Gypsy Town, Transylvania

In Sighisoara, I came back to the hostel after dinner and a few drinks to find the owners (Nick and Anita) having drinks themselves with a couple of friends. One was Nick's half/step(?) sister (Ramul) and her Scottish husband (Graham), visiting from Scotland. Ramul was drunk. I accepted an invitation to join them for a drink despite being exhausted. A lively hour of banter, with Nick's sister dominating the conversation in a slightly overbearing way, sometimes crude and demeaning. They were all heading out the following day to a friend's BBQ. The hostel was to be closed that day and night. I hadn't decided where I was going the following day so jumped at the opportunity to tag along with them. Ramul took a liking to me.

Departed at 1pm, much earlier than I'd anticipted, with two cases of beer and a lot of meat. This was going to be a long day. We took a taxi the 25km to the tiny village that Fabritsio lived in, an Italian guy whom had moved to Romania about six years ago with his wife as he was fed up with Italy. He had purchased his very modest house for EUR11,000 in a village of perhaps only 100-150 people. He worked from home as a travel organiser for Italians, but in a previous life had been a chef.

When we arrived he was making pasta, rolling it out with a massive pin, like mama used to do it. Fettuccini bolognese. Excellent pasta and what looked like a basic sauce tasted superb. He even had some Parmesan Reggiano. Of course he did.

After our late lunch we all walked the length of the village (5 minutes) to the farmer at the end of the road, a friend of Fabritsio's. Everybody knew Fabritsio (hard not to) and stopped to talk to him. The local kids adored him. The creek dissecting the village was barely flowing, an unusual occurrence. As we neared the farm, dogs began to bark. More dogs. These were Romanian sheep dogs, big farkers....take your leg off if given half a chance. Farmer Pat (couldn't catch his name) cussed at the dogs and they were all good. He had built his home and started a small farm (pigs and goats and some chickens) to provide an income. He produced goat's milk cheese that he sold at market (we sampled some he had made that morning - brilliant! Farmer Pat said it gets better by day three. How was that possible???) They were only just surviving.

Evening was upon us and we still needed to get some hot coals for the BBQ. This would take a while. Extra pressure was felt as an Australian was in company - apparently we all light fires. An hour and a half later we had coals and an awful lot of meat to cook, no vegies or salad. The mit (mitch) went on first, then the sausages, then the chicken legs, then the pork grillers, and if you hadn't exploded....then pork fillet.

I had started to feel a bit crook late afternoon. My guts were hurting. Didn't know how it was going to end. Drinking and eating copious amounts wasn't too sensible. I held back. Then the polenca came out. Fabritsio's own pear brandy. Clear and highly alcoholic. It wasn't as bad as I expected. Quite good for rocket fuel. Downed most of one large shot. Couldn't stomach another despite constant protests. Just wasn't up to it that night unfortunately. Round after round of polenca was drunk. Fabritsio was hammered. He tried really hard to talk to me in English but the words wouldn't come out. He normally doesn't talk in English as he thinks his English is so bad. Nick's step sister was smashed again. Her husband was gone too. Nick was drunk and holding himself well. Anita had to work the following day so was behaving herself, like me. We wound up around 2am (I think) and left Nick's sister and Graham to sleep of their hangovers at Fabritsio's.

Farmer Pat and Anita

Anita, Nick and Fabritsio

The pigs

The Dogs of Bucharest

The dogs of Sighisoara were nothing compared to the packs of dogs that roam the streets of Bucharest. I'd heard that each year a pack will attack a few homeless men and kill them for food. Not what you want your city to be known for. So the first thing I see at 8pm after having arrived at the train station in the dark....a pack of dogs. Just great. They didn't look too hungry.

My 20 minute walk  along the dark, dilapidated streets was not a particularly comfortable one. Poor lighting, broken footpaths, crumbling buildings, holes in the footpath that you could lose a small car in....what was this shithole. I'd been pre-warned that no Romanians outside of the city actually likes it. Not a good first impression. I lost count how many stray dogs I saw on the 2km walk, dozens.

The hostel was located in a ritzy enclave in the north, near embassies and in a "guarded" locale. The mansion, come hostel now, cost EUR1.5m, quite a sum in Romania. I had a day and a half to myself before Gore arrived to play tour guide....a tough task in this town. Down to the old town in the morning, about a 20 minute walk away. Gore had been preaching about how beautiful the women were in Bucharest, better than Prague, Budapest.....I was sceptical....they had to be exceptional. Saw some mutton dressed up as lamb, quite a bit in fact and the odd stunner.

The old town doesn't have the appeal of Prague. Over-run with modern cafes and bars and special massage venues (sounds all right huh), however above the (ground level) surface, it was still very run down. Abandoned buildings, vacant upper floors that haven't been attended to for decades. IT was a mix of new and old that didn't work for me. I didn't like the old town for the most part. There were a few more traditional restaurant / bars that I didn't get to try (unfortunately) that looked great, but the overwhelming majority are European style bars, and Irish bars with no cider. Do I have to explain to every Irish bar what it means to be an Irish bar? I watched the F1 race in one such Irish bar, explaining the race to an inattentive English bloke.

