"To travel is to discover that everyone is wrong about other countries." —Aldous Huxley, Writer (1894-1963)
Thanks to Bill and Nancy for the quote. After years of travel I still often have some image of the places we’re going, and when we arrive it’s always different. It’s best to avoid any previous image at all.
And to you, Dear Reader, thank you for your patience in awaiting our next, and long-delayed, Dispatch. It’s just that a heady mixture of excellent experiences during our epic 2022 Eastern Europe and Balkans trek collided with sometimes-feeble internet connections that led us to set aside that important task until we had the time to do it right. It also allowed us to consider how better to show exactly where we've been. Not everyone can visualize a full-blown map of Europe, so we hope what we've added above is helpful.
And now we can proceed:
After spending significant time with Intrepid Travel in the enchanting villages of Northern Romania (see our previous Dispatch), it’s time to visit a few bigger cities for a fuller picture of this fascinating country.
Sighișoara
The next stop for our Intrepid Travel group is the citadel of Sighișoara to experience the charming old quarter of one of Romania’s finest medieval cities. After we check in to our hotel, Sando briefs us on the local history and the day’s itinerary. The rainy weather of early September continues as we take a pathway that leads up a dark and musty, and drippy, covered stairway to the Church on the Hill which dates from the 13th century.
We stop for a few minutes to embrace the towering architecture, and the colorful Gothic altarpiece which dates from 1520. Then a group of school kids enters to take their seats, and to mostly-listen as their teacher explains this important part of their history. Their wet umbrellas, left just inside the door, make an almost artistic composition on the ancient brick floor.
And then it’s time to climb yet another ancient tower to enjoy the views over another valley and community below. The old graveyard is tucked closely by, with its centuries of past residents and deep history.
Back in the town, we wander the old cobblestones on a rainy day and find the Church of the Dominican Monastery, with its baroque finery and its simple tracery arching over the space below.
And then, just imagine? It’s time for another fine dinner! Is everything in life just prelude to another very good dinner, and a good local beer, with friends around a large table? Well I, for one, certainly can hope so. It’s one of life’s great and simple pleasures. (And our Hungarian friend Steve says he enjoys the food pictures so much he often wants to eat his computer screen!)
After that fine repast at least one of us, or maybe it was two or three of us, suggests an after-dinner beverage would be a great way to continue the evening’s jocularity. A majority vote seals the deal, and the evening’s tales continue.
In the morning, under a wet and lowering sky, we bid farewell to fine Sighisoara for the next leg of our trip – to a place of infamy.
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Bran Castle and Brașov
We’ve been traveling for many miles now through Transylvania, Romania’s most well-known province, and today we’re heading (of course!) for the infamous Bran Castle.
We’re closing in on the legend, the myth, and especially the fantasy of the infamous Vlad Tepes, or “Vlad the Impaler” – better known these days as Dracula.
Having been influenced from early childhood by both the original Dracula and Frankenstein movies, I finally got around to reading both of those yarns just a few years ago and they were surprisingly well-written. Neither of them was accurately portrayed in the many knockoff horror films they inspired, but some of those movies (like Young Frankenstein) were a lot of fun to watch anyway. And I recall that the original version of Frankenstein (1931), the one we used to catch on late night TV, was really something of a classic.
But these days I can’t even think of Romania without recalling the astoundingly bizarre 1970s movie, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and that “sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania!!” as played memorably by Tim Curry. The movie’s corny trailer is attached.
And consider poor Bela Lugosi, a Romanian-born Hungarian who acted in numerous mostly B-list horror films before and after Dracula, and who will forever be known only for that role — which was, by the way, the very first talkie horror movie. In later years he even played Ygor (more recently played well by Marty Feldman) in The Ghost of Frankenstein (1942), and he played the monster himself in 1943’s Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man. And who can forget his reprise of the role of Dracula in the wonderfully-forgettable Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948)?
Then there’s Bram Stoker, the Irish wit who stoked the whole vampire bit and set it happening in this particular castle, without ever having been here. And he describes the castle in great detail at that. But he had for inspiration that Brit wit named Shakespeare who set several of his best creations in Italy, all without ever leaving jolly England. In your travels to Verona these days you can even visit “Juliet’s Balcony,” the actual place where Romeo stood below while calling out to her — according to the Veronese, anyway. After you struggle your way through the narrow archway against the tide of amoristes who pen their messages of love on the entryway walls, you’ll still hear Romeo’s very words, “…what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun,” as they echo forever through the courtyard. If you have any imagination at all.
