Whistlestop Wanderjahr: Sighişoara

We opted for the train from Sibiu to Sighişoara. I recommend against the train. This is highly unusual, as I generally much prefer train over bus, plane, or car. However, the train between Sibiu and Sighişoara was privately run, and included a transfer approximately halfway, at Mediaş. The first leg was a success, despite clearly inferior train cars and slightly sketchy conductors. The second leg, however, masterfully exemplified train system failures with which we Americans (with our fairly pathetic publicly-run Amtrak) are all to familiar -- the delay was long enough to effectively qualify as a no-show. With precious, whistlestop daylight burning away, my parents and I quickly decided on an alternative: a taxi which would cost about 65 lei (~ $20 US). Our driver drove like a pro, too. Not "rally car" pro, luckily, but definitely a seasoned chauffeur.

Sighişoara is a beautiful, quaint town in the Mureş raion of Romania's Transylvania region. Most of the town lies at the foot of a smallish hill, spilling gracefully out into the endearing valleys which typify this part of Romania. Some active hotels and nightlife can be found in this newer part of town, but the citadel on the hill is definitely the destination for most passers-through. The citadel features fully intact fortifications, including a remarkable clock tower and defensive structures belonging to each of the major, medieval guilds of the town. Inside the walls, all of the buildings have been preserved as much as possible, to the extent that even the colors painted on exterior walls are required to be the same as they were some hundreds of years ago. There are also, of course, several non-Orthodox churches to remind visitors that they are leaving the territory of the Eastern Orthodox majority. (The modern town does, actually, have a large, new and/or well-maintained Orthodox church.)

On arrival, much to our dismay, we found the streets of the citadel utterly in pieces. Apparently, somebody made the decision to renew the cobblestone of the entire old city, but instead of repairing one section of road at a time, every walkable or drivable centimeter of the citadel had been torn up, and workers were slowly setting the new granite blocks. Street vendors and business owners in the citadel were openly upset and confused at this, and would say, "Come back in a year, and you'll see what our old town normally looks like." Ultimately, the lack of cobblestones was a minor practical inconvenience, despite its major aesthetic failing. That is to say: we easily checked into our hotel (Casa Wagner, as in Braşov), but none of our photos were nearly as romantic as the watercolor street art for sale.

At this stage of the trip, my enthusiasm for churches and castle turrets was noticeably in decline. Still, I casually followed my party up to the large church, at the very height of the citadel, as well as around the walls and through the winding streets of the well-preserved city. While my enthusiasm for the structures was smaller, my enjoyment of photography remained unshaken. Thus, I'm sure I appeared to have an intense interest in blurry architectural features and piles of cobblestones.

Our time in Sighişoara passed more quickly than I might have liked, and before we knew it we were in another taxi, headed for the inaptly-named "Târga Mureş" airport. Our young, timid taxi driver had no idea where this small, international runway-with-a-security-checkpoint actually was, and his (allegedly more experienced) dispatcher was little aid. Unexpectedly, and entirely unhelpfully, it turned out that the Târga Mureş airport is actually quite a lot closer to Cluj than its namesake. Maps of the area are altogether vague, with respect to this airport, and the only noticeable signage is, literally, within stone's throw of the airport entrance. A large, heavy, mostly unthrowable stone, that is. Suffice it to say that this airport did little to improve my opinion of air travel. I'll say no more.

That's right, we flew out of Romania. Why? Good question, noble reader. Our next destination was Buda, and the nearby Pest (hereafter referred to as Budapest). Overnight train tickets were, so I'm told, substantially more expensive than air travel via WizzAir. I'd like to clarify, though, that I in no way recommend travel out of the unwisely named Târga Mureş airport, even if the cost of the equivalent night train is more expensive. Night trains rock, people. You can't double-fist 2 liters of cheap, Romanian beer on an airplane, these days. And the people who tend to chose airplanes are usually boring and asocial, anyway. Vote Night Trains!

I'll close with that little endorsement. Next stop, Budapest: the city of the (not so) blue Danube.

Whistlestop Wanderjahr: Sibiu

Wow, do I need to write these posts more quickly! Sibiu seems a long distant memory, and recalling the events is going to take some serious contemplation.

