Arrival in Brasov, Transylvania

BRASOV

My alarm sounded, we were approaching Brasov, and it was still pitch dark outside. I pulled my bags down and bid a sleepy farewell to all in the compartment, purposely forgetting about moving the red monolith down again I made my escape from the train.

I was in Brasov, and immediately my travel ideas of arriving in a small town were quashed my the throngs of people throughout the station. This was worse than Budapest station, only now I was seriously sleep deprived. I followed my travelers instinct and made my way out of the station in haste, but was confronted by even more people. What were so many people doing up at 6am??? A lone traveler in the dark makes for an easy target, so with my head down I kept walking until I could get to a clear space to make my bearings. By way of my compass I was able to take the opposite direction the TB said to take, and took the long road into town. Street names were hard to come by, making life difficult (take not tourist boards around the globe). The TB map told of different street names, and I cursed them verbally for being idiots. Clear Directions from a train or bus stations are critical to travelers. Finally I saw a sign called Centro, so I followed. Stopping once to ask a man by his car if I was heading in the right direction, he confirmed and I continued. I walked for over and hour, youths following at one stage and the night still holding firm. Taking the number 4 bus might have helped, but the situation at the station, told me to just keep walking. I asked a few more people if I was headed in the right direction, one woman and child shaking their heads as if I big monster was approaching, though in hindsight I must have looked a bit rough at this stage. Finally I met a lady who, pointed me in the right direction for the town center. The TB still hadn't listed a single street I was on.

I finally made it to the center and even located the house number for the hostel, only... no hostel. Bugger!! I would have to stay at one of the TB recommended hostels. I sat on a bench and ate my squashed subway as dawn broke. Early morning passersby looking on at me like I was some homeless derelict, well ... I was homeless!!

I headed off again, cursing the TB map for not giving good directions to the only two hostels in Brasov. I made it to the Kismet Hostel, utterly exhausted. An older gent was in the garden having an early morning smoke, raising some hope that this was not a party hostel. All hopes were dashed inside though. Beer cans, stale smoke and sheets littered the floors. I cringed. A rough looking youngster said to give him 5 minutes, no beds were ready. I sat in the living room. The check out time was 12noon, this was going to be a long 5 minutes, me thinks. During my wait I flicked through the TB and wondered why I had never stopped by the guest houses they mentioned for only 10 euro a night. I began to think it would be a better idea. But as I was leaving a bed became available, for 11 euro. A bed on the top floor called the “Snorers Room”, could fate really be this cruel. According to a roommate, yes, there was a bloke with a loud snore living in there. Oh boy. I showered, and then as the cleaning ladies descended upon the room, realized there was no hope of getting an hour or twos sleep. It was 11.30 by the time I was back in the center, my bearings a little better. My mind was in a daze still with the lack of sleep, so I followed the TB's map and ended up going in the opposite direction again, but finally ended up at a restaurant called “Bistro D'lArte”. I soon found my hungry self dining on cream of pea soup, and from the blessings of carnivorous God's a massive spit roasted pork leg, followed by plum dumplings, all for only 11Euro. During my meal I noted another solitary figure enter the food house, TB in hand. She sat alone at the other end of the rester aunt, and I wonder why I never got up to say hello, can you believe the TB got it right about the food in this place?

I headed over to the tourist office and got a real city map, with important notes on it like what bus goes where and how much they cost and the fact you have to buy the bus ticket in an office and not on board (take note TB). I also took the time and 4 Lei to visit the local museum. Really not exactly the most exciting of places, but it gave me an idea about the 1400 established town. Also it hit me that there was also a bloke passing my the exhibits quickly, and upstairs that same bloke was talking to the same girl that was at the restaurant. Naturally enough he was putting across how great and cultured the place was... and just to add insult to injury I saw them team up at the rest of the towns little touristy offerings for the rest of the day. What's more, the little problem between my legs was back with vengeance and I was walking like an overused prostitute again.

