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| Brașov, Romania |
Europe’s second
longest mountain range, the Carpathians, run for half their length within
Romania. Here are some of the most extensive virgin forests in the continent. A
tortuous two-lane road built by the country’s communist leader Nicolae
Ceaușescu to ensure military access over the mountains in case of a Soviet
invasion winds its way from Wallachia to Transylvania, in the shadow of the
2,544 metre Moldoveanu, Romania’s highest peak. Called the Transfăgărășan, this
road was visited by the Top Gear team
in 2009 and named as ‘the best road in the world.’ Two valleys to the east, a
railway line cuts a path through a narrow valley surrounded by enormous green
mountains, carrying trains from Bucharest and Constanța on the Black Sea coast
towards Cluj and other northern cities. This was the route I was to follow,
leaving the giant Stalinist blocks of Bucharest for the more genial environs of
Brașov.
There I would
be less focused on rushing around to see sights I had identified in advance,
and instead planned to relax in the mountain air and if possible, do some
walking in the Transylvanian forests. I hadn’t been surrounded by mountains in
the same way since 2013, when I was in New Mexico, although within Europe it
had been another two years before that. Raring to go, I was up early and
reached Bucharest’s Gara de Nord in
good time to take the 0815 train. The station was heaving with people, most of
whom seemed to be commuters coming into the city. Signs over the various exits
displayed whether it was advisable to take a taxi from the ranks or not;
Bucharest has had a major issue with scams, and now has bays for approved
drivers who won’t rip off their passengers, and warnings about where the
unapproved drivers would be waiting.
For the first
part of the two and a half hour journey, the train tore through the flat plain
of Wallachia towards Ploiești, through an industrial landscape. Close to
Câmpina, the railway line began to rise discernibly as it followed the Prahova
river upstream. The little settlement of Glod, whose Roma (gypsy) inhabitants
portrayed Kazakhs in the village sequence of Borat, was just a few miles away in the next valley. The road to
Glod connected with my route at Sinaia. Shortly afterwards, the sinister spires
of Peleș Castle passed by on the left.
Enclosed by
thick forests, there was a palpable feeling of foreboding. The mountains,
castles and the isolation of these slopes were ominous. Moreover, the
association of this landscape with Dracula and, by extension, other gothic
figures, was inescapable. I discovered more about Bram Stoker and the Dracula
character the following day when I visited Bran. Thanks to Stoker, the name
Transylvania is synonymous with the macabre image of vampires swooping down
from misty mountains to feed upon the blood of young girls. Even without the
influence of the writer, these primal forests filled with all manner of unknown
things must have inspired by people who came here for thousands of years.
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| Brașov, overshadowed by the towering Tâmpa mountain |
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| A sign in my hostel made it clear that I was now in an earthquake zone |
The name
Transylvania (or Transilvania in Romanian) has nothing especially frightening
about it. It derives from Latin and simply means ‘across (or beyond) the
forest’. Long settled by Saxons brought in by the Hungarians to defend their
southeastern border, Transylvania’s German name is Siebenbürgen, referencing
the seven fortified towns in which these Germans settled: Bistritz, Kronstadt,
Mediasch, Sächsisch Regen, Mühlbach, Hermannstadt and Schässburg. Today, these
are respectively Bistrița, Brașov, Mediaș, Reghin, Sebeș, Sibiu and Sighișoara.
By the time I reached Brașov, it was evident that I had crossed a cultural
divide and was firmly in Central Europe.
This must sound
a bold claim, especially when taking into consideration how far this corner of
Transylvania is from the Central European heartland in Germany, Austria, Hungary,
Poland and the Czech Republic. However, there is something inescapably Germanic
about Brașov and when I arrived just before 1100, I had travelled a million
miles from Bucharest. An unhurried walk took me from a district of modern
blocks into the more traditional centre, where I found my hostel.