It was a quick train ride from Braşov to Sibiu -- only a matter of a couple hours. Disembarking from the train, my parents and I glanced at our map and quickly concluded that walking from train station to hotel was entirely within the realm of possibility. In fact, it turned out to be possible, probable, and pleasant. Sibiu's cobblestoned roads and old, beautifully maintained houses made the short walk toward Piaţa Mica entirely worth it. As we approached the old tower that opens into the piaţa, our curiosity and impatience got the better of us, and we darted through a tiny passage into the square. The name belies Piaţa Mica's true nature; it is actually impressively sizable. It features myriad alleys and passages between the surrounding buildings, long lines of highly social cafes and restaurants, towers, churches, a sunken roadway, and (last but certainly not least) the affectionately named Liar's Bridge. We easily located our hotel, Casa Luxembourg, just across the bridge, checked in, and dropped the luggage.

The hotel room offered perfect views over the square, while being elevated enough to escape the prying eyes of passers-by. With live music pouring through large windows from the restaurant terraces below, I quickly succumbed to the urge to wander around Piaţa Mica and the adjacent squares with my camera, perhaps stopping here and there for a mouthful of drink and an earful of jazz. My mother was easily persuaded, and we left my father to doze comfortably on the large bed.

Outside, the night greeted us with eye-catching 16th-century edifices posing gracefully in cleverly placed floodlights. After a long, hot day, the evening air cooly persuaded us in a meandering path from corner to nook to cranny. As we finally made our way back toward the hotel, we passed some low windows of a cellar bar, from which a pianist's craft could be heard spilling out onto the street. Myself immediately swayed, I suggested that we stop in for a short while to enjoy the music. After teaching the bartender how to make a Tom Collins (for me) and a Lemon Drop (for my mother), we sat down at a piano-side table and listened to a wide variety of well executed songs. On the walls, a projector flipped through stills of old, classic movies -- Cassablanca, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Buch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and plenty with which I wasn't quite familiar. After finishing our drinks and paying the quite reasonably priced bill, we completed the previously postponed venture of retiring for the night.

The next day, we set off early (after a delicious in-hotel breakfast, of course) to wander around old city fortifications, churches, and museums. Sibiu has a great wealth of history, and proudly displays such through its low, multicolored houses and park-encompassed old town. But, with only an evening and a day to explore the city before again heading out, we really only just tasted the endearing city. Such is what leads to return trips, though.

The walk back to the train station seemed slightly longer, at least to me. But eventually we reached it, bought our tickets to Sighişoara, and set out to the next destination before the sun grew too low in the sky. Lucky, this, as the trip to Sighişoara would not be so seamless.

Whistlestop Wanderjahr: Braşov

Let's not mince words: the train ride from Suceava to Braşov was long. Unfortunately, there were no overnight alternatives, or I might have suggested that. I'm a huge fan of overnight train travel... but more on that later.

As we enthusiastically snapped photo after photo of the picturesque countryside between Suceava and Braşov, my parents and I were approached by several friendly domestic travelers. One was a retired conductor of the very train we were on. Although he had worked the line for years, he had never stopped in Sibiu long enough to see what it was like. He was happy to have somebody with whom to converse, and cheerfully shared with us the old photos of his life (his time in the military in 1955, his first days as a train conductor, he and his wife when they were young and vibrant, and the more recent photos of them with their grandchildren), which he apparently carries with him everywhere. We also spoke briefly with a cute young couple going home to Braşov. As always, I quite enjoyed the casual and pleasant interactions with these random Romanians.

Arriving in Braşov, the young couple approached us and informed us that the taxis would try to cheat us, and offered to set the price for us. While this wasn't really necessary (as I'm used to haggling with taxi drivers, albeit in Moldova), I accepted and we soon found ourselves in the Piaţa Sfatului, checking into the wonderful Casa Wagner hotel. Aside from the charming rooms and entirely hospitable staff, the location of this establishment sets it apart from other options. With a view overlooking the square and the Black Church, it would be a serious challenge to top this hotel. After dropping our bags at the hotel, we wandered out into the beautiful old part of the city, eventually setting our sights on the Bristo de l'Arte restaurant for pleasantly tasty birthday dinner. That's right, as of 1 July, I am officially 26. Cheers to everybody back home, and to those waiting for me in Moldova to celebrate properly.

The next morning, we rose early (ish) and, after the excellent in-hotel mic dejun, we set out to explore the city. All of the sights in Braşov are worth checking out, but for those of you considering the trip, I recommend just wandering. There are two hills with constrain the town on each side, one of which has a tram (cablecar) that isn't quite worth it, and the other of which has two old towers, also not quite worth it. The view from the smaller of the two hills is wonderful, fără turnul, and everything in between is fascinating to behold, whether it be a row of old houses, a series of 16th century fortifications, or majestic old churches.