So finally here we are at the hallowed place, arriving early in our van at an almost-deserted parking lot on a drizzly and foggy morning, with the castle looming somewhere shrouded on the misty mountain above us. You really couldn’t ask for a better Old Hollywood opening than that. And why should we trouble ourselves today with petty reality?
We find the ticket window and carefully read the posted warnings before venturing uphill on the rain-slippery stone pathway toward the foreboding castle.
Soon we join the early bird crowd in the courtyard to find our way through the narrow passageways and jostle with the rest of the myth-smitten horde. This is where we find that the more recent history of the place, and its preservation, is highlighted; and it has far more to do with the remarkable Queen Marie of Romania than with an ancient blood-thirsty Count who may not have even lived here.
We file past placards relating the historic interventions of the Queen at the post-WWI negotiations and the subsequent Treaty of Versailles that gave modern-day Romania its current borders, and its ranking as one of the larger countries in Eastern Europe. And we view the kind of furniture, comforts, and other belongings that a royal, in the final days of royalty before it would all be swept away by the next war, would find to stock her household.
There are many opportunities to look out over the misty myth-shrouded landscape as we wander the narrow warrens to navigate the crowds and the multitude of languages around us.
There are mysterious stairways leading to who knows where, and that are especially enticing for adventurous children who dare to follow the posted admonitions.
And those may just lead us to the main event that has drawn some of us, really most of us, to this bleak castle redoubt: the fulfillment of our many childhood fantasies. These are dark rooms and spaces filled with wisps of fairies dancing on moldy grounds, and a fearsome fellow who guards the graveyard late at night under a full moon. And of course it’s corny, but that’s just what we bought the tickets for, isn’t it?
We struggle our way back through the crowded corridors and plenty of other history-related gear as we try to find the right doorway to escape the grounds. We are like characters in a Kafka novel who are stuck in a maze with no way out.
We finally break through the crowds and locate that same rain-slick stoney pathway back down to the bottom with ample opportunities to slip, to fall, to break something very important. And to return to where hordes of evil blood-sucking merchants now lie in wait with plenty of stuff we really don’t need and really shouldn’t buy. But…might just be tempted to buy a few of anyway, as we escape back to the van for the next leg of this trip. Oscar Wilde put it so well: “I can resist anything but temptation.”
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Brașov is next for us, an ancient settlement with layers of history that date to pre-Roman times, although the massive walls and gateways that still remain in certain areas were built even later by Saxons. And did we mention it’s been raining? Ah well, it’s good for the land after those long summer months of sun and heat and drought. There are surely enough good reasons to keep us attentive in this old and important town, and we didn’t want to give Brașov the ‘brashoff’ (Okay, okay, please forgive the bad pun!)
We wander off past the Saxon gates to see the old German Lutheran “Black Church,” with its dark exterior still showing smoke damage from the Great Fire that swept the old village in 1689. By the time we get there it’s a bit late to get a peek at the inside, and we’re somewhat disappointed at that. But we’ve actually seen quite a few fine old churches already over the summer, so it’s not a heart-breaker.
There’s an adjacent statue of Johannes Honterus (1498-1549) who brought Lutheranism, and a printing press, to Brasov. He was a talented mapmaker whose manual, Rudimenta Cosmographica — written in verse for better comprehension by students — contained 13 engraved maps of the known world. There were 39 editions published throughout Europe, and it is considered to be the first European-wide manual. He also founded a local school which still bears his name.
Carolyn takes a break to find a seat on some curious peanut-looking benches, which I avoid due to my intense peanut allergy. But there are plenty of other fine old buildings to enjoy in the area.
The nearby main square is all set for a musical event that promises to go on well into the rainy evening, and the local kids are greatly enjoying the bubble machine that someone provided — perhaps someone infatuated with the late Lawrence Welk.
But instead of waiting for whatever might happen later, we choose to follow the nearby warrens of pedestrianized streets to explore the center of Brasov.
And then, low and behold, there’s an intriguing-looking bar that captures the attention of this ale-friendly bunch. And they have “Ciuc Premium” (pronounced ‘chook’), a Heineken Romania brew, on tap. Soon we’re confronted with good beverages and platters of fine food, until the table becomes a graveyard of empty bottles and we toss a pile of Romanian Lei together in the midst of the debris to ransom our way back to the outside.
And after all that, someone suggests (again!) that we embark on scouting out a little nightcap before we retire to our snug and cosy beds. This is my kind of crowd.