Romanians are
somewhat bipolar when it comes to hospitality. They can be some of the most
blunt, rude, ignorant and even aggressive people, as I had discovered in
various cafés, shops and other venues. On the other hand, many of the
loveliest, most friendly, welcoming and amiable people I have ever had the
fortune to come across are Romanians. There is little in between. The owner of
the hostel in Brașov fell into the latter category. I had sent her a message
with my time of arrival, but having stayed in a multitude of hostels during the
course of my travels, had neglected to be overly thorough with the
arrangements, and found the place deserted when I got there. My host was
wonderfully friendly and gave me comprehensive information over the phone,
allowing me to get into the building, find the hidden spare key to the room, leave
my bag and plan a time to meet later in the day. Although she was busy at the
moment of my arrival, she insisted that she would drive into the city to check
me in at whatever time I wanted. When I eventually met her later in the day,
she was incredibly affable, and gave me invaluable advice on how I could get
around all the sights I wanted to, as well as suggesting that I could call her
again if there was anything she could help me with, even after leaving her
hostel and Brașov. It’s always refreshing when you pay a very modest amount for
a room for just a single night and receive a host who tells you she’s there to
spoil you, rather than a grumpy old git who’ll take the cash and won’t even
give a smile in return.
Brașov’s quaint
streets and colourful buildings reminded me of The Grand Budapest Hotel, ironically more so than the western Czech
town that inspired its filmmakers, Karlovy Vary. Where the latter is an
ostentatious spa town brimming with tourists and nowadays with a strong Russian
presence, Brașov retains a Teutonic straightforwardness. It is down to earth
and its centre was largely populated by locals. In a way, this makes it all the
more otherworldly, because unlike so many towns of such beauty, it is a
functional place where people go about their daily business, not merely a
tourist trap. Brașov is the largest settlement in
a small region called the Burzenland, noted for its long history of occupation
by a mixture of Romanians, Hungarians and Germans. Dominated by the towering Tâmpa mountain, rising 350 metres above the southern edge of the city, it has several significant landmarks that reflect the history of this diverse region.
Chief among
these is the Black Church (Biserica
Neagră), a Lutheran church that still holds services in German. Romania’s
most important gothic building, it was begun in the 14th century and
ceased being known as St Mary’s Church after it was set ablaze in 1685, its
blackened walls leading to its present name. It contains an impressive organ
and a significant collection of Transylvanian rugs, originally stemming from
the Ottomans. Other colourfully named structures are the White Tower (Turnul Alb) and the Black Tower (Turnul Negru), which are surely straight
out of a fantasy creation; The Lord of
the Rings’ sister cities of Minas Tirith and Minas Morgul spring to mind.
The 15th century White Tower is larger and topped with
crenellations. The older Black Tower is smaller and today covered over with a
glass pyramid. Built in the 14th century, it was burnt after being
struck by lightning in 1559, gaining its name.
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| The Black Church (Biserica Neagră) |
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| The White Tower (Turnul Alb) |
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| The Black Tower (Turnul Negru) |
Other small towers are spaced out along the old city walls, including the spire-topped Catherine’s Gate (Poarta Ecaterina) and Romanesque Șchei Gate (Poarta Șchei). The city has a synagogue and spacious main square, Piața Sfatului, based around the Rathaus or Town Hall, today a history museum. Brașov also has one of Europe’s narrowest streets, Strada Sforii, which tapers to just 111 centimetres, although Exeter’s Parliament Street narrows to 64 and Spreuerhofstraße in the German city of Reutlingen is yet more inconceivably proportioned at 31 to 50 centimetres wide.
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| Catherine's Gate (Poarta Ecaterina) |
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| Șchei Gate (Poarta Șchei) |
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| Sinagoga Beth Israel |
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| Piața Sfatului |
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| Strada Sforii |
A cable car
from another of the city’s towers, Bastionul
Funarilor, runs from the base to the summit of Tâmpa. I chose to walk up
instead, based upon reading that the trail called Gabony’s Steps (Treptele lui Gabony) offered the most
spectacular views. It is also the most difficult route up the mountain, and
after initially being on a gently sloping woodland path, then climbing a series
of steep stone stairs, there was a punishing scramble up a rocky slope before
it evened out again towards the top. The views were worth it. To the east, the
newer parts of the city occupied the last portion of flat land before the
forested foothills of the Carpathians rose up to create a natural wilderness.
