A Transylvania & Bucovina non-Dracula tour

Some friends came over during my holidays and we made a short, 8-days, 1.300 km. trip from Bucharest to Transylvania and Moldavia. [Don't mistake Moldavia -Romanian region- with the Republic of Moldova -an independent country-]. An orientative map of our route is the following:

We were not after the Dracula's legend (supposedly based on Vlad Ţepeş), but maybe it will be more entertaining to describe our trip related with the Dracula tour, as most of names if cities and regions will say nothing to you, and Dracula is a well-known character. So beware, a vampire is hiding behind these lines...

After some problems with car hiring, we headed West, taking one of the only two motorways currently existing in Romania, the one to Piteşti. The traffic jam in Piteşti was huge and, still with a fresh memory of the traffic jam suffered in Bucharest, we decided to take the risk and take a secondary road. A very lucky choice, as there was no traffic, and we passed by a bunch of nice Wallaquian vilages on our way to Curtea de Argeş, where the Transfăgărăşan road to cross the Carpathians starts, leading to Sibiu through Bâlea glacier lake (2,034 meters of altitude). With most of the national roads under repairing works, we did the same many other times, always a good option if the weather is good and the sun is still on the sky, as at night the walking peasants, bikes, horse carts, cattle and straw dogs are no more part of the landscape and become a real danger... More danger of killing than of being killed, but it's not, in any case, a confortable environment to drive.

Just where the Carpathians begins lay the ruins of the Poienari Citadel, the main fortress used by the Wallaquian prince Vlad Ţepeş against the Turks during the second half of XVth Century. If you have to chose one, this would be the "real" Dracula fortress.

We stayed two days in Sibiu, a beautiful Saxon town (Hermannstadt in German) that was 2007's European Capital of Culture, and had subsequently its historical centre renovated. The "eyed" roofs are maybe its more remarkable feature. Then, on our way to Bukovina we visited Alba Iulia and Cluj-Napoca, watching from the distance the impressive Turda gorge, other Romanian natural wonder we had to leave behind. Cluj-Napoca (Kolozsvár in Hungarian) is, with 300.000 inhabitants, the third largest city in the country, an important economical, cultural and scientific center whose buildins whispers about a rich XIX Century bourgeois history, and whose statues, flags and graffities shouts about the complex Magyar-Romanian relationship. Had I chosen national feelings and interethnic relations as the driving idea of my story, Cluj (ruled by the ultranationalist mayor Gheorghe Funar, from România Mare -Big Romania-, between 1992 and 2004) would have deserved, for sure, a whole chapter. But I chose Dracula instead, and we must move forward.

We headed East and passed Bistriţa, leaving Transilvania for Bucovina just for a couple of days. We visited some of the famous, UNESCO-honored painted monasteries from our "base camp"at Gura Humorului, a summer location, a shtetl without Jews, a remembrance of recent, non-literary terrors. 100 km before, in the border between Transilvania and Bucovina, is Tihuţa pass (or Borgo Pass, according to Bram Stocker) the entrance to Dracula realms, the Bârgău Mountains, another impressive landscape in this hilly country made of ups and downs. So, if you want, you can call this place the "fictional" Dracula homeland, although Vlad Ţepeş never put a foot on this area, and no castle or fortress ever existed. There is now a "Hotel Castel Dracula" in Piatra Fântânele, at the top, that is more respectful with the environment than one would have expected, with very few "thematic park" elements appart from the name. Not a bad place to stop by; Lemonade is served cold, I don't know about blood.

On our way back to Transilvania we went fast accross Neamţ region to spend more time at Bicaz gorge and Lacul Roşu (the Red Lake), one of the most weird places I've ever seen: a lake created by an landslide in 1838, where the fosilized remnants of dead trees still can be seen. Another good spot to dream of camping and hiking, another good location for made-up terror stories about lost camp children or flooded villages.

We spent our last three days back in Saxon Transilvania, visiting Braşov (Kronstadt in German) , Prejmer Peasant Fortress (a very special fortified church), Bucegi Mountains... Being in a reasonable distance from Bucharest (let's not messure on km here, but on driving hours, 2-4), so maybe still some of you reading this will be come and visit these places or others we couldn't visit because of lack of time: Sighisoara, Fărăgaş, Piatra Craiului, Sinaia... And Bran Castle, "Dracula's castle", a war fortification with no relation either with Bram Stocker's Dracula or Vlad Ţepeş life that, once reconstructed, became one of the many summer residences of Habsburg royal family during XX Century. At an easy distance from Bucharest (1,5-2 hours), some smart guy noticed its touristic potential, sticked a poster at the entrance and won the game. Thus, you visit a worthy place, but with a very different story (Habsburg-related) than expected, and with the surroundings spoilt by oversized Dracula souvenir shops. Let's call it, then, the "touristic" Dracula's Castle.

And then just the way back to Bucharest left, through Prahova Valley and Dambobiţa County, from Bucharest surroundings to its outskirts, from the outskirts to its distant neighbourhoods, and from there to the city centre, to Cişmigiu park, where everything started and where no vampire has ever be seen. However, some evenings, while hearing the birds croaking like crazy when the sunset comes, I can't help thinking of Hitchcock's birds...

La ciudad es nuestra

"Oraşul e al nostru", la ciudad es nuestra: no quiero olvidar a los deheredados de la tierra, al cuarto mundo que se esconde en la gran ciudad, a los borrachos sin remedio, los solitarios enloquecidos, los ancianos de pensión ínfima, las madres gitanas mendicantes, sus hijos mendigando también a dos manzanas de distancia, los niños de la calle, los adolescentes de la calle, los perros abandonados... todas las clases de vagabundos que uno se encuentra en esta gran ciudad.

Porque si bien es verdad que uno se encuentra menos miseria de la que esperaba cuando bajó del avión a este país desconocido, o mal conocido, que no tiene nada que ver con la imagen que tenemos de él, la vergüenza del cuarto mundo existe. Y la vergüenza de los abandonados en la carrera hacia el capitalismo (todos esos pensionistas mendicantes) también. Pero sí, es cierto, menos de la que uno esperaba. Una unidad de medida un tanto personal de la miseria urbana sería evaluar cuánto tarda uno en ser plenamente consciente de este cuatro mundo que le rodea.... Por ejemplo, en Quito, Ecuador, estuve sólo 36 horas, y desde la primera fui dolorosamente consciente de los niños de la calle, de esos niños de la calle tan apartados de todo que han perdido el don de la comunicación, nunca lo tuvieron, nadie les ha enseñado, y saben hablar lo justo para pedir unos pesos, acercar la caja limpiabotas, enseñar unos chicles, animalitos de seis, cinco, cuatro... tres años. En Bucarest no sé si fue el efecto sorpresa de las luces de la ciudad, pero tardé en percibir plenamente sus sombras. Sin embargo, hay cuestiones en las que no valen relativizaciones, comparativas, proporciones (hay más, hay menos): la aspiración es el absoluto, la nada, kaput, finito, aquí, en Madrid, en Nueva York, en Moscú... Aquí y en China, como decimos en mi tierra.

Me duelen los ancianos de esquina, que no extienden la mano para pedir porque les cuesta horrores hacer lo que están haciendo, pero piden igualmente, y agradecen murmurando y mirando hacia el suelo. Me duelen los niños de la calle, y los adolescentes de la calle que pasean en manada, como animales gregarios, sin pudor, sin pensamientos, apretando algunos de ellos su bolsa de pegamento. Me duelen los vagabundos locos y las madres mendicantes, presentes en todos los agujeros del mundo.

Me duelen los perros de la calle, pero menos que en otras ciudades; en general se les cuida, existe una cierta costumbre de "adoptarlos" en las comunidades de vecinos. Aun así, los perros abandonados conservan una mirada de dolor y perplejidad ante el abandono, y el resto, los callejeros de toda la vida, que parecen más satisfechos... habrá que verlos, como la cigarra, en invierno y en la nieve.
Pero en cualquier caso me duelen menos; tal vez poque he carecido siempre (lo confieso) de esa empatía con los animales que algunos tienen, tal vez porque sigo reservando la mayor parte de mi corazón para las personas.
Y también de mi pudor: por eso todas las fotos que veis aquí son de perros. Porque aunque en mis paseos con la cámara de fotos me encontrado con estampas magníficas (tal vez sea mejor decir "magníficas"), me cuesta sacar la cámara, robarles a los dueños de lo oscuro de la ciudad una imagen, y sobre todo no soy capaz de hacerlo de cerca y arriesgarme a que se den cuenta, a que me vean. Acostumbrados como están a ser parte del mobiliario urbano, tratados como tal, ya tienen bastante todos los días como para que venga yo con mi cámara y con la excusa del costumbrismo a recordarles una vez más que son un mero objeto.

Así y todo, espero haber conseguido transmitir con palabras lo que decidí no plasmar en imágenes.