In the morning we’re all up bright and early to get a good breakfast and then catch a comfortable train, and a local city bus, to our next stop, in the famous capital city of Romania.
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Bucharest
On our arrival, Mihail, our next local guide, sets us off on a brisk urban walk to perhaps the most infamous monument in the city — the bizarrely colossal Palace of Parliament, begun by the dictator Ceaușescu in 1984 and still not finished. As a reflection of the dictator’s massive ego, it’s the second largest administrative building in the world, next to the Pentagon. It’s where the Romanian Parliament meets, and there are many government offices within; but much of this ungainly thing sits unused. Tours are offered but we never found the time for it in the week we spent in the city after our Intrepid Travel stint.
We paused with Mihail on a grassy square in front of the police building while he unfolded a few aging propaganda pieces from the Ceaușescu period – including one directed at children to show how the benevolent Papa Nicolai is looking after them. As long as they rat out their family and any friends who oppose his rule.
And later we passed the rather low and unimposing balcony of the Central Committee Building where Ceaușescu gave his famous final speech in 1989 in a failed attempt to quell the forces of rebellion. After the unfriendly crowd below was met with a hail of bullets, he and his notorious wife Elena were whisked away by a helicopter that landed on the roof, only to be arrested later and executed by a firing squad.
Bolstered by another in-depth history lesson from Mihail we stop at the Prince Mihai Vodă Monastery Church to marvel at the distinctive and intricate exterior brickwork, and the lavish interior with its walls of fine paintings. The monastery church dates from 1591 and was moved on rails in 1985 to its current location by the Ceaușescu regime to make way for a civic center. It is one of the few churches that escaped destruction by the regime, although the rest of the monastery was demolished. And today it still serves a few devout worshippers.
An aging bridge over the questionable brownish water of the Dâmbovița River leads us into the old quarter.
We pass an eye-catching sculpture and a large ad from the Hanu' Berarilor (Brewers Inn), with a glaring meat carver inviting us in for ribs and a beer. Uh, maybe later, bro.
A large archway beckons us into the Hanu' lui Manuc for a bit of lunch in a traditional atmosphere. This old historic inn is something of an institution in Bucharest for its charming surroundings and a variety of delectable local dishes. Our good friend Ion, a native son of the city, has recommended it to us.
The streets of the booming old quarter are filled with surprises — even an actual dead Starbucks. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a carcass before, probably because I think they don’t fail very often. But I’m mostly surprised that they left the sign up to advertise a failure. And there’s the Mao Pub, if you want to down a few brews to toast Ceaușescu’s buddy, the guy who wrote The Little Red Book. But there are also plenty of very nice sidewalk cafes just waiting to be enjoyed.
The ornate Stavropoleos Church (1724) is a peaceful respite in an area of raucous bars. And like just a few others, it’s another rare example of historic structures that managed to escape the ravages of WWII, followed by the mania of Ceaușescu.
And just around the corner is Caru' cu bere (The Beer Cart), one of the best rowdy bars in the whole neighborhood. It’s been around for a long time and they've stationed a large faux beer mug out front for some fun picture-taking. There’s even a bust of a hardy brew swiller, best viewed at night, raising his mug way up at the top of this classic old building.
The impressive Romanian Atheneum is the home of the George Enescu Philharmonic Orchestra and is generally open only during concerts. But online pictures of the interior make it a place that we wish we’d been able to enjoy an evening of fine music. And the balusters of the surrounding fence make a handy place for protest posters of varying kinds.
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And speaking of art in general...
From 'neath the castle's dark retreat,
Her silent way she wended,
Each evening to the window seat
Where Lucifer attended.
And secretly, with never fail,
She watched his gracious pace,
Where vessels drew their pathless trail
Across the ocean's face.
Excerpt from “Luceafărul” (“The Evening Star”) by Mihai Eminescu
—translation by Corneliu M. Popescu,
quoted in Kenneth Katzner, The Languages of the World, p. 113. London etc.: Routledge, 2002. ISBN 0-415-25004-8
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Soon we’re hungry again, and we descend into a lunch cavern of sorts for some very good basic food. Then a guy comes along to outfit us with funny hats and weird sunglasses — and a parrot.