I located a pharmacy and bought some skin cream for a friction burn on the shoulder, well hey it was hard enough to explain friction burn on shoulder without mentioning groin friction burns!

Gut instinct told me to check out the guest houses on offering. The first was for 50lei, and housed a team of Romanian Gypsy drunks. The second was more promising, a Hungarian pensioner couple offering a single room for 10Euro. My mind was made up, if there was snoring in the “Snorers Room” that disturbed me tonight, I would move into the Hungarian single room tomorrow. I had two strong Romanian black beers and a 5Euro pizza before returning to the hostel that night. Strangely it was very quite there, most were around the kitchen table having beers. I snuck past and headed to the bathroom to cover my sore parts with lashings of yogurt smelling Romanian Friction burn cream! Then it was to bed in the empty dorm room, ear plugs at the ready.

I fell asleep fast, a deep sleep, after so many days without good sleep it was easy. Then at about 3am I woke up, snoring filled the room. I changed over to stage two of snoring protection and donned my mp3 player to drown out the noise with more noise. At 4am the mp3 player had finished and the snoring continued, I tossed and turned. For some reason I was awake and not able to get back to sleep, my mind was made up, tomorrow I would move to the little pension. The snoring continued filling the airways. Finally after about 30 mins I shuffled over to my back, turned the mp3 player on to repeat, I passed out again.

In a sleepy haze I woke up, someone was at the bottom of my bed, the mp3 player still blaring away. The girl was pulling at my toe as I removed my earphones. In a Germanic accent she said “Your Snoring?!!” What the bloody hell?!!!!!!!! I am in the fucking snorers room, being kept awake by bloody snorers and in desperation for sleep, earplug and headphones in tow fell asleep on my back and was now being accused of all the snoring??!! I turned over in mild shock. The situation was two ironic to be angry.

By 10am the next day I had shuffled out of the Kismet hostel and made my way to the Hungarian pension. A single solitary room, in a converted bathroom. Still, tonight I should sleep well. I so wanted to be out of the European backpackers circuit now. The chances of meeting another actual traveler was very slim it seemed, all hostels seemed to cater for nowadays were 18-24 Americans and Australians on a drunken rampage of European cities. Expensive city tours, pub crawls, and hours of hair gel and make up in the bathroom, where were the explorers gone? The die hards not wanting to pay for anything other than a kebab? Same clothes for over a week? Wanting tor see things not often seen? I feared they had become extinct in Europe.

Showered, I began to bandage up the 2nd degree friction burns on my thighs, quite a site to see I would imagine. Legs spread in the air on the side of the bed, cream, bandages and surgical tape flowing everywhere. It was then I realized I had not locked the door to my room, but thankfully the old Hungarians were not that nosy! Brasov was a nice little “Touristy” Town, a big town center circled the town hall that now housed the not so interesting museum. Everything was painted yellow tones, and in peaking out of one corner of the square was the infamous 14 century black church, named for a color it got after a fire. Lush green mountains appeared on either side, one tarnished with the bright Hollywood style sign a the top “BRASOV” in big bold white capitals. It spoiled the landscape to me. As did the cable car ride cutting a straight line up through the pine forest on the same mountain. Still the view from the top should be good. It would be an easy day, time for healing and rest. I took the cable car up, my first such ride, and so exciting. But my lack of faith in Romanian engineering did make the thing that much better. I made my way along the path to the back of the giant sign, and looked down at the old fortified city, Carpathians in the distant background. I wrenched my left calf going up some steps, what was happening I was falling to bits. Photos taken it was time to head down and make my way over to the Black tower, a small structure on the opposite mountain, I had gone slowly today and it was already sunset time. Actually I missed the sunset, one needed to be there I figured by about 4.30 to take the golden photo of the little town. Not to worry I was to be here for quite a few days, so plenty of time.

