Rural Romania

In my previous post I touched on the strangeness of urban Romania by recounting my brief experience in Bucharest. Now it is time to pay homage to the mountains.

We jumped on a train laden with our bags and an extra Aussie we picked up along the way. After pretending to make small talk for the first few minutes my head phones were in again and I resumed my meditative stare out of the window. There is something about actively traveling that humbles me. I often find myself leaking tears on trains, buses, planes, ferries, etc. as emotions overwhelm my senses. Perhaps it is the sense of calm that arises after the hustle of visiting a city. With the introduction of new sights, sounds, and smells the mind never really has a moment to slow down and process everything. Or perhaps it is the change that brings me to tears. So many goodbyes to influential people and places can be hard on the soul. Once I am seated and journeying towards my next destination all of the thoughts and emotions that have been pushed aside to make room for new experiences come rushing back in. I have been known to enjoy the journey more than the destination.

As we passed out of the city and into fields of gold I caught my first glimpse of the mountains. Dark and brooding they already were gathering heavy rain clouds around their summits, seemingly waiting for our arrival. The trees roared past, blurs of vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows smeared with the everlasting greens of the forest. We pulled into Brasov just as the first drops of rain began to hammer down upon us. Three arguments with unethical taxi drivers plus one nearly violent altercation later we arrived at our hostel, dripping wet and ready for the free beer on arrival.

The next morning we awoke to find the town engulfed in fog. Red tile roofs were erupting through the haze and seemed to grow in length as the sun started to conquer the clouds. Day one was devoted to castles. We jumped in the car with some more wild Australians and set off for Peles Castle in Sinaia. The palace stood proudly like a fairy tale dream surrounded by the autumn leaves and bright blue sky. We toured rooms full of golden gilded delights and ate raspberries from a small wicker basket. From there we ventured on to Rasnov, an empowered citadel perched on a hilltop. Inside the fortress were old ruins and breathtaking views. Our attempt to visit Bran castle was thwarted due to the time but we resolved to return the next day.

The following day was compromised of our standard free walking tour in which we learned all about Vlad Tepes aka The Impaler aka The Dragon aka Dracula and the terrible yet great things he did for his country. Shockingly we discovered he was not in any way a bloodsucking bat hybrid. We jumped a bus and toured Bran Castle, known as Dracula's Castle, which didn't lose any of its appeal despite the decimation of the vampire myth that morning.

The standard food for the mountains was goulash which has become my new obsession. It is served in steaming bowls with hidden pieces of meat, potatoes, and veggies floating in a broth so delicious it makes my eyes water just thinking about it. There is a theory that you can get the withdrawal shakes if you don’t shovel a bowl into your mouth at least one every two days and I believe it. Bean soup served in massive cylindrical bread bowls was another favorite mountain fare as well as sausages, of course.

After Brasov we trained it to Sighisoara, another ancient citadel boasting cobblestone alleys and vampire flare before making it to Cluj-Napoca. Here the days were spent reading, writing, eating, and listening to the rain steadily fall outside. Down days while traveling hold a certain appeal for me as I regroup and prepare for the next insane adventure. We left Romania for Budapest on a dangerous bus ride, but that is yet another story. 

Romania, you were a wonderful surprise. I thank you for the mountains, trees, rivers, castles, and most of all, the goulash.