After getting our fill of Braşov for the day, we hired a taxi (100 RON) to take us to the Râşnov citadel and back. Râşnov is a small town, less than 15 km from Braşov. The citadel dates back to at least the 13th century, and is amazingly built upon the craggy, wooded peak which looms over the town. The citadel was built to repel Turks, and I have to imagine the Turks to be insane to want to scale those walls. Still, like most structures built to oppose the Ottoman Turks, much of the citadel now lies in ruins -- spectacular ruins, but ruins nonetheless.

Giving Bran castle a miss (on a tip from a trustworthy local that it is a tourist trap with little accurate historical value), we returned to Braşov with time to spare to catch the train to our next destination: Sibiu. With only a two-hour train ride between us and Sibiu, we said good-bye to Braşov and settled into the pleasantly new-ish seats of the passenger car.

Vacation from Moldova

Bucareşti, the biggest city and capital of Romania, has been a blast. I have found the architecture and parks to be altogether satisfying, and the people to be hospitable and (of course) beautiful. With blue skies and mild temperatures, my friend and I have explored the city on foot, with little incident and much success. Having only a day and a half is about perfect, although we have found it to be a bit too short a trip for visiting museums and such. Still, it has been more than sufficient to wander the winding city streets, taste some local food, and tour the second largest building in the world -- which may be smaller than the Pentagon, but certainly blows it out of the water in terms of aesthetics.

Bucareşti (known to the English-speaking world as Bucharest) shares several cultural undertones with my current country of residence, Moldova, but stands on a whole different level of development and culture. Indeed, while the Romanian language may be pretty much the same, people in Bucareşti speak with different accent and pronunciation, in such a way that I feel almost as though I were in France or Italy -- even though I've never been to either of those countries. People here seem to have difficulty understanding me, and I am becoming increasingly more aware of the subtle and not-so-subtle discrepancies between the Romanian of Bucareşti and that of Moldova.

Having a vacation from Moldova and my Peace Corps service has come not a moment too soon, and I can't wait for the next stop on the trip. So, where to next? Wait and see...

A long overdue review (Part II)

This second part of the long overdue review is, itself, delayed. This week was busier than expected, which didn't couple well with my general laziness. I did, however, manage to drink lots of tea and read Borges's The Garden of Forking Paths for the millionth time. It never really gets old.

I left off at the end of a vacation to Romania. Getting back into Moldova was a trial that I hope not to repeat. Our driver had agreed to pick us up at our hotel in Iaşi around 10:00 am. By the time he finally arrived at 6:00pm, my travel colleagues and I had considered all our options, including walking across the border (which, as it turns out, isn't allowed), and had settled on just staying in Iaşi for the night and returning to Moldova a day late and a few bucks shorter. Our spirits weren't lifted, though, until we reached the border and discovered that we once again had cell phone reception. And by "our spirits" I guess I really mean "my spirits," as the entire duration of my time in Romania had involved a complete lack of communication with Moldova -- in my case, specifically, with a certain girlfriend. Arriving at the border was thus a happy occasion for me, despite the sudden shift in pavement quality. Suffice it to say that I spent the majority of what remained of the vacation with said female friend.

I'd like to continue writing about what I did, but I think perhaps the moment has passed. Instead, I'm going to take a tea break, maybe investigate why the power keeps shutting off, and then return here to write something interesting and more closely related to the present.

A long overdue review (Part I)

It's been almost a month since my last post, and I can't believe how time has flown by. Since that last post, much has happened, the highlights of which I will now recount. Without cheating and reading the last post, I think I can remember that it was a failed attempt to convey some wonder of my short vacation in Romania. Let's start again, shall we?

Vacation started on December 25, just in time to enjoy what Moldovans refer to as 'new calendar Christmas' -- the celebration of a certain savior's birth according to the Gregorian calendar, as distinguished from the slightly later celebration of the same event according to the Julian calendar (the 'old calendar Christmas'). For Moldovans, this wasn't much a problem. Most Moldovans celebrate Christmas according to both calendars, but the celebration is drastically different. Imagine a Christmas without all the wild consumerism, without the spiked eggnog, and without highly-decorated fire hazards in the central room of every house in the neighborhood. That's Moldovan Christmas, as far as I can tell. I wasn't in attendance at any Christmas parties or family celebration, but I got the sense that it is considered primarily a religious holiday here. Imagine that. There were concerts in Chisinau and enormous Christmas trees in city centers everywhere, and the street decor was impressive (although almost impossible to capture on camera without getting hit by passing buses and such). But whatever flare and craze we Americans exhibit during the Christmas season, Moldovans seem to save that for bringing in the New Year -- which is good, because they do it twice (new calendar, old calendar).