I decided it was time to eat a traditional Romanian meal tonight, so I made my way to another TB recommended restaurant. There was a Romanian wedding anniversary just kicking off, so I sat in a far table and looked on as I ordered plenty. I dined on Romanian Beef soup followed by cabbage and beef rolls. The party goers began to dance in circles, and I cringed as the 80's music blared out. Strangely enough this all had the feeling of a Karaoke festival, complete with woman in corner singing Whitney Houston's “ I wanna dance with somebody”, I had a feeling I knew a silly person who would be very happy here. Nonetheless the food was seriously good, 4 course meal for only 8 Euro??!! I headed make to my lone room and fell asleep.

BRAN
I woke up too early, but stayed in bed listening to two full hours of people making use of the toilets next to my room. Either mama Hungarian was letting her toilet out to the neighborhood, or taken on quite a few guests. After a traditional breakfast at KFC, I headed off to Castle Bran, that infamous place. The bus out there was full, a mix of old locals and young tourists, all sweating in the heat. 40 minutes later and we were there. Well I thought we were there. Where was the giant castle standing on the jagged outcrop of rock that inspired movie makers with vampirific visuals? All I saw was a steep mountain, a church and as I turned the corner another steep mountain. Tourists littered the streets, hawkers selling everything from Dracula t shirts to little cheap Chinese wooden boxes. I looked at the church between the mountains and clicked, this must have been it?? I felt the heavy hand of depression push down on me. I walked around the area, yes the church was indeed castle Bran, identified my the rocky outcrop that stretched up its left flank.

With little to do I pushed past the tourists and street vendors, and paid the 12Lei entrance, refusing to acknowledge the fact I had a camera, meaning I would have had to pay an additional 20Lie. I walked the gently slope up to the tiny castle, and entered. Briefly I was amused at the slightly erotic sepia photographs of Queen Isabella that lined the walls. One of which were of the bedroom were a clocked figure could be seen. Ho hum. Then on the second floor I got caught up in a tourist bottle neck. Headache forming I made a desperate attempt to escape the true horror of this place and made my way outside. I circled the small castle from the outside again, still hoping for that classic view point for a photo. I followed not so well worn path and stumbled upon a circle of seats surrounding an old Stone cauldron, and at the read a coffin shaped stone seat. Something at least. I continued down the path, and heard the techno blasts of a local festival fill the air. I ended up in a building site where the caretaker was more interested in letting me out to the party than chasing me away. Heading back up I looked at stone mountain and wondered if a photo was possible from the top of it? The pine forested covering would surely not allow for that classic photograph and would my bandaged thighs make it to the top as well? Urged on my a feeling of defiance against all the fakery around me I began the ascent.

Tall pine trees covered the mountain, and a think undergrowth was keeping the tourists at bay. I turned around to see is the castle was viewable, no such luck. My head began to pounded with the increasing headache, and I wondered where it had all gone wrong. I continued up the mountain, the brambles getting thicker, and as I pushed aside some more a clearing appeared from nowhere. And there before me, framed in a blue sky and lush green field were the twisted beaks and jutting outcrops of the Carpathian mountains. The day was saved. The other side of the mountain was more of a giant slope and was indeed a very steep farmers field. Complete with rustic old barn, rickety farmstead, a horse and a little sheep with a bell around its neck. How much more picturesque could it get? I stayed up there for the best part of an hour.

