My Baby Came Down From Romania; She was the Queen of Transylvania

   With night upon me, I headed to Bucharest. Gruia met me at the train station and took me on the subway. While I really needed a shower, Gruia was hosting a birthday celebration at a local restaurant and no shower was to come. In Romania, it is traditional for the person celebrating the birthday to purchase drinks for their friends. Gruia would not accept anything. In all, I met an eclectic group of Romanians. Many of whom worked in urban planning and design and a few who did not. After drinks, we headed onto an underground bar, which is in an a flat where Gruia once worked. With a well-stocked bar, music, and a tremendous window view of the lane below, I felt I had entered a different time. With an early morning ahead, we returned via car to Gruia's block. Even at night, I was suprised by the imposing nature of the communist apartment buildings, which stretched symmetrically for blocks.

In the morning, we rose early to find an entire breakfast spread awaiting us. Gruia's mother is an engineer who works at one of the airports in Romania. She greeted me kindly and her hospitality abounded during my stay. I hope that Gruia can someday come and visit and allow my mother to spoil me as his mother did.  She does not speak English, but I promised to learn some Romanian in order to thank her properly. After breakfast, we met two of Gruia's students and began our trek to the fortified churches of Transylvania, retracing my route from the previous day. Our first stop was Peles Castle, which was constructed in 1873 and occupied by King Carol I. The place was both imposing and extravagant, but the stop was short as our intention was not modern castles,but rather fortified churches. These Saxon churches were constructed in vast numbers all over Transylvania to protect the Germanic population from invading and marauding Turks. They are the only fortified churches in the world!

In Cincu, we discovered the true reality of these wonderful and historically unique structures. Cincu used to have a large Saxon population; however, following World War II, the Russian occupation led to massive deportation to work camps in the Crimea. While many returned sometime later, nothing would be the same. In the 1980's, the remainder migrated to Germany in a cash for Germans program, executed between West Germany and Romania. After, the Roma population grew, yet some Romanians remain. The church utilized tiered defenses with outer walls and the sanctuary as the citadel. The walls, complete with arrow slots, were tall and imposing. The limited numbers of windows were above reach. As we walked the streets, it was if we had entered a ghost town, abandoned by time and people alike. We found a number on the door and Gruia called to have the church unlocked. Little did we know that the little old man who arrived by bicycle was an amature historian. With his insights, we examined the whole of the church from the burnt door frame, a consequence of a Turkish siege, to the removable floor panels, which exposed an internal well, the burial ground of cremated Turkish enemies, and an escape tunnel system which runs to an old cemetary. We were even permitted to climb the belfrey. The cost was minimal while the experience was priceless. Given the absence of a protestant community, the church is in disrepair without an ally.

After a longer car ride and a short stop at another fortified church, we reached Biertan. Here, we checked into a central guesthouse, which Gruia had arranged for the night. The fortified church of this town is well preserved from its outer walls to its central church with external towers and layered defenses. Its preservation results from its designationas a UNESCO World Heritage site. Unfortunately, regular hours terminated in early December and the Saxon manager (one of the few Saxons around) was an obtuse little old lady. We decided to try the next day. As dinner came, we dined on sarmale, Romanian stuffed cabbage. We enjoyed an excellent soup and tasted the locally made wine. We were also given local moonshine or tsuica, which made me warm from my head to my toes. With the evening still young, we went for a walk around the lighted church. upon returning, we snacked on sarmale and drank tsuica to excess while discussing the world. It was very personable as these strangers in the morning became friends by evening. As our inhibitions declined, the conversation ranged from Romanian politics to the perception of America within the group.

In the morning, we woke to a full breakfast complete with homemade cheese which I struggled to eat. After, we walked onto to Copsa Mare, a nearby town several miles away. The walk was through the country side along an unpaved road. While some complained, I found the walk exhilirating. Reaching a fork, some traveled down the main road, while the majority traversed a shepard's trail which cut the ridge overlooking the village. The scenic path provided a beautiful overview of the layout of the town and another fortified church on the other side of the village. As we descended into the village, we soon had a follower: A young Roma around the age of 8 who was quite happy to meet his first American. Our little guide took us to the church, describing the village. After we toured the church, we gave him a small sum only to realize that his family had a home. His father angered by his son begging asked us if he had asked for money. One of the members of the group informed him that it was money for the service that he provided. These words placated the father. The walk back to Biertan was marked by singing and laughter. Soon, we were back on the road.