There were still better views a short distance later, when I found a gap in the
trees where a Hollywood-style sign spelling Brașov stands overlooking the city.
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| The first part of the trail revealed glimpses of the city through the trees |
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| Uneven stone steps formed much of the early stages of my walk |
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| Some more modern parts of Brașov, right beside the northern foothills of this stretch of the Carpathians |
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| Virgin forests cover the mountainsides |
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| A television tower stands atop Tâmpa |
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| The national flag also fluttered at the summit |
This was a
superb place to take in the city. The Black Church, the White and Black Towers,
the Citadel on a hill to the north, and the clusters of red roofed houses
within the walled city were all clearly discernible. Beyond, the city thinned
out until it was just a patchwork of agricultural fields until this plan was
interrupted by another small mountain range, twenty miles to the north. In the
foreground, the mountain was an impenetrable mass of treetops. During the 1950s,
Brașov was briefly called Orașul Stalin, after the Soviet leader, and trees
were planted on Tâmpa to spell out his name. This has long disappeared, but in
the right conditions, some of the faint letters may still be made out. Plenty
of other developments have taken place on the mountain, including a series of
tunnels within Tâmpa, which were used to hold German prisoners in the First
World War. The tunnels are no longer accessible and plans to reopen a route
through have been challenged by the local belief that there is a huge lake
inside the mountain that could flood the city below if the water were released.
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| Brașov and the hinterland to the north; the clearing in the centre is Piața Sfatului, and the Black (left) and White (right) Towers are visible on the green hillside on the left |
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| Brașov's Hollywood-esque sign |
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| A more detailed view of the city centre |
Further on from
the Brașov sign is a small concrete stump, which was once the base of a column
topped with a statue of Árpád. It was erected by the Hungarians in 1896 to
commemorate the 1,000th anniversary of the Magyar tribes’ conquest
of the Carpathian Basin, under their leader Árpád. Previously fought over by
German Franks, Moravians and Bulgarians, this vast stretch of land, also known
as the Pannonian Plain, was settled by Hungarians from 896 onwards, and today
spans Hungary and parts of all seven of its neighbours. When the statue was
built, Brașov (or Brassó in Hungarian) was in the far extremity of the
Austro-Hungarian Empire and the Transylvanian plateau had a large Romanian
community. Needless to say, they weren’t very happy with this reminder of foreign
hegemony and in 1913, a Romanian spy from Bessarabia (in today’s Moldova), Ilie
Cătărău, and his Russian associate Timofei Kiriloff, detonated dynamite at the
statue’s base. After suffering this damage, it collapsed during a thunderstorm
later that same year. During the First World War, the Romanian army captured
Brașov from the Hungarians in 1916, and the 1920 Treaty of Trianon handed
control of Transylvania from defeated Hungary to Romania.
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| The southwestern neighbourhood of Brașov, Șchei, is tucked between two hillsides |
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| Tall pines cover the mountainside close to the summit of Tâmpa |
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| My path took me through the dark forest on the right |
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| Gnarled tree roots contributed to a path that was in places rather overgrown |
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| Other sections were more easygoing |
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| The views through the trees, when visible, were fantastic |
The path I was
on continued down a short descent and then followed a forested ridge,
eventually to emerge at the ski resort of Poiana Brașov, from where a road
wound its way back down the valley to the southwest edge of the city proper. I
hadn’t specifically intended to walk so far, but in the end covered the entire
trail, most of which was an undulating path through the woods straddling 1,000
metres of elevation. Occasional glimpses through the trees revealed gorgeous
vistas of adjacent mountains, and the ski resort had some smart looking chalets
with stunning backdrops. Being from the tame countryside of the UK, it didn’t
instinctively occur to me, but there are bears that inhabit these forests, as
well as wolves, and in the autumn they can encroach upon nearby towns in their
attempts to find food to fatten up for winter. Conscious of this, I spent much
of the time talking to myself loudly and clapping my hands to ensure I didn’t
surprise any unwanted wildlife. It would have been brilliant to see a bear in
its natural environment, but I was also keen not to be attacked by one. I
didn’t see anything larger than a squirrel in the end, although I found a way
to guarantee contact with bears the following morning.
