Today, we travel to Sighisoara.
Gabriel, the young guy who owned the Brasov apartment I was staying in, drove me to the train station. He got my ticket, carried my bag on to the train, and led me to the correct train compartment. We shook hands and said goodbye as if we had known one another for a lifetime.
I shared the compartment with an older couple. He was nicely dressed in a three-piece suit, and she wore a dress and a periwinkle scarf that matched the colour of her wispy hair. As our train pushed deeper into Transylvania, the morning fog added a sense of mystery to the passing landscape. I wished I spoke Romanian, because I’m sure my seatmates would have stories to tell about life in Romania. Besides, they were probably just as curious of me as I was of them. Instead, I offered them some chocolate. Wrapped up in his newspaper, he declined, but a smile lit up across his wife’s face and she gladly accepted. It was nice to see that a woman’s love for chocolate is universal. She rustled through her purse and pulled out a bag of peppered pretzels, which she offered to me. “Multumesc”--thank you, I said. The train slowed as we neared Sighisoara, and since this was my stop, I gathered my bag from the rack above. I nodded and smiled at the couple as I left the compartment. They waved back.
“Are you from Canada,” a woman asked, as I jumped off the train. I wondered how she knew where I was from. “I’m Christine…Gabriel said you would be on this train.” Christine and her husband rent out part of their home to visitors, and it came well recommended. Up on a hill, not far from the station, stands Sighisoara’s beautifully preserved citadel. Lucky for me, Christine’s home was located in the middle of this charming medieval town.
We walked up the cobbled streets to the citadel, where we passed under the 15th Century clock tower. It was like stepping back in time, and being invited into a town that we usually read about in history books. In the shadow of an ageless church, artisans sold their crafts much as they would have hundreds of years ago. A maze of quaint streets, void of vehicles, led us to Christine’s home. I left my bag and began exploring this restful town. I enjoyed losing myself down enchanting lanes.
Sighisoara is rightly known for its ancient heritage, but it also lays claim to the birthplace of “Dracula”. The legend of Dracula is difficult to sort out. Vlad Tepes, a 15th Century Wallachian Prince, who was born in Sighisoara, is often credited with being Dracula, the vampire-count featured in Bram Stoker’s renowned story. While Tepes was rather bloodthirsty, especially when it came to his enemies¾impaling them on wooden stakes--he was not a vampire. The only part of Stoker’s story that has any fact is that it was set in Transylvania.
Vlad Tepes, or “Dracula’s” house is now a restaurant and bar. I didn’t want to get caught up in the Dracula-hype, but I forced myself to have dinner in the home. It wasn’t tacky or kitschy like one might find in other parts of the world. In fact, except for a small historical marker on the outside of the building, one wouldn’t know it was the former home of the infamous “vampire”. I climbed a set of wooden stairs, where a narrow hall led to the main dining area. Sets of large, medieval looking chairs surrounded small wood tables. A knight’s metal armor, complete with axe, stood nearby in an alcove. And on the menu was Dracula [tomato] soup.
One day, I decided to rent a bicycle and explore the nearby countryside. I headed west on the main road that ran through Sighisoara. After a steady upward climb, the mountains parted and the road spilled out into a beautiful valley. Fields of corn, coloured by the mid-day sun, stretched out like a warm blanket on the earth. I shared the two-lane road with large transport trucks, buses, speeding cars, and horse-drawn carts. But mostly I was alone. The silence interrupted only by the passing of a distant train.
The first village I came to was Danes. Small, beautiful homes lined the main road. Each house was adorned with an ornate cross. I stopped at a small store to replenish my water supply. Instead of receiving a few cents of change from my purchase, I was given a bright red candy--a Romanian tradition I had read about. After a few gulps of water, I mounted my bike and continued on. In the distance, I noticed a church spire rising above a small village. As I got closer, a road sign pointed to the town of Dumbraveni. I pedaled across a narrow, wooden bridge and parked my bike in front of the large gothic church, the one I had seen from the road. I walked along quiet streets, past well-kept homes.
Finally, I made my way back to the church and found a bench, shaded by a leafy tree. After a quick rest, I looked at my watch, and was surprised that it was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon. Wanting to get back to Sighisoara before dark, I jumped back on my bike and took a shortcut to the main road. Along the way, I passed gypsy farmers finishing their work in the fields.
After two days in Sighisoara, I returned to the train station for the five-hour journey back to Bucharest. I climbed aboard the train, found my seat, and peered reflectively out the window. I didn’t see any vampires in Transylvania, but I did find enchanting and magical towns. And bucolic fields, surrounded by verdant hills. As the train slipped out of the station, and Sighisoara faded into my memory, I hoped that one day I might return to Transylvania.