I know many Americans were put off by the inception date of vacation, as it ruined many a plan to spend Christmas somewhere outside of Moldova. I, on the other hand, enjoyed staying at home and calling my family to wish them a merry one, half a world away. Christmas is a good time in my family, but not being huge consumers or extremely religious, it is mostly just an opportunity to huddle together, drink hot spiced cider, admire the fire hazard in the sitting room, and sing traditional 'American' carols (many of which actually come from Eastern Europe). I spent a few days in Chisinau with somebody special, and then boarded a train bound, eventually, for Romania.

My first impressions of Romania included smooth roads, relatively spacious country-side, and cities apparently governed by the somewhat more noticeable presence of coherent building codes and urban planning. Romania is part of the European Union, so their relative financial stability and development (compared with those of Moldova) probably account for most of these first impressions. However, it is important to point out that my vacation did not wander beyond the borders of Moldova. Let me explain. In medieval times, Moldavia was a relatively small territory that I don't quite have the right word for. Principality, maybe? As with the Romans, traditional Moldovan culture abhorred mention of a 'king' and therefore referred to their medieval heads of state as what English-speaking people would call 'rulers' or 'lords'. Thus, it couldn't have been a kingdom. Wikipedia says 'Principality', so let's go with that. Moldavia no longer exists. Most of the eastern half is where I live (the Republic of Moldova); regions in the north and south belong to the Ukraine; and most of the western half served as the host to my Romania vacation. My vacation party consisted of me and four of my friendly Peace Corps colleagues.

First stop was in Suceava, a large town and raion (district) center in Northeast Romania. The town is absolutely gorgeous and absolutely worth the trip. Lacking excessive industrial build-up, Suceava instead enjoys aesthetic and historical plenitude. As is common in this region of the world, the raion center is surrounded by several handfuls of small villages, monasteries, and more farmland or empty terrain than you can shake a stick at. One of the stunning sites we visited is the Voroneţ monastery, considered by many to be the little-known treasure of this part of the world. The church at the Voroneţ monastery was constructed in the 15th century by none other than Stefan cel Mare (Stephan the Great, the single most important figure in Moldovan history), and is remarkable for its detailed frescoes covering not only the walls and ceiling of the interior, but also the entire exterior.

Following the visit to Voroneţ, my colleagues and I stopped at the remains of the Citadel of Suceava, where Stefan cel Mare and his peers sat on the throne overlooking their beloved Moldova. This was my first visit to an actual castle of the non-sand variety. Much of the castle was destroyed, and while I haven't done my research to find out how, I would guess it had something to do with the Ottoman Turks. Still, much of the castle remains, including what I think was the sanctuary of the chapel, which catches the light of the setting Sun in a most striking and indescribable way. My post-castle sentiment was one of wonder that we, with all our modern technology and materials, build our structures today to last 40 or 50 years. The Suceava citadel would still be standing today (and probably in pretty damn good condition) had the Turks not torn it down.

Visiting Suceava in the Winter was beautiful, but I would love to return when the vast tracts of land are covered in various shades of life and the people can frolic around without the burden of heavy coats and perilous sheets of ice.

Next came Iaşi, a large municipality that served as a more modern capital for the region before it was unified with Wallacia and Transylvania to form what we now know as Romania. While Iaşi is certain no London or Moscow in size, it still has the feel of age and regality, as well as that of practicality and industry. My stay in Iaşi was, perhaps, tainted by two unfortunate facts: our hotel was woefully suburban, meaning long and expensive taxi-rides to get anywhere interesting; and I was there for New Year celebrations and the days following, in which the entire city was virtually out-of-order. However, these two misfortunes did not stop my travel-buddies and I from enjoying the exterior visual pleasures of the city. The Church of the Three Hierarchs and the Metropolitan Cathedral of Moldova were absolutely unparalleled by any other religious structures I have yet seen (but I've also never been to Paris, for that matter). The Palace of Culture certainly demanded an hour-long photo shoot, despite the fact that the inside was closed.

One aspect of Iaşi that we Peace Corps Moldova volunteers celebrate is its Pizza Hut. I don't much care for Pizza Hut in the States, due to the poor quality of food and suspect service. However, the Pizza Hut in Iaşi was truly as close as any fast-food establishment can possibly come to being gourmet. From beautiful ambiance to friendly, sit-down service to wine recommendations on the pizza menu -- this must have been the king of all Pizza Huts.