Saw a couple of the nearby sights - not impressed at all. A function of pre- and post-communism. There really isn't that much to see in Bucharest.

* The Palace of Parliament, originally named The House of the People, and following the revolution in 1989, House of Ceausecu (what a top bloke for renaming the building after himself), was extraordinarily large and imposing....1,000 rooms in total and the largest building by area behind the Pentagon. Massive. The tour only shows you 3-5% of it, each room quickly blurring into the last as you discover that the whole building seems to be decorated in dreary and dated decor. Such a waste of beautiful timbers and marble. Could do so much more with it. Impressive nonetheless. Stood where the President gives his speeches! The tour is shite but you have no choice if you want to see it. Just a whole bunch of boring stats..."the ceiling is x metres high.... so many metres squared...." Nearly throttled someone for asking the guide for the millionth time (on our tour) "how many rooms are there?". 1,000! Fucking listen!!

* Twenty years ago a new road was built through the centre of the city, demolishing many suburbs and dislocating 1,000s of people, all so Ceausecu could construct a thoroughfare to rival that of the Champs Elysees in Paris, ensuring that it was 6 metres longer! I walked at least a kilometre of it. Debacle of a project. Deserted and poorly designed. Destined to fail as a promenade of central activity for so many reasons. Is nothing like the Champs Elysees and never will be.

* After a discussion a few weeks earlier about animals, Australian in particular, Gore took me to the Natural History Museum a labyrinth of stuffed animals (not the toy variety) depicted in natural scenes. For not having one single living creature, it was quite interesting. I was shocked when they had an Australian exhibit....and almost laughing when I saw the animals up close. The taxidermist should be shot, for all the animals in this exhibit looked anorexic. It was the skinniest grey kangaroo I'd ever seen. The possum I didn't even recognise as it looked more like a rat. I think the kookaburra was actually another species of kingfisher. The dingo resembled a starving dog on the Bucharest streets. Why were these the only animals that didn't look anything like they should (except for the starving polar bears)? Funny stuff.

Didn't do a lot else. Ran around Herastrau Park in the north (very pleasant and peaceful), rode on the oldest, most dodgy and dirty tram I've ever seem and haven't paid for my hostel yet (their own fault mind you - the new guy working there was supposed to be awake then I left at 5:30am. What could I do? He was supposed to order me a taxi too. Was very annoyed at him. You shouldn't get a taxi off the street like I had to. Took me ages too. Thought I was going to miss my train and I couldn't afford to do that. And what if a pack of dogs came along....it was still dark.

In short, I didn't like Bucharest. I wouldn't recommend visiting it either. Sorry Gore. Thanks for the tour anyway. Would definitely recommend the Romanian mountains (Transylvania) though. Brilliant.

Palace of Parliament

The most impressive room that I recall seeing in the Palace of Parliament

Where the President gives his speeches....felt comfortable up there.

The Champs Elysees....errr....3.6km of wasted money.

Practising...

He'd look the part in lycra

She was easy on the eye

A low-budget movie was being shot

Street-side book store

Can not recall the name of this area, but it is full of either Turkish or Egyptian cafes....looks very cool.

In the Old Town

An example of what is above the ground floor level in the old town....empty buildings.

The massive fountain in the middle of the Champs Elysees wannabe street.

A mosque(?) within the confines of the Old Town

A knuckle-head took forever to take this crooked photo of the Palace of Parliament.

Are there any vampires in Transylvania???

Probably not, but there are plenty of vicious dogs willing to sink their fangs into you. There are also bears and wolves too, but didn't see either of these.

Sighisoara

One of the seven fortified towns forming the Transylvania province and the birth place of Vlad the Impaler, aka Vlad Dracul, former king of Transylvania, renown for his cruelty in the 16th century.

Bran Stoker is accredited with writing Dracula and partially basing his Dracula character off of Vlad Dracul because he was so cruel. But we all know that Bram stole the character and story from someone else....what, you didn't know??? James Malcolm Rymer wrote Varney the Vampire: Feast of Blood in 1845-47, 50 years before Dracula was released. Varney the Vampire was a series of penny dreadful pamphlets released over a 2-3 year period and eventually published as a book. The story line is confusing but it contains many recognisable events and character traits common in most vampire stories thereafter. If you want to read it, here you go (all 667,000 words!).... http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/toc/modeng/public/PreVarn.html



I failed to bring this minor matter up whilst I was here - unfortunately the town was too small to have a  'free' walking tour that I could pester the guide about his/her facts as no doubt it would have a Dracula theme. With that cleared up it does beg the question as to why James titled his story as he did. I don't recall in all honesty, it was far too long ago.

I'd taken the overnight train from Budapest here. A delightful 11hr journey shared with two English lads and an American (Brad), interrupted by passport checks at midnight and 1am and an uncomfortable sleep on a very narrow and firm sleeper bed. Arriving at 6:30am, myself and the American tried to unsuccessfully check-in very early.

