Romania Part Two: Twilight Ain't got Nothin on this Bad Boy

The thing taking the longest to adjust to since my European installment is trying to decipher this whole 'celcius' thing. I've gotten a pretty good grasp on meters from running track, and I learned kilograms pretty quick as a kid when my Japanese aunt would have me weigh myself to report how many more I should lose. But something about attempting to figure out the weather in celcius just makes me want to vomit. I admit, the fabulous Fahrenheit isn't very useful outside the home of the brave, but still, Ray Bradbury said it right when he wrote, “If you hide your ignorance, no one will hit you and you'll never learn.” But I digress.

Celcius or not, getting off the 90 minute train from Bucharest to Sinaia, Romania, the degrees dropped like it's NOT hawt. At all. In fact, freezin' ma buns off cold. Apparently this whole temperature dropping thing happens in every mountain range, but I'm from Chicago, so it blew my mind to need to change from tank to fleece when traveling for less than the time of a full-length movie.

Sinaia Castle

Luckily, a pretty, pretty castle awaited at the top to make me feel like a princess again under my three layers of cardigans and the other ill-suited articles of clothing I packed. I've seen many a castle and church and temple and monument and cheeses that would knock your socks off by the smell, but this hunk of glory was the most beautiful thing I've seen, the prettiest girl at the ball. With mountains and streams in the backdrop, the sounds of chirping birds and French tourists complaining about the weather, it was literally like falling into the storybook of Beauty and the Beast (Gaston oh he's so cute!) Apparently this shining property was just one of dozens owned by Charles I, the first king of Romania, but clearly he would have passed around invites to this crib for show and tell.

Hot tea in our hands, Georgia on our minds, Alla and I get back on the train up to Brasov, a cutsy little town in the region of Transylvania. Contrary to its ridiculous sounding name, Transylvania is an actual place, a region with a rich history involving Hungarian war lords and the Ottoman Empire. But the only reason we've actually heard of the darn place is not because of our European History professors (though you did a fine job, Mr. Phillips!) but rather some Irish bloke by the name of Bram Stoker.

Bran Castle

With no particular roots in Romania himself, the writer of Dracula still managed to turn some random structure in the woods into the country's most visited tourist attraction (actually we can thank the film directors for that).  Like the nerdy older sister who never got asked to prom, Bran Castle (about 30 minutes from Brasov) cannot compare in looks to her charming sibling we visited back in Sinaia. Yet perhaps it's the mystery behind this dark enchantress that gives it so much appeal. The stone structure with rustic circular roofs concealed by shady trees, cold pale walls marked by wont and decay, and stairwells leading every which way into hidden chambers, leading further to your slow and painful DEATH.  

Bahaha okay that's enough. But whether you're Team Edward or Team Jacob, you'll still get a kick out of these fun facts learned from the tall, dark and handsome tour guide for the group of British senior citizens I tagged along:

• The name Dracula derives from Dracul, which means the Devil. Dracula therefore connotes the Devil's Son.
• Stoker likely drew inspiration for Count Dracula from a man named Vlad the Impaler, a duke back in the day who, as one can gather from his name, prefered torture and excruciating deaths over blueberry scones.
• This Vlad dude also happened to be a member of the Order of the Dragon (take that, Phoenix!), its symbol a dragon practically choking itself with its own tail. Dragon. Dracul. Things are beginning to click.



Brasov, Romania

• Hey fellow feminist! Turns out a woman actually spured some creative energy for our blood thirsty vampire: 16th century countess Elizabeth Bathorym, best known for murdering dozens if not hundreds of young women and girls, would bathe in her victims' blood to soak in that rejuvenating virgin blood. Hmmmm.
• The tour guide was not happy to see me sneaking into his group.

Though one can never feel Vampired-Out, it did feel nice after the excellent tour to descend the castle's hill for a Kürtös Kalács, basically a tube of hot stove-cooked dough sprinkled in sugar and nuts. Off the chain amazing by itself, though imagine stuffing scoops of Ben & Jerry's into that little sucker. Oh boy.

The rest of Brasov presented to us a gorgeous church (blackened from a fire centuries ago) a history of political divide (mainly between the Ottomans, Saxons and later the Communists), and a cute little market where I found this gem:

 

If you've never seen Up, don't read my blog. Just Kidding! But go watch it NOW!

Handmade, Leather-bound, and likely exceeding the Ryan Air baggabe weight restrictions, I cannot wait to fill it with all the photos and stories I've gathered thus far!