So it’s been another good long day of attempting to understand all (or maybe just a little) of the many vagaries of Eastern European history. A bit of rest helps to restore our energies in time for our trusty guide Sando to lead us — not unwillingly — past an “Open” sign to a big rooftop bar with plenty of good food and drink and a fine view over the night-lit city. This will be our final dinner together, and there are several interesting cocktails on order to help us celebrate our Intrepid Travel gig — including one named, um, well, “Smash My Bitch Up.” It's clearly an inappropriate name and a bit more evolution may be in order for some of the bars in Bucharest. (And by the way, it tasted pretty good….)
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We’ve been fortunate to get such an inside look at Hungary and Romania, but there are so many other historically important sites and villages we could have visited to more fully understand their long history. Especially in Transylvania — Sibiu, Alba Iulia, Déva, Târgu Mureș, the list is endless — but we don’t have time for all of them. And frankly, after the deep dive we’ve just had into some of the best still-living examples of ancient village life, it was nice to return to larger cities, to semi-modern “civilization,” to balance things out and get a fuller picture.
In Northern Romania the whole broad panorama of Eastern European history came together as our informative guide, Sando, and Intrepid Travel, really hit their stride and we were fully immersed in the turbulent history, the often-tragic drama, and the sometimes-heroic sagas of the tasty goulash that makes up the eastern side of modern Europe. It was a hell of a tale, told well and with authority by Sando, from his intensive studies at the university level, and from actually living it as his own deep family history.
And it’s really the history of some of us who happened to be on this trek. If you’ve ever done your DNA, you may find that the clash and accident of all that interaction becomes more clear when seen here on the ground level, right in front of your eyes. We can highly recommend it.
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On Our Own Again
And so our explorations with Intrepid Travel had come to an end, and again we were on our own. We found a sweet little spot for an excellent lunch and some quiet time before embarking on the next leg of our trip. I was mightily tempted by the hyper-realistic picture on the place setting, but opted instead for an excellent chiorba. They do such great soups and stews in Romania!
Our next digs would be a modest 5th floor apartment, with a charming tiny elevator for a week of exploring București. We overlook the Piața Universității and the Metro station, which is just beyond the Museum of the History of Bucharest and a large tree. On our first morning we flung open the windows to be greeted by the shouts and whistles of a large demonstration punctuated by screams of ambulances passing by to a local hospital. And whenever the ruckus of the city got to be overwhelming we had only to close and latch the big double-glazed windows for a bit of quiet. Can’t ask for better than that.
We were only a few blocks from the Universității din București; and our friend Ion, who grew up in Bucharesti and graduated from the School of Architecture, told us by email that we were right in the middle of everything. Clearly, a nice evening walk was in order to see another part of what the city had to offer. And to find yet another good place for dinner. The broad Piața Unirii was amply supplied with lounging students, and a couple of important educators on pedestals. But we soon found a place serving up some delicious local specialties and we made ourselves at home with an Aperol Spritz, a good red wine, ample platters of local specialties, and a fantastic dessert.
But in the mornings we usually begin the day with simple fare. Hummus with a dash of spicy ajvar on whole grain toast, jam, coffee, and a piece of fruit will do us fine.
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We had really no idea what to expect of Bucharest. Opinions have ranged from a dreadful grey metropolis, to a great place to have a rocking good time. It’s a matter of perceptions. And expectations. If you’re looking for a good nose-wet, this might be the place for you. But if you’re hoping for miles of quiet beauty among classical architecture along tree-lined streets, maybe not. In the old Historic Center there are charming streets to wander and many beautiful classical buildings, and you can rub elbows with the students at the University, but this is still not Paris.
Hop on a city bus, as we did, and you’ll pass miles of severe socialist-grey apartment blocks in Bucharest — and the other cities in much of Eastern Europe — in a cookie-cutter style inspired by Corbusier and his followers, who flogged the tenets of stripped-down modernism to an extreme. He and others inflicted post-war experiments on the bombed-out sections of Marseilles, leaving parts of that Mediterranean beauty largely devoid of charm. And his Eastern European devotees did much the same in their part of the world. But in their defense, Europe faced a severe housing shortage after the war because of massive vindictive destruction, and there were enormous numbers of homeless to be housed quickly. While the US really saw none of that destruction, Russia and the countries of Eastern Europe suffered the brunt of it, resulting in millions of refugees. Add to that the end of traditional village life and the mass rush to industrialize, and the cities of Europe were quickly required to assume an entirely new role for their desperate citizens. The current miles of grey apartment blocks were the result.
And a few of those post-war apartment blocks have been fitted with unfortunate faux mansard roof details, perhaps in a failed attempt to recapture some of that old glory.