I shared the compartment with an older couple. He was nicely dressed in a three-piece suit, and she wore a dress and a periwinkle scarf that matched the colour of her wispy hair. As our train pushed deeper into Transylvania, the morning fog added a sense of mystery to the passing landscape. I wished I spoke Romanian, because I’m sure my seatmates would have stories to tell about life in Romania. Besides, they were probably just as curious of me as I was of them. Instead, I offered them some chocolate. Wrapped up in his newspaper, he declined, but a smile lit up across his wife’s face and she gladly accepted. It was nice to see that a woman’s love for chocolate is universal. She rustled through her purse and pulled out a bag of peppered pretzels, which she offered to me. “Multumesc”--thank you, I said. The train slowed as we neared Sighisoara, and since this was my stop, I gathered my bag from the rack above. I nodded and smiled at the couple as I left the compartment. They waved back.
“Are you from Canada,” a woman asked, as I jumped off the train. I wondered how she knew where I was from. “I’m Christine…Gabriel said you would be on this train.” Christine and her husband rent out part of their home to visitors, and it came well recommended. Up on a hill, not far from the station, stands Sighisoara’s beautifully preserved citadel. Lucky for me, Christine’s home was located in the middle of this charming medieval town.
We walked up the cobbled streets to the citadel, where we passed under the 15th Century clock tower. It was like stepping back in time, and being invited into a town that we usually read about in history books. In the shadow of an ageless church, artisans sold their crafts much as they would have hundreds of years ago. A maze of quaint streets, void of vehicles, led us to Christine’s home. I left my bag and began exploring this restful town. I enjoyed losing myself down enchanting lanes.Sighisoara is rightly known for its ancient heritage, but it also lays claim to the birthplace of “Dracula”. The legend of Dracula is difficult to sort out. Vlad Tepes, a 15th Century Wallachian Prince, who was born in Sighisoara, is often credited with being Dracula, the vampire-count featured in Bram Stoker’s renowned story. While Tepes was rather bloodthirsty, especially when it came to his enemies¾impaling them on wooden stakes--he was not a vampire. The only part of Stoker’s story that has any fact is that it was set in Transylvania.
Vlad Tepes, or “Dracula’s” house is now a restaurant and bar. I didn’t want to get caught up in the Dracula-hype, but I forced myself to have dinner in the home. It wasn’t tacky or kitschy like one might find in other parts of the world. In fact, except for a small historical marker on the outside of the building, one wouldn’t know it was the former home of the infamous “vampire”. I climbed a set of wooden stairs, where a narrow hall led to the main dining area. Sets of large, medieval looking chairs surrounded small wood tables. A knight’s metal armor, complete with axe, stood nearby in an alcove. And on the menu was Dracula [tomato] soup.
One day, I decided to rent a bicycle and explore the nearby countryside. I headed west on the main road that ran through Sighisoara. After a steady upward climb, the mountains parted and the road spilled out into a beautiful valley. Fields of corn, coloured by the mid-day sun, stretched out like a warm blanket on the earth. I shared the two-lane road with large transport trucks, buses, speeding cars, and horse-drawn carts. But mostly I was alone. The silence interrupted only by the passing of a distant train.
The first village I came to was Danes. Small, beautiful homes lined the main road. Each house was adorned with an ornate cross. I stopped at a small store to replenish my water supply. Instead of receiving a few cents of change from my purchase, I was given a bright red candy--a Romanian tradition I had read about. After a few gulps of water, I mounted my bike and continued on. In the distance, I noticed a church spire rising above a small village. As I got closer, a road sign pointed to the town of Dumbraveni. I pedaled across a narrow, wooden bridge and parked my bike in front of the large gothic church, the one I had seen from the road. I walked along quiet streets, past well-kept homes.
Finally, I made my way back to the church and found a bench, shaded by a leafy tree. After a quick rest, I looked at my watch, and was surprised that it was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon. Wanting to get back to Sighisoara before dark, I jumped back on my bike and took a shortcut to the main road. Along the way, I passed gypsy farmers finishing their work in the fields.
After two days in Sighisoara, I returned to the train station for the five-hour journey back to Bucharest. I climbed aboard the train, found my seat, and peered reflectively out the window. I didn’t see any vampires in Transylvania, but I did find enchanting and magical towns. And bucolic fields, surrounded by verdant hills. As the train slipped out of the station, and Sighisoara faded into my memory, I hoped that one day I might return to Transylvania.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment