I headed to Romania that summer for two reasons. One, I have a dark thing for history’s villains and particularly Vlad the Impaler, the model for Bram Stoker’s Dracula. A few years earlier I had read In Search of Dracula by Raymond T. McNally and Radu Florescu. It cemented my desire to visit the land of Transylvania, and I finally had the time and money to do so. Two, I needed to escape the States for a while. I felt great shame at having been in a relationship with a douche bag. I was free of him and wanted to revel in my freedom through travel. So I bought a ticket for Bucharest with no plans and no contacts in country. My only preparation was buying a Nat Geo guidebook and printing off some Romanian phrases I got off the internet. My parents, who had just seen Taken, were alarmed by my plans to visit an eastern European country solo. In order to allay their fears a little, I booked a hotel for my first two nights in Bucharest, but other than that, everything was going to be fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants.
The major airport in Romania is technically in Otopeni, not Bucharest. When I arrived, I was hoping that there would be some public transportation I could navigate, but there appeared to be none. A cab driver approached me, but I turned him down because he gave me a bad feeling. Eventually, I sought a different driver out and made my way to my hotel. It was too late to do anything but check in and ready myself for bed. The next day I found a girl at the front desk who spoke enough English to get me on a bus to Bucharest. I alighted outside the Peasant Museum and, once inside, I quickly learned about the photo tax. In Romania, as in several other countries, museums and other tourist destinations allow you to take photos only if you pay a fee. The fee at the Peasants’ Museum was 25 lei, the same price of a book the gift shop was selling which included plenty of color photographs of the exhibits as well as explanations in English. Buying the book in lieu of paying the fee was a no-brainer. That particular museum was my favorite site in Bucharest.
From there I set out on foot. The Nat Geo book had a fair map of the city in it, so I could gauge which direction to strike out in. I spent the entire day walking the city. I went to the art museum, which was very disappointing, and saw the Palace of Parliament (from the outside). I stumbled upon a farmer’s market and bought a kilo of cherries. By evening, I ventured back toward the bus stop and got lost. As it got later and later, I thought, ‘I need to get to my hotel before dark,’ but there was a dearth of taxis to be found. I finally stumbled upon Romania’s version of the Arc de Triomphe and nearby was a bus stop. I hopped on and rode it all the way to the airport. There weren’t any stops in between that I recognized. From the airport I took a cab back to my hotel, arriving just as the sun was setting. When I got to my room, I was exhausted from walking all day and removed my shoes and socks to discover I had blood blisters under my toenails. My dinner that evening was leftover trail mix I had brought for the plane ride and the cherries I got at the farm market.
In the morning, I took a taxi to the train station where I put my sheet of Romanian phrases to good use and bought a ticket to Brasov. When I got off the train, I was approached by a burly taxi driver wearing a shirt that read “F*** the Mainstream.” When I told him the hotel I wanted to go to (a hotel I did not have reservations for) he asked what I was doing in Brasov. I told him I was on vacation and wanted to see the sights. “You don’t want to stay at that hotel, then. That’s just for people who are on business and have a car. You want something in the center of the city. I’ll show you a place. If you don’t like it, I’ll take you somewhere else.” I agreed and he took me to a pension where he learned that they were booked. Then he showed me another hotel right on the main street. “It’s a little more than you want to spend, but maybe tomorrow there will be a vacancy at the pension.” During our drive he also learned that I wanted to see the Dracula stuff so he offered to take me to Castle Bran the next day. “I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby and you don’t pay me until the end of the day.” I agreed.
That night, Claudiu got me into the pension, which was owned by an Italian woman who also owned a restaurant across the plaza. Her husband escorted me over there that evening and made the chef, (the only worker who knew English) come out to speak with me. The chef had that swarthy, Mediterranean look and long dark hair I have a weakness for. “What do you like to eat?” He asked. I told him I like to eat anything and that he should surprise me. He took a little convincing before he trusted that I really meant for him to pick, that I had no objections to anything he wanted to serve me. I’m sure he’d never had anyone request that before. He made a seafood dish with mussels and clams. The waiters were transfixed by the American woman who sat alone and asked the chef to surprise her. It was fantastic food and I left fully satisfied.
Over the next few days, Claudiu took me on day trips around the area, becoming my personal chauffer and tour guide. He took me to Sigisoara, Dracula’s birth city, where we dined at the restaurant that now occupies the building where he was born. We went to Dracula’s fortress, what’s left of the castle where he actually lived. You have to climb over 1,500 stairs to get there and Claudiu was impressed with the speed and ease with which I did it. He told me I have a turbo engine. He drove me up into the Carpathians and showed me a magnificent waterfall. I saw Castle Peles, fortresses, and monasteries.
My last day in Brasov, I stayed in the city and explored. I think it is my favorite of all the cities I’ve visited. The plaza area still exudes Old World charm with beautiful architecture and cobblestone streets uncluttered by tourists. I took in the Black Church and the statue of Romulus and Remus suckling at the she-wolf; I stumbled upon a synagogue and strode through Strada Sforii, the narrowest street in Europe. That evening I returned to the restaurant. I told the chef to surprise me again. He made gnocchi. This time he conversed with me from the window of the kitchen. “You came here alone?” “Yup.” “Don’t leave!” He introduced himself as Florin and asked if I wanted to have a drink later. I certainly couldn’t pass up that opportunity. When he got off work, we had a drink and then he drove me up into the mountains. On the drive I learned he once played professional soccer and had just returned from spending seven years in Italy working as a chef. He tried to tell me about the dangers of driving in the mountains at night. He couldn’t think of the word “deer” so he said, “You have to be careful because of the Bambi.” To this day, that ranks among the cutest things anyone has ever said to me. He showed me a gorgeous view of the city lit up. When he took me back to my pension, he asked for a kiss which I gladly bestowed.
I arranged for Claudiu to drive me back to Bucharest the next day, where he helped me find a hotel near the airport and negotiated a fair price for me. I had to awake in the wee hours of the morning to walk to the airport to catch my flight. I had seen what I needed of Vlad and was ready to come home. Still, I would love to go back, and if I do, I’ll see if Florin’s still on the menu.