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The city of Bucharest was a very different place before the destruction of WWII and the Ceaușescu regime, and was sometimes referred to as “the Paris of Eastern Europe.” Although much has been lost, there is plenty to fascinate the open-minded and curious visitor.
We picked a warm and sunny day to visit the University’s School of Architecture and Urbanism, the alma mater of our friend Ion. It’s September and the school is filled with visual delights as the academic year commences. One of our great cheap pleasures while traveling is to visit the local archy school to see the latest challenging ideas from the next generation.
We continue exploring the winding halls and the open rooftop classrooms to find that Corbusier's famous Modulor Man figure is represented, as well as an old dusty model of the marvelous Parthenon. And even the bathrooms are tastefully done.
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“Architecture is sculpture that people live in.” —Constantin Brancusi, sculptor (1876-1957)
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After leaving the school we find that Bucharest has some very nice large parks to spend an afternoon in. And so we spend a few hours wandering along the pathways on our way to find the next Metro stop. The city has an efficient and clean Metro system that gets us quickly back to the Historic Center, and another date with dinner.
We take an outside table instead of one of those cute little Covid tents, and we have another fabulous meal, with a half liter of the house wine and a side order of grilled broccoli. We follow that with a 'house specialty' cake and ice cream.
And we top off the evening later by throwing the windows open for a night view over Bucharest. And it's true that almost all cities look better at night.
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We managed to accumulate a few things, and several extra pounds, that we’d like to mail back to the States, and we’re told the only office that deals with international parcels is in another part of town. So this may be one of the reasons we seem to have more ‘adventures’ in foreign cities than other people. We take the Metro to the closest stop near the parcel office, and then enjoy another long walk through yet another beautiful park. Except that we have to get there before they close, leaving little time to fully appreciate the park.
But we make it with minutes to spare and the people are very helpful with our issues. So now we have a lot less weight to haul with us — and we can buy more cheap trinkets!
The post office adventure added a few thousand more steps onto our StepsApp, so we’re hungry again. We opt for an early dinner at the Van Gogh Cafe, which is near our apartment. And it’s delicious, of course. For dessert we try the fried doughnuts with jam topping, a famous local specialty. And it tastes just like it sounds. You either like it or you don’t.
We top off the evening with a wander through some of the local nightlife. And then a bit of Pálinka back at the apartment.
On another day we go in search of the large Obor street market we’ve heard so much about. This time the Metro gets us within a block or so and there’s so much to admire. Including good local wine by the liter or the glass. But we don’t have a kitchen that can deal with glorious large baskets full of spicy sausage, fine cheese, and fresh vegetables.
There are plenty of other interesting sights that aren’t in the tourist books, like a boxy little Oltcit Club, a stout and durable hatchback that was produced from 1981 to 1991 in a joint venture by Citroën and the Romanian government. It was popular with farmers and others who needed a small cheap vehicle with lots of interior space and was easy to repair. And there are more than a few of them still around.
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As we walk the streets of Bucharest — or almost any large city these days — I recall that line from Paul Simon: “…the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls, and tenement halls….” And most any place else that’s handy. It can be a release of primal rage or an expression of creativity, and it can make people uncomfortable. And that’s the point, of course. It’s been said that a good writer or journalist should comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable, and important artists often do the same. While most graffiti seems devoid of merit, some of it — alas, only a small portion — may carry an important and artistic message.
There are posters for a “Wedding and Funeral Band” and famous opera singers, and some stone lions lie waiting on a pallet. A menu with an unfortunate listing for “Crap.” A few sweet dogs who need a home. A Tarantino movie poster. And Carolyn at the supermarket where the cashiers have a place to sit instead of standing all day, a common practice in Europe that seems very civilized to me.
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“After the fall of dictator Nicolae Ceaușescu, Romanians were crazed with happiness. People who never met each other before hugged each other in the streets, convinced that tomorrow things would look different. Then came the many disappointments.” — Octavian Paler (https://www.brainyquote.com/nationality/quotes-by-romanian-authors)
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So Bucharest has survived much trauma, both ancient and recent, and given us much art. Today it’s a large and complex city with much to offer the curious traveler. We really could spend several more days, or weeks, getting to know the city better. But the time has come for us to move onward if we have any hope of seeing most of the places that remain on our ambitious “Balkan Circle” itinerary. In the morning we’ll catch the train heading south to exotic Bulgaria, and to the historic city of Veliko Tărnovo. Please come along with us. — PRW