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| A hotel on the edge of Poiana Brașov |
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| The Dracula character is evidently something that helps draw in the tourists |
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| Chalets and small houses sit in the fields beneath the higher mountains and ski slopes above Poiana Brașov |
My theory about
Romanian manners was further confirmed when I stopped at a small convenience
store at Poiana Brașov to get an ice cream. Admittedly, the shopkeeper had to
put down her newspaper for two minutes while she served me, but there was no
need for her gruntingly lethargic attitude, particularly as I gave her my best
‘vă rog’ and ‘mulțumesc’, and even a cheery ‘la revedere’ as I left. I’m not
sure she was willing to put in the effort to utter a single word, in a foreign
language or otherwise.
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| Colourful houses in the Șchei district of Brașov |
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| The Church of St Nicholas (Biserica Sfântul Nicolae) |
As my thirteen
mile walk came to an end and I emerged from the final, steep gravel track onto
a small, winding road through a residential area at the edge of the city, I had
another unsavoury experience. A dog walker was strolling along the road with
three vicious hounds that had presumably been trained to assault anything that
wasn’t their owner. I quickly found myself surrounded by the snarling, barking
beasts and the man was hardly swift to call them off, nor to apologise, as any
reasonable pet owner I know would do. For quite some way, they were still
snapping at my heels, and it was decidedly less comfortable even than dealing
with aggressive stray dogs in Bosnia, my feeling exacerbated by the inaction of
their owner. Nevertheless, I made it unscathed to Brașov’s Piața Unirii, where I had a quick look at the Church of St Nicholas
(Biserica Sfântul Nicolae), which was
closed, and beside it, the oldest school in Romania. It wasn’t too much further
to my hostel, and by now the sun was dropping and the hot afternoon turned into
a chilly evening, punctuated by the cool mountain air.
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| Back in the atmospheric, Central European style streets of Brașov |
I had requested
a recommendation about somewhere good to eat, and my host had suggested Sergiana, and moreover, had proposed
three dishes for me to try. The restaurant was busy, but after waiting outside
for a few minutes, I was allocated a seat in an atmospheric brick-walled
cellar, with waiters and waitresses in traditional dress rushing past. I
scanned the menu but decided to go with the advice I had been given. A beer and
a complimentary bowl of jumări cu ceapa
(pork greaves with onions) came first, followed by ciorbă de burtă (tripe soup). The latter doesn’t sound appetising
and isn’t something I would normally have chosen, not having had tripe before
or since. The strips of meat stood out within the thin soup, but it was nicely
flavoured and a taste of the local cuisine. When in Rome.
The next dish, bulz țărănesc, was a starter but it was
easily ample enough to be a main course. This was a small but dense block of
the polenta-like mămăligă, combined
with melted cheese and pieces of bacon, topped with a fried egg. It wasn’t
filled with any remarkable flavours as such, but was tasty all the same, hot
until the last bite, and the blend of the egg yolk with the thick melted cheese
and grain made it a stodgy, filling meal. To round it off, I had a second crack
at finishing a plate of papanași,
having failed to make it through the whole thing in Bucharest. I tackled these
delicious doughnut-like pastries with cream and jam with renewed energy, but
once more had to throw in the towel midway through the second portion. I had
been completely famished after my walk in the mountains, but even my
exercise-induced appetite had succumbed to papanași.
Full up, I slept soundly, content to be in the mountains and to have explored a
fragment of the verdant forests that line the southern and eastern borders of
Transylvania.
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| Hungarian kürtőskalács for sale at a stand in Brașov |
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