With that, I'll take a short break, and pick up the review with my post-Romania adventures. Look for the follow-up (Part II) to this post in the next few days. It's a busy week for me, but I'll make sure to squeeze in some blog time, somewhere.

Sistine Chapel of the East

I had grown accustomed to the quiet smallness of Moldovan life, before this trip to neighboring Romania. Upon entering Romania, the first observation among my colleagues and I was the non-bumpiness of the road. Shortly thereafter, we also made note of the relative scarcity of the Romanian population. Moldova is one of the most densely populated countries in Europe, with some 4.1 million people in under 34,000 km², while the 22.2 million Romanians enjoy over 238,000 km². (Moldova density, 122/km²; Romania density, 93/km²; USA density, 31/km²) But adjusting to the rarefied geography took little time. I moved on to more lasting impressions, such as the grandeur of the religious edifices and the brilliant plasticity of colorful Romanian lei.

Mai departe...

Today, my fellow travelers and I inched slightly closer to the Carpathians, finally emerging from our taxi (read: clown car) in the small town of Voronet. The journey there included smile-inducing passages through forests, near craggy rock outcroppings, and over snow-covered, rolling hills. The Voronet monastery is its small church, a 'Sistine Chapel of the East.' I'll leave the back-story of this church to the good people at Wikipedia and Lonely Planet. I'd also like to leave further Sistine Chapel comparisons for those who have actually seen both. I will say, however, that the frescos on this church were impressive beyond well beyond my expectations. The church is small compared to the enormous towers and cupolas of more modern Orthodox buildings, but Voronet's humble form and splayed, Romanian-style roof still manage to capivate its visitors, who stroll in slow arcs as though sneaking through the classical wing of a musem.

Pictures to come. I'd love to continue this post, but my fellow travelers seem to enjoy loud conversations -- loud, probably so they can hear each other over the TV nobody's watching. There is much to share, but I'll wait until I can hear my own thoughts, instead of hacking out this poor-quality nonsense.

Quarterly Report

I wonder how long the average traveler must live in a place before the subtle maladies of that place begin to consider him a resident, and thus begin to leave him alone? Some of my colleagues in Moldova have reported slightly discouraging stories to me of past volunteers: "You arrive in country, get your first cold or stomach bug about a week later, and from then on you just kind of stay in a state of sickness. Years later, you return to the States, and after a couple weeks at home you start to feel this unexplainable happiness accompanied by high levels of energy. Suddenly, it dawns on you that this new feeling of well-being is, quite simply, the feeling of being healthy." My newly-arrived peers and I chuckled at the silly story, and reassure ourselves that this will not be our case. We are far to healthy to be degraded to such a state.

A few months later, we recall the stories, laugh nervously, and wonder if it's true that this stomach bug or respiratory infection really isn't going away.

Several months after that, we find ourselves chuckling again, though this time in self-pitying humor at our initial disbelief of the stories.

I've been in-country for somewhere around seven months, now. I could do the math, but some ill-defined feeling inside me tells me that tracking exact spans of time here is either impossible, inadvisable, or both. Somewhere around seven months, though, to be sure. That's one quarter of the total time for which I am scheduled here in Moldova, and thus I felt a short Quarterly Report was in order. I feel that I have broken through to some important milestones. My Romanian language skill has improved, at least on some practical level. I may not score very high on technical grammar tests, but I can certainly understand the uncouth remarks from my students (which they are sure I can't understand), and I can order dinner like nobody's business. I've mastered my Rutiera Stare after countless practice sessions between my site and Chisinau. There was one foolish moment when I thought I might be able to gain a tolerance for the water, here, but the horrifying sickness that followed cured me of such naivety. And those dark moments, when a plane ticket home sound like the only good choice left, I've trudged through and managed to come out on the other side. Now, even though it may be overcast and bitter cold, I can look at the treacherous ice underfoot and focus instead on the sparkling ice crystals and wafting snowfall.

Of course, this quarter has seen it's fair share of set-backs. In my second quarter, I look forward to addressing deficiencies in community integration, local literary exposure, photographic documentation of significant events and locations, and attention to sunshine. I'll also be managing problems with high levels of caffeine and internet intake, and excessive sedentarianism.

To celebrate the completion of one quarter of my service in Moldova, and to properly observe the transition from 2008 to 2009, I will be traveling to the neighboring country of Romania, where I hope to collect an extra portion of fond memories and interesting photographs. Wish me luck, and have a safe and happy New Year celebrations.