There's a silly little theory that hatters went mad because of the mercury they once used. It's a huge lie; I could sniff mercury all day and be driven less mad than I was by the felt fibres that settle on your nose and itch you. I've been searching most of my adult life for a creative talent to match my creative urges, trust me to only be good at something that is expensive, requires materials that are hard to source, and itches!
Felt fibres notwithstanding, the week spent making hats was one of the most fun things I've done on this trip. There should be at least three days a year cold enough in Perth for a felt hat so my time wasn't wasted at all.
Our Central Saint Martins instructor Ian Bennett...
...right, Now that just won't do. You weren't impressed at all were you! Now, Central Saint Martins is London's most exclusive fashion and design school. It's a very big deal for a student to be accepted by them. Of course, I paid for the privelege but we'll just gloss over that shall we. Ian Bennett has worked for Stephen Jones who is the second most famous milliner in the world, as well as Phillip someone who makes hats for the Queen. THE Queen, not Queen the band. Ian has his own shop in the Oxo Tower on Southbank. The important thing to note here is that you are terribly impressed and interested and I am really rather special and wonderful for knowing such an Influential Person In London. So, let's try that again;
Our Central Saint Martins instructor Ian Bennett (this time I can hear you all saying "Oh my god! THE Ian Bennett? THE Central Saint Martins?! Yes, yes, I smile condescendingly and sip from my glass of champagne while waving my hand around impatiently. I am terribly important these days and travel in Distinguished Circles).
Anyway, where were we? Oh, yes you were being impressed about Ian. Well done. I was expecting him to be a self important, intimidating fashionista but as it turned out, he never name drops (I found out about Stephen Jones and the Philip guy from his website) he has cool tattoos, wears a funky bike helmet with sequins on it and is incredibly down to earth, (haha that sounds a bit contradictory doesn't it, but he is, I promise) endlessly patient, cheerful and entertaining. Thanks to him, the week was a huge amount of fun and we all learnt enough about making hats to be able to do it ourselves at home.
The first day was spent walking around London, being taken to the various stores that stock felt and trimmings (such as feathers, flowers and the like). It was depressing because I know I'll never find anywhere like that in Perth but it was still fun.
Day two was spent blocking our felts. This is when you choose a wooden block shaped the way your hat will be. The crown and the brim are blocked separately.
After brushing stiffener over the felt, we steamed it to make it pliable and pulled it into the approximate shape of our block, then steamed it some more and pressed the felt down until all the creases were out. After this, it's left to dry overnight. Next, the extra bits of felt were cut off, wire was sewn around the brim, the brim and crown were hand stitched together and the petersham ribbon was sewn around the inside of the hat. Then the feathers, sequins, flowers and whatever else go on. Given that my hats are going to spend a lot of time on planes, I kept that stuff simple.
I made three hats, one of which still needs a little sewing done on it. My favourite, a petite little pirate hat in maroon, was ready on my birthday so I wore it out that night with Chris (who I am staying with) who took me to a bar with some friends of his. It was a very cool birthday present from me to me.
On flickr, there are some photos of the hats in various stages below along with the end results. I like the red one best while the pink one was just made of some leftover sinamay that another student gave me, just to learn to work with sinamay (it's like straw and a lot harder to use than felt).
The hat making week was great, but don't all go expecting new hats ‑ the blocks cost several hundred dollars each and have to be shipped from Melbourne! I suppose I'll just have to be fabulous on my own.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
just a number in a production line
London and her intensity, her crowds, her traffic and her unmistakable 'fragrance'. I'm staying in a hostel so huge that I am merely another number on a production line. Nobody will remember me when I'm gone, nobody will even notice except for the cleaner who will change the linen on my bed. This week, