Transylvania

Tripping Through Transylvania.

I watched from the ramparts of Castel Dracula. Mist gathered and thickened in the mountains of the Borgo Pass. Down the drive, red banners flapped in the cold breeze. Appropriately, they read, "Draculaland."

Castel Dracula is not the home of the vampire count but a hotel restaurant built on the supposed site of the vampire's lair. The large costume ball held each Hallowe'en constitutes its main claim to fame. My tour included a costume party where I exchanged false fang tips -- denture adhesive holds them best -- with some British goths. The hotel has pleasant rooms with blood red blankets and Castel Dracula soap.

My Transylvania Society of Dracula tour started from Poina Brasov, site of the Second World Dracula Congress, and took in every Romanian site associated with the book, "Dracula", plus most of the places frequented by Vlad the Impaler, the Romanian Prince mistakenly identified as the original Dracula. Bram Stoker's notes show that he had not heard of the Impaler but simply liked the Romanian word for "devil."

Vlad's name commemorates his habit of sticking long stakes through his enemies then hoisting them up. The Romanians consider him a national hero for defeating the Turks and do not take kindly to western Dracula references.

We travelled through a country lost in time. After the collapse of the Communists in 1989, the communes reverted to peasant holdings. The cost and scarcity of gasoline means people plough with horses, sow and hoe by hand; a 16th century woodcut come alive. This bucolic scene is jarred when a cart passes by with a passenger chatting on one of the popular Dialog cells that have replaced the seven year wait for a phone.

I packed rolls of toilet paper, expecting a tour one step up from camping, but in the last few years, while not tourist oriented, Romania has improved its accommodations. All hotels and restaurants were at least two star with in room bathrooms and excellent four course meals. Alcohol flows like water. Only the occasional garden gritted the salads. Our big red bus had comfortable seats and air conditioning, though the vehicle's size led to death defying moments on the narrow mountain roads.

The bus could be a liability. Its unusual presence attracted beggars and pickpockets. While the Romanian people are full of hope and stores are filled with goods, poverty still stalks the country. One of our tour slapped away a man who rooted around for her wallet after silently unzipping her purse. A money belt is a necessity.

Before reaching Castel Dracula, the tour stayed overnight at the Durau monastery. A lot of the monks and nuns were very young. Amazing how banning a religion makes it attractive. Two nuns, not yet out of their teens, fixed an ancient car then one drove while the other sat on the hood. The evensong echoing off the mountain added to the Sound of Music feel.

The next day, we took a side trip to Voronet, one of the famed Painted Monasteries of Moldavia. The magnificent frescos painted on the outside of the church have survived five centuries of wind, rain and snow. The Judgement on the back wall rivals anything by Bosch. Like all Romanian Orthodox churches, excellent paintings of the lives of saints, martyrs and apostles cover the inside as well.

After our stay in Castel Dracula, those of us who had survived the visit to the Count's crypt with its kitschy paintings and coffin, travelled through the Borgo pass to Bistrita and the Golden Crown Hotel where Jonathan Harker spent the night in chapter one of "Dracula". We were served a meal close to his dinner. This included the famous Golden Mediash wine.

The tour moved onto Sighisoara and Vlad the Impaler. The Dracula Society arranges a re-enactment of a seventeenth-century witch trial. The bedraggled witch is dragged from a dungeon that still contains some of the original torture implements. In the cobbled square, everyone takes sides. A single woman with property could end up accused of witchcraft by a local landowner. The woman burned. Her accuser received her property.

Vlad's birthplace has become a restaurant. A restored mural along the top of one wall contains paintings of the Impaler's father.

Romanian money cannot be exchanged once you leave the country. We spent our excess buying souvenirs from street vendors and small shops. Carvings of Vlad sold for a dollar, hand embroidered tablecloths for fifteen. Romanians often accept U.S. dollars but we stayed away from street money swaps. One of us almost ended up scammed. False police surrounded him and demanded a bribe or jail. Fortunately, he only had francs. The robbers saluted, shouted "Viva La France" and disappeared. Proper exchange bureaus exist in the hotels and on every corner. Many stores and restaurants now accept Visa or MasterCard. There is no need to use the black market.

Next stop, the village of Aref, where local residents keep alive traditional dress, songs, dances and legends. Being International Children's Day, the older youth danced a welcome to their younger siblings. Strong plum brandy came out and an elderly woman told an oral history of the villagers' rescue of Vlad from the invading Turks. They slipped him away from his fortress by walking the horses backwards so the enemy would think he travelled the opposite way.

My highlight was climbing the 1500 steps up a treed mountain to the fortress of Poenari. At the beginning of the movie, "Bram Stoker's Dracula", Vlad's wife throws herself from the battlements of this fortress into the river below. Quite a drop. The Impaler forced the noble murderers of his father and brother to build the fortress by hand or face the stake.

Next we moved onto the ruins of Vlad's Palace in Targoviste. The Chindia tower holds many Vlad artifacts and proclamations.

Romanians love their dogs. At night instead of wolves, the dogs howl. Before taking the boat up the lake to Snagov, the monastery island where Vlad isn't buried, we dined at an outdoor restaurant. Dogs roamed among the tables begging for bits. Eating local fish, wine and fresh cherries while a dog full of cupboard love sat beside my chair, made me feel at home.

No one knows the final resting place of Vlad the Impaler. Some think Snagov, some the monastery of Targsor. The body of a headless noble, the Turks took Vlad's head on a stake to Constantinople, was found at Snagov but not under the prince's gravestone.

Onto Bucharest, where we looked appalled at the huge white elephant House of the People and the endless fountains built by Ceausescu while the Romanians starved. The tour ended with an evening at the Count Dracula Club. In a hilarious cheesy moment, Dracula appeared, mugging to the music. A fitting ending to an excellent expedition.

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