At this point, the tsuica took control and I soon fell asleep. Our journey for the day took us to the Secular/Hungarian area of Transylvania, where the population does not actually speak Romanian. This area served as the birthplace of the Unitarian church. In Darjiu, we saw a Seclar version of a fortified church, complete with a long-running mural of conflict within the sanctuary. These murals depict the legend of King Ladislas, Paul's Conversion, and the Martyrdom of the 10,000. Here, the walls which surrounded the church were remarkably higher and more imposing. This site is on the UNESCO World Heritage List as well. After, we began our trek back to Bucharest. On the way, we stopped and enjoyed some real goulash and various other Hungarian dishes. Given my experience to this point, I looked forward to what Bucharest had to offer.

Why Don't You Come to Romania?

In an attempt to capture the last month, I will endeavor to summarize its three segments: Romania, Christmas, and Cambridge. This post covers my early experience in Romania from December 6 to December 10.

With intention of meeting my friend, Gruia, in Bucharest on December 9, I left for Romania on the 6th of December with the intention of landing in Timisoara, a major city in western Romania, and working my way by train to Bucharest. Once in Bucharest, we were to take cars back through the Carpathian Mountains and into rural Transylvania. The journey was filled with several surprises beginning with Gruia being on the same flight as I. This coincidence was quite fortunate as Gruia provided valuable background on Romania and the sites to see. As I learned, Romania is defined by three characteristics: The U-Shaped Carpathians, the Black Sea, and the Danube River.

With this background and some historical notes, I was on my way, but not before, Gruia and I enjoyed a hearty meal on the main square in Timisoara. From the beginning, I fell in love with the cuisine: Polenta, Sausages, and Bean Soup abound. After Gruia departed by train, I checked myself into the old communist party hotel, which was quite cheap and furnished with this dull blue paint. Of remark, it was quite similar to the old communist hotels in Vietnam. After finishing a project for school, I journeyed out into the bustle of holiday life. In the main square, I discovered my love of vin fiert, warm wine, which is sold quite cheaply. As I wandered the city, I realized for the first time that I was in Europe: the open squares, the market culture, and the cuisine. Known as "Little Vienna," Timisoara claims to be the cultural hub of Romania and assumes a certain elitist attitude, but I found it most welcoming. Piata Victoriei (Victory Square), the starting place of the 1989 Revolution, contained a Christmas bazaar. Nearby, the Habsburg-era, Union Square is complete with cobblestone and movable wrought-iron benches to suit your taste. Outside of the city center, I found a much different experience. In the Fabric neighborhood, I discovered the contrast of the city: the grand squares and cultured high-life paired with decay of neighborhoods. Fabric was the old German neighborhood, abandoned over time and repossessed by the large Roma population. Squatting is quite commonplace. As I wandered the streets, I saw many dilapidated houses and store fronts which had been broken into and subsequently occupied. Throughout Romania, property rights are a major issue, given the privatization of public property's some 20 years ago.

After a full day of exploration, I caught the evening train for Sibiu in Western Transylvania. Arriving around 11 pm, I had arranged online for a cheap hotel rather than the hostel recommended by my friend. I took a cab from the train to the hotel to find it dark, gates closed. I knocked and tried calling without luck. On a dark street without any sort of understanding of the cities layout, a man exited a nearby house. He walked across the street and put the light on a cab. I walked over and said "Casa?" He nodded and motioned for me to get into the car. Nervous, I worried as we passed by many-a western hotel and found myself on a back street. He stopped the cab and turned off the engine. He then smiled, which may sound unnerving, but there was a welcome-ness and kindness to it. He got out first and I followed suit. Pointing down the street to a hotel, he motioned for me to follow. We entered and I examined the rates: 60 lei. He spoke with the women and I assumed that they were romantically inclined. I booked into the hotel, charging me a special rate of 30 lei. I looked puzzled and she pointed to the cab driver and said "prieten" or friend. At this point, all pre-existing fears disappeared.

Without a map, I began wandering towards what I assumed to be the center of town. I walked by the old Roman bastions and into the central square. As it was early, no one was stirring and I thouroghly enjoyed the solitude. The town is divided by the old walls of the fortified city, which divide the high town from the more residential low town. After a morning of wandering and getting lost in the labyrinth of streets, passages, and alley ways, I made my way into the City Clock Tower where I climbed for what seemed like an eternity with my heavy pack. However, the view made the trip worthwhile: The Carpathians and the Transylvanian plane stretched for miles, blending into each other. For lunch, I followed Gruia's direction to Crama Sibiul Vechi, where I exited the street and entered into a less than inspiring building only to find an underground gem. The restaurant is in the old brick-lined cellar and serves traditional shepard's fare. While the meat grill and bean soup were excellent, it was the atmosphere, complete with waiters wearing traditional dress and locals who knew the staff as old friends, that defined the experience. Late in the afternoon, when the sky turned gray, the first snow came to Transylvania. I departed soon after.