I left Bran with the taste of a bad tourist hamburger in my mouth, and the mental mindset in figuring out what had gone wrong. We passed Rasnov on the ways back, this place looked more promising, but yet another giant Hollywood sign perched onto of the mountain proclaiming its identity. The next day I would piece it together. Another 5 Euro Pizza and I found myself in a Scottish pub having some Usus Beer. I went there to write up this diary I have started in peace, but of course the place filed with Saturday night revelers. I realized I actually was missing some company at this stage. But was starved of the right kind of company. Some young Americans at the bar broke into my silent corner, they were archeology students so the conversation did at least reach above the latest “Hanson” album. I made a mistake and excepted their invitation to another bar, techno hell. But it was here I noticed something. Even in the company of some of their own friend, they seemed bored. Night after night of clubs and beer were not doing it for them anymore, yet they did not have much of a choice. Peer pressure, rights of passage and a desperation to see a different night made them a bored as me. My bladder full I, used it as an excuse to leave. Rather ashamedly I relieved myself against the county hall, well there are no public toilets in Brasov! Heading back to the Hungarian homestead I fell asleep, bandages still attached, meaning they would be really painful to remove the next morning!!

RASNOV
The next morning I woke up with a heavy hangover. It seems as I get older the hangovers move from the head to the stomach. So naturally enough I headed to the Italian place for a Quatro Queso Pasta dish with a coke, I needed something to fill me before heading off to Rasnov.

The bus journey was the same as the day before, hot and jammed with tourists and locals. The quantity of people meant it was difficult to see outside for all those landmarks I had painstakingly taken note of the day before to tell me where the unmarked bus stop was. Thankfully the giant “RASNOV” eyesore prompted me to get out without missing the stop, albeit I was on the other side of town. However this gave me time to take a tour of the little neighbor of Brasov with the semi-original giant sign. The town was more like the very poor distant cousin to the other two tourist hotspots, the streets were devoid of tourists, unkempt and everything had a unfinished roughness to it. Still I was not complaining, there looming above me perched on a forbidding mountain stood the ruins of the Peasant Castle, giant “RASNOV” sign destroying any hope of a good photograph. Idiots.

I followed the road, and began the ascent up a pleasant non pedestrianized road, pine trees intermingled with natural wood framed housing, both old and new. The air was cool refreshing, and I began to feel a bit better. Finally I approached a large restaurant sitting right in the middle of the road it seemed, only one vague sign pointed me to the “Peasant Castle”. It seemed Sundays were when Romanian Security company's took their guard dogs out for walks as the place was covered in giant barking monstrosities. I took the rough gravel strewn pathway up into the mountain. Tall pine trees loomed over head darkening the pathway somewhat as my feet crunched in the gravel and the dogs barked and howled below. . . yes I was starting to get a good movie like feeling about the place already. One cold easily imagine a poor you Mr. Harker on a horse drawn carriage being taken to an unknown fate in the castle above.

I continues up the steep path, imagination helped be the lack of tourists. Then from around a corner I came and my eyes set upon the massive forbidding structure that was the Peasant Castle. Surely the writers had got it wrong, this place knocked Bran to its knees. Steep fortified walls surrounded the castle itself, a winding path led to a small side entrance that looked as if it were perched above a cliff face, the giant Carpathians lined the horizon. My camera was out like a shot.

I paid the 10Lei entrance fee, and even the 5Lei camera fee, this place was worth it all. Old wheel barrows, items of human torture lay perched against the street sides. A huge wall sized crucifix of Christ hung from a ruined house. I made my way around the neat but rough streets within the castle, little shops took residence in some of the old housing, nothing to garish, mainly paintings, crystal rock and yes one selling Dracula t-shirts. But few tourists, and those that were there were Romanian tourists. I spent over an hour, walking through the crumbling old ruins. A panoramic view from the top gave a spectacular 360 of the area. Carpathians to the west and south, town to the north, fields to the east. An old suspended prison cell hung out from a tower. If it were not for the fact the place was crumbling apart, it would have looked too staged, but here it was perfect. I made my way out to the court yard where there was an archery area set up, unfortunately it was closed. A large Stallion grazed alongside two donkeys in the main courtyard as a friendly caretaker looked on with a smile and a wave. What a blissful place, if only I had brought my book. I toured a second time, stopping off at the museum. A female skeleton was on display having been unearthed during renovations, and demonic sketches lined the walls. Even a painting and scripts from Vlad were on display. I left very happy and content with my day. Not even harassment from a town drunk could spoil me euphoria. The idiot very nearly got a shove from me as he came to aggressively close, but backed away after a shout. Squeezing on the overly packed bus I headed back to Brasov.

