us. Bodyguards escorted us back to our hotel, and then we stood on the balcony and said a small speech to thank the people for coming to our wedding. Bart had his speech written out phonetically and thanked everyone for accepting him and said, “Today, I am half Romanian and half American.” The
people thought he was wonderful, both because of what he said and because he struggled through the speech but kept on trying until he'd finished.

It may be hard for you to understand why it mattered so much to my country that I was married with all the style and class that could be afforded. The people wanted to show the world the elegance and glamour of what Romania once was and could be again in the future. Over the course of thirty years, the people and culture had been virtually destroyed, and my wedding was a chance for everyone to fall in love with Romania again: I am not the only one with fierce pride in my country. I want to make it clear to you that though I left Romania, I never left the people and my roots—I left the system. I have always loved my country, and that's why, to this day, I haven't given up my citizenship. I am Romanian first and foremost, and Romania was where my wedding was meant to be. I knew that I could take my immediate family to a wedding in the United States, but I could not take the entire country. I needed to go to them.

My formal wedding the day after the official one was the stuff of any little girl's dreams. In addition to our Romanian guests, Bart and I invited eighty friends from America. All of us stayed at a hotel for one week; in fact, it was renamed “Hotel Nadia” from “Hotel Lido” because we took over the entire place. The day of the wedding, I wore a gorgeous gown with a 23-foot train covered with 10,000 pearls, carried by little Romanian gymnasts. Yumi Katsura, the designer, even sent someone to help me put the dress on because it was so complicated that I literally couldn't have dressed myself!

There were 10,000 people in the plaza outside the hotel waiting to see me before I left for the church. We
couldn't take any formal pictures before the wedding because once I stepped into the plaza, people were very excited to see me and it became too hard to set things up. As a result, all of the photographs from our wedding are snapshots from friends or the footage from ABC, which filmed the whole event. Half of the city of Bucharest was closed—stores, streets, everything. The procession to the wedding felt like something that would happen in England with princes and princesses. It was truly magical and filled with pomp and circumstance.

The actual wedding was gorgeous. Adrian's wife had filled the monastery with flowers and music. Once again, Bart did his best to follow along with the Orthodox traditions, but this time, things were much more complicated than they'd been at the civil wedding, when he'd just needed to stand in one place and say “yes.” Everything in the church is done three times—for example, walking around the altar during the service. There's also a lot of kissing of the priest's hand, and the bride and groom wear crowns. It can be very confusing even if you're familiar with the religion. People advise brides and grooms that the one who remembers a particular tradition first should step on the other person's foot to warn or remind them. The bride or groom who does the bulk of the stepping, it is said, will be the one most in control of the marriage. I did all of the stepping on Bart's foot. Unfortunately, I forgot to tell him about our “signal,” so the first time during the wedding that I stepped on his toes, he asked, “What was that for?” I told him I was going to stomp on his foot before we were supposed to do anything three times. He whispered that I could have told him before the ceremony. “It's too late,” I whispered back with a smile, “I'm going to tower over this marriage.”

The reception line after the wedding was one of the funnier parts of the day. There was Bart, an American kid from Chicago who was now living in Oklahoma, and he had to greet strange men who all wanted to kiss his cheeks. There was a gigantic lineup, and Bart just put on a smile and let everyone exfoliate his smooth cheeks with their beards. By the time his American friends got to him (these guys had never even hugged each other before), Bart grabbed each one and planted kisses on
their
cheeks! It was incredible to see him display so much affection, and to this day, they're all closer for the time they spent in Romania. To be introduced to such strong, passionate people really changed their lives.

My friend, I wish I could transport you to our reception so that you could live it for yourself. The food and wines were delicious, and the music ranged from ballroom pieces and opera to traditional folk songs. There were dancers, singers, and actors from all over Europe in addition to the group of friends we'd brought from America. Bart and I tasted all of the food, danced, and flitted from table to table talking with our guests. I have never smiled so much in my life—quite a contrast to the person who, as a child, was known for not smiling. I have heard that for your wedding, all of the stars align to make the day perfect. Though I still don't believe in perfection, that day was as close as I think I'll ever come to experiencing it.

In the middle of the night, while everyone was drinking, dancing, and laughing, something wonderful and strange and unexpected happened. I was stolen away from my groom by a group of men. I am not pulling your leg. It is a Romanian tradition that if the groom loses sight of his bride on the night of their wedding reception, she may be stolen. The men (old and dear
friends of mine) put me in a boat, and we motored out into the middle of a lake, where a yacht was waiting. Meanwhile, Bart was dancing with his mother when a security guard tapped him on the shoulder and asked, “Do you know where your wife is?”

Bart looked around and couldn't see me. “I don't know,” he replied. “Where is she?”

“She's been stolen,” the guard told him. “You should pay more attention to your bride, otherwise she'll disappear.” The guard handed Bart a cell phone, and the man on the line joked, “If you want Nadia back, you'll have to pay a ransom.” Bart offered $1,000. “That's not enough,” the man exclaimed, “she's worth more than that!”

“How about $10,000 donated to the charity of your choice?” Bart asked.

“It's a deal.”

The men motored me back to the dock, where Bart stood waiting. He gathered me in his arms and promised never to lose sight of me again. The party continued until five in the morning. Sometimes I'd stop dancing and look around, trying to take it all in and remember everything. It was hard to comprehend that all of it was for me and for Bart, that people were so generous with their time and feelings. There had been moments when I thought I was so jaded that nothing could ever surprise or delight me again. I am so fortunate that I was wrong.