Las calles de Bucarest

A Day in the Country

Spring had passed, I still don't know how, and I woke up one July morning, and suddenly realized that Summer could pass exactly the same way, without me doing a proper walk on Carpaths, without me doing a nice trip by train. So I did some research and decided that the following Saturday I would be taking an early train to Buşteni, situated in the closest area of Carpaths from Bucharest (Bucegi Mountains), to take a look around.Besides, in Buşteni there's a cable train that goes up to 2.200 meters of altitude, to Cabana Babele. So my plan was taking the Hotel Silva cable train (telecabina), see around and, if the track signals were as clear as I has been told they were, to do a little hiking by myself. Then, if I wanted to come back (which I suspected would happen), convince some people I know in Bucharest to come along next weekend. Maybe sleep in the mountains, as, apart from the usual Romanian free camping (even in Natural Parks you can settle your tent) the area has a great "Cabana" (meaning "hut") system: about 20-25 stone and wooden houses scattered in different valeys in the region, where you can rest, use toilets, eat something, and find lodging. The origin of Romanian Cabanas, like Spanish Paradores, lays in the 1920s-30s, one of these great ideas that should be mentioned, I suppose, in any history of tourism.
Cabana Babele (2.200 m), and Cabana Caraiman (2.028 m)

[A "Parador" is a luxury hotel and high-quality regional-cuisine restaurant situated inside some historical building, such a castle, monastery or fortress. It allowed many of this buildings to be taken care of instaed of destroyed, and promoted local tourism, as eating in a Parador is a quite common excuse for a family or couple weekend trip]

But let's go back to the Carpaths. Of course I was delighted, of course I wanted to come back next weekend: take the earliest cable train (I had suffered a big queue, although I had arrived at 10.30 -8.30 train from Bucharest, a 2-hours-trip), seek a not very sheer track (I'm not in good shape) and enjoy sights, fresh air, good company...
Well, my "calling force" seemed quite high on Monday, but by Thursday only one person agreed to come... The idea of taking the 6.30 train from Gara de Nord had persuaded the rest againt it. But hey, there's this Spanish saying, "Three people is a already a crowd", and popular saying are always very wise.

So we took off, the two of us. The weather forecast was"clear with clouds" and we soon found out to be true: luckily, no rain; interestingly, half of our hiking either surrounded by mist (negură), or sightseeing it. This time we got off at Sinaia and walked 45 minutes up to the Hotel Alpin cable train [by mistake, I wanted to take the other one, in the center of Sinaia, but it was a worthy mistake, no queue at all]. The cable train leaded from 1400 m. to Cabana Mioriţa, on Furnica ("The Ant") Mount (2100 m).
[Prahova Valley, where both Sinaia and Buşteni lay, is situated 900 m. above the sea, aproximately]

We didn't follow exactly the path I had planned, from Furnica to Piatra Arsă ("Burnt Stone"), then Peştera ("The Cave"), then Babele (The "Old Women") and, depending on my own tiredness and the state of my friend knee (that would suffer in sharp descents), back to Buşteni either by foot or by cable train. We got a bit lost at the beginning and changed our route, luckly, because it was too ambicious, anyway, from me, who could just follow the rythm of my companions:
1) A quite sporting guy, but whose knee was damaged and, morevover, decided at some point to carry my bag.
2) A 50-year old Romanian man who had been a guide in Bucegi Mountains for 10 years, but 10 years had passed since, and he hadn't come bach once since. He was carrying a 30kg bag pack and wearing heavy, old mountain boots.
3) His son, a 25-year-old boy that was acompanying his father for the first time, and was in such a bad shape as myself, but carrying another 30 kg instead of nothing but my camera, once Jose decided to carry all our sandwiches and water.
We met this other two in the middle of the mist, in our way to Piatra Arsă, and went together all the way to Babele, not going down to Peştera, but walking between Cocora Mount and Jepii Mountains, through a quite curious forest of bush-like dwarf pines (larch-cembra pine). Nice company, to walk and also to have a merited soup (ciorbă) together at Cabana Babele... They were staying for the night, so we said good bye and took the cable train down to Busteni. The mist ("we wouldn't see anything interesting, and besides, could be dangerous if we get lost") was the perfect excuse for both of us, who were really tired, for not walking any more, and have beer (well merited too) instead, while waiting our train back to Bucharest.

But still, I didn't stay for the night up there! So there's still new experiences waiting for me at the Carpaths... Let's see when and how!

Me, myself and my camera