After a failed attempt to find a steakhouse..well I did actually but for the first time I had come across and expensive restaurant, so setting the menu down I headed off to the giant spit roasted Pork Leg place for a well deserved feast. Over dinner I couldn't help but think of the Trio of little towns I had visited during my friction recover the past few days. I can only come to this conclusion. 10 or so years ago the council folk of Bran realized that they could cash in on the Dracula legend and so spun a yarn about Vlad visiting the tiny little castle on a rock between two big mountains. I personally would say Vlad might have stopped by to ask for directions to the giant forbidding all conquering castle at Rasnov. Unfortunately the town council of Rasnov have taken a leaf from Brasov's book and just erected a giant Hollywood style sign in front of there truly worthwhile and genuinely more likely castle of terror. The misspellings of all the tourist info leaflet told me at least they were trying, yet the tourist board were not quite with the game yet.

Time was ticking, my friction burns seemed to be doing well. I paid the old Hungarian lady for one more night. I needed Monday for email, diary writing and to search out my ticket options. Where to next? There was a town to the north that seemed pleasant, and a hostel offering free washing. Considering I was out of clean clothes, (the Hungarians offered, but the musty smell of their clean towel told me no), it seemed another small town visit would do. But deep in mind I was troubled about the visa options. Should I forgo Moldova and head straight to Visa land? Moldova held an interest, but not at the expense of more tourist nightmares. What's more over breakfast I finally added up the days and discovered I was out of time?!!! Only 7 days left, before the comfort zone was over....

I headed off to the train station to buy a ticket to Sighisoara, birthplace of Vlad. It was then taking that same route I had walked 5 days earlier I realized that I had indeed done quite the impressive journey that 6am day. Not only had I managed to follow a mapless way into the center, but had done so on 3 hours disturbed sleep in the last 48 hours, with little food and a 30kilo load. No wonder I had been so exhausted. Ticket bought I did a quite preamble around the station and took note of where the platform was.

I headed out to dinner that night for one last good meal when I saw a couple TB in hand and asked if they were looking for somewhere, a couple in their late 20's, so no party hostel for them. I took them to the Hungarian residence where they seemed quite happy. We exchanged some notes as they were coming from Sighisoara and I headed off to dinner.

My time was surely up in Brasov, I took a risk with the menu and ended up with 700grams worth of heavy slabs of Ewe cheese, cottage cheese and someother kind of white cheese. Now I like smelly cheese, but I recognised the engine oil come rancid cream smell of this Ewe cheese from the market, and I truely balked at it. Talk about foul. But I surcomed to having paid 5 euro for it, and ate as much as I could. My only consulaton was that I would most likely end up in another party / Snorers hostel tomorrow night so what better way to piss them off but with Ewe cheese farts?!!!

Back at the Hungarian Residence I noted that the person staying in the first, of three rooms had strangly left his door open. I opened my own door, and heard the bathroom one close. That explain it, he had run out for a quite pee. I started my prepacking, and after 30 mins the sound of rushing water from the bathroom grabbed my attention. I went to investigate only to discover that the toilet was leaking from the cistern into the bowl, I opend the cistern and twiddled a bit with the top pull gadgetry and temporarily stop the flow. It was then I heard the door of the first room open and shut again, ah ha, the culprit. I images of a young backpacker breaking the toilet just before I came back entered by head. A new conclusion. Later that night I heard the couple I'd brought to the residence come back, and rebroke the toilet, thankfully they managed to also put a temporal fx on it. Unfortunately the little idiot who most likely broke it in the first place flushed at 5am and made no effort to fix it again, hence I was awake since 5am.