In the early evening, I arrived in Brasov, which lies farther to the east, yet still quite central in Transylvania. I stayed in the city center (Piata Sfatului), where the night came alive with a traditional Christmas bazaar. These bazaars, I found, are a staple within the squares of the many city's and towns. In the morning, I rose early and walked the footpaths along the old city wall, which was in great repair. I climbed into the hill side where I examined the town from the defensive heights around the town. As I climbed to the Black and White Towers, I was filled with the nostalgia of childhood. In Brasov, I found the towers, which my minature knights once defended/attacked.

After, I made arrangement with a cab driver to take me to Bran Castle, the inspiration for Bram Stokers Dracula. In exchange for the roundtrip, I paid him 50 lei or around 12 dollars. After about an hour drive, we arrived in the town of Bran where I walked the rest of the way to the castle. As I approached, I thought to myself: If Dracula lived here, he certainly had good taste. The snowy landscape and snow under my foot made the trip quite romantic. The castle sits in a mighty gorge dividing Transylvanaia from the outside. As a central passage through the Carpathians, it was a route for both trade and invasion. Given its position, it also served as a tax house, generating revenue for the likes of Vlad the Impaler, who never actually stayed at the castle. While imposing from the outside, the inside proved to be well-maintained, but rather poorly decorated. Periodic pieces from the 19th and early 20th Century do not belong in castles. As I walked down, I was over-joyed: my first castle.

On the way back to Brasnov, we passed through Rasnov,a town between Bran and my destination. Admiring the great citadel on the hill-side (decorated with a tacky metal-framed RASNOV Hollywood style sign), the cab driver offered to take me to the base of the mountainside where I could walk to the top. I asked the fee and he smiled: No extra chargd. While he spoke very limited English, I found our trip quite engaging as I pointed and motioned my way to understanding of the local context. As a sign of trust, I left my bag in the car (I learned my lesson at the City Council Tower in Sibiu). As I walked up the winding road to the entrance of the trails, the coniferous forest surrounded me. I watched as dogs scurried about the hillside, following my path. As I reached the zenith, I discovered a large fortress, used by the Saxons in times of invasion. While much has been restored, the ruins were the best portion of the independent tour. Each family was assigned a cubicle of space to store food in preparation of conflict and as a place to stay. The buidlings are mostly gone, yet the foundations remain. Per usual, some buildings are restored and commercialized. The well, a source of livelihood to the Saxon inhabitants, was alledgedly dug over a 20-year period by several Turkish prisoners, who were given their freedom. Taking liberty with the lack of supervision, I climbed along the less than reliable dirt footpath behind the Rasnov sign. Here, I had a commanding view of the Carpathians and the pancake below, as I walked back down, I was quite satisfied with my morning adventure.

Returning to Brasov, I had lunch outside at a local cafe, where I enjoyed the liveliness of the square by day. Afterwards, I visited the 13th Century Black Church, which gets its name from its destructive past. Both the Turks and Hapsburgs burnt the church, permanently darkening its walls. While the outside is Gothic, the interior is Baroque in style. After I walked to the old main gate, where I discovered a page torn from a fairy tale. I looked for Sleeping Beauty to no avail. With two-hours left, I decided to take the tram up the side of Mount Tampa, which overlooks the city. After a long delay, I finally reached the top where I found an overpriced restaurant and a series of antennas. In about 15 minutes of hiking along snow covered trails, I reached the summit, somehow isolated from the commercialism. Looking down upon Brasnov, I noted the distinction between the various sections of the town, the old division between Saxons and Romanians. With only 45 minutes to spare before my train to Bucharest, I trecked down the hillside to the valley below (Trecking is the technical term for running like mad). Arriving at the train station, I actually discovered that I had the wrong train time, so I sat in a smoky, train station cafe enjoying coffee. While seated, a young boy slighly entered the cafe, begging for food. While this behavior was suspect, the fear in his eyes when the policeman entered gave away his sincerity. While I was reluctant to give him money, I did anyway. With a smile, the boy said: "Americano." I hope that it was with fondness rather than cleverness. As I boarded the train, I realized that Bucharest and the Saxon villages to follow would have a difficult time living up to my 24-hour experience in Brasnov, Rasnov, and Bran.