Dave and Josh are in…
Sinaia Romania.
Unfortunately no vampires came down and feasted on the snoring Italian Stallion but we weren’t the only ones he rendered sleepless, his own traveling companions asked to move rooms so our endearingly speed addicted host asked us if we would like to switch as well.
We then set out for Sightisoara yet through the vaguarities of Romanian intercity transit we ended up hopping a minibus to Sinaia. Luckily the minibuses in Romania are far in advance of Morocco and we didn’t stop once so old ladies could hop out and pick weeds at the side of the road.
Sinaia is not actually in Transylvania; it’s technically in Walachia (I’ve been criticized for playing fast and loose with the facts so I wanted this delineation noted for the record.) and is called the Pearl of the Carpathians. The term pearl seems to be tossed around a lot in Eastern Europe and while I think Dubrovnik better embraced the sobriquet, Sinaia is quite lovely.
We walked through the wooded hills and through the small town, the male population of which appeared to have all turned out for a sidewalk paving party. Like a barn raising party in the American west (think that most masculine of musicals Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, the only musical to endorse kidnapping as a successful courtship technique while simultaneously featuring a fight scene less tough than those of West Side Story) all the able bodied men were lacsidasically putting down stones on one of the towns two streets.
Josh speculated that if he lived here he similarly would do nothing, simply spending his days drinking coffee, being idle and occasionally cementing a stone into the pavement. But he said it quite wistfully.
But the city wasn’t all serene beauty; there was the darker side you’d expect from a town in the throes of vampires. For starters this tiny and rustic village has its own strip club and a number of houses that seem like they might house the undead. We tried to poke around one that looked to have some sort of captured vampire transport parked outside but were quickly stopped by several wild dogs (read: werewolves) whose savage barks called in werewolf reinforcements and we had to abandon the investigation.
Also, just past this nice little Jesus shrine (note me reverently praying) was a restricted access area guarded by men with machine guns. Josh and I firmly believe that Romania is quietly working here on a program to turn vampires into the next major unconventional weapon, a clear violation of the Geneva Convention that the world is ignoring at their own peril.
Attention from the project is ably diverted by Pele’s Castle which is actually more like a large chateau or summer palace but it’s very pretty and seems to almost grow from the woods around it so we allowed ourselves to be distracted.
We loitered, enjoying the view as well as a beverage but we made quite sure to get back to Brasov before nightfall. Perhaps we need not have hurried as its possible the damage has already been done as at dinner Josh, suddenly strangely powerful, crushed his pint glass with his bare hand at dinner. The robot like reactions of our waitress suggest this isn’t the first time she’s seen that. But we safely made the trip from the restaurant back home without incident despite walking down a desolate and incredibly dark street that we named Vampire Alley, and which frankly screamed imminent death. But the continuation of our evening long argument over defining immortality by your presence on a t-shirt, with Che Guevara as the particular point of contention, seemed to hold them off and we were back in the hostel in time for Josh to watch Casablanca for the first time courtesy of the weird old guy in the hostel who insists on watching Turner Movie Classics at all hours.
Josh is now threatening to declare Casablanca the highlight of the trip thus far which is poor commentary on me and how I have been spending the past 2.5 months. Actually I realized today that yesterday was the halfway point in my trip. I have been abroad 75 days and oddly enough yesterday also found me as far from home as I have ever been, with an eight hour time difference between myself and the log cabin. The longer this goes though the less interested I am in returning, much less resuming real responsibilities. I’d go out and buy a lotto ticket tomorrow but I get the feeling winning the Romanian lotto is like hitting the jackpot at nickel slots, it’s a nice feeling but the money’s gone with the celebratory round.
Reading this on May Day — my personal pagan socialist day of celebration — your Che reference reminded me that I tried to explain world news attention on Castro today as a Cuban Groundhog Day (not the movie, altho?). Everyone waits with bated breath for Fidel to see his shadow on May Day thus announcing another decade of Cuban communism. So far, no shadow reported. I mourn.
Did you know that Castro as a 10 year old wrote to FDR requesting a $10 dollar bill as he had never seen one. I’m sure there was an isolationist advising Roosevelt that he should spend the money at home. Ten dollars could have changed the fate of the Americas & we would be poorer for it. VIVA, CASTRO!! What do you think Fidel Castro regrets?