We were desperate for coffee in the absence of some proper sleep. The only place in town that we could find open at 7am was a small cafe/bar/pokie machine/smoker's den of a place catering to the poorer workers in town, mainly men. Cliental would buy 1, maybe 2, individual cigarettes, a large shot of local plonk (or perhaps two shots - I think each cost around 50 cents), the local brandy, and the odd sophisticated soul ordered a coffee and smoked a packet of cigarettes. They were generally rough looking folk, real working class. A good introduction to Romanian life.

After coffee and some breakfast back at the hostel, we headed up to the old town atop the hill with a rather rubbish map. In 30 minutes you could walk the length of every street if you wanted. It is tiny yet one of the best preserved medieval towns in Europe. At the main clock tower we parted company as I wanted to go up the tower in the afternoon for better photos whereas Brad was more pressed for time. Passed Vlad Dracul's birth house and up the 350 year old steps to the very top of the hills where a church and graveyard reside. The graveyard was quite cool to walk around. Quiet, isolated, great views over town yet with a slightly eerie feel to it.

Through some of the colourful homes on the outskirts of the hill town, I found Brad asleep at the bottom of the clock tower against a fence being sniffed by a dog. Was too slow with the camera unfortunately. I let him sleep.

Found a place for lunch and a glass of house wine. Sent me straight to sleep at the table in front of two cute girls. On the way back to the hostel I found a busy little bakery of sorts (Gigi's) selling only one type of bread-based product produced on a large electric oven with a rotating wire rack (like a pizza oven or big toaster you find at hotels). It was the Romanian equivalent of a pretzel I suppose. A round, crispy dough covered in sesame seeds with a very subtle sugary wash run over it, served fresh and warm. Addictive. And for 1 lei each (25 cents), a bargain at twice the price.

Rustic Restaurant - Great value restaurant that should be busier. At the bottom of the hill, spitting distance from the plaza. Wooden and stone interior with framing exposed, it had a nice feel to it although it lacked atmosphere as there were few people in there. Goulash with polenta and some mititei (mitch) on the side (minced sausage, like a kofta). Very tasty, washed down with plenty of the house red wine (very drinkable indeed and often super cheap - a couple dollars). Recommend this place. Serves authentic Romanian food, whatever that is (seems to have a significant Italian influence).

Cafe Central - small, almost entirely underground bar with a curved ceiling. Would make a brilliant cellar and pool room. In a residential area far enough away that drinks were half the price of in town (3.50 lei...80-90 cents for 500ml). It was a Monday night, not expecting much, we walked into a busy, smoky bar with a very young band playing in the back area. They were ok. Clearly a lot of family and friends present. Not sure if it was an open mic event as random people kept getting up on stage to sing or play guitar, some well, some poorly. Why the guy who could only remember half of any song was allowed to attempt six songs I don't know. Get off! Many songs, albeit English language one, were sung with the aid of lyric sheets or iphones. It was etertaining nonetheless. The following night I went there again. Dead quiet, but still cheap drinks without all the cigarette smoke. Worth a look...only 8 mins walk from town.

Vila Franka - I was suggested three ways of getting there...to the top of the adjacent hill, bare but a few villas and restaurants at the very top overlooking the old town. 1) Around the back of somebody's house then up a goat track. Found the track ok and walked up no more than 50m. Completely overgrown and came across a huge pile of dumped rubbish. It was the local's tip. Retreated back towards the barking dogs, not realising that I had passed one sleeping in a kennel on the track. It was awake and pissed. I'd been warned about all the dogs I may see but "Don't be afraid". I had a stick just in case. This dog was ready to bite my balls off. It was on a long chain that it had managed to tangle around something so there was just enough room for me to squeeze by. 2) Another track further along the road, but a steep one. Found the start of it and saw an offshoot straight up that resembled more of a landslide path. Continued past this and ran into option 3) the road that takes the long way there. I followed the road. It was hot, again. Half way along the road, still carrying my dog fighting stick, two dogs decided to take a curious interest in me. I tried to scare them hoping they would run away...big mistake. That just pissed them off and they started to run at me. Fark me. This wasn't in the brochure. They separated, to attack from two fronts. Stick waving madly by now, I backed up the road in the direction I wanted to go. Once far enough past their turf, they withdraw their snarling face and let me go. That woke me up. I kept practising my fighting technique up to the top. I may have to face them again on the way back down.

Great views from the courtyard over the older part of Sighisoara. The modern half has no character at all ad looks very unappealing. Reasonably good food here too. Generous proportions that a table of round Germans were taking full advantage of. They went the 3 courses. Ridiculous amount of food. Included deep-fried pork neck (was so tempted), stews, schnitzels and massive bowls of soup plus dessert....all carefully weighed so you know exactly the weight of the meat and vegetables you are getting. A mountain of food and a few beers nearly sent me to sleep again.

Negotiated dog attack corner successfully on the way down. Ended up going here again for dinner with a guy from the hostel. We took the steep path straight up the hill. Friggin steep. No way you could take it back down after night fall.

Vlad Dracul's birth place

Cafe Central

Oak Tree plains

Wolf and Bear Crossing

View from Vila Franka

Brad asleep

A 450 year old stair case...the local soccer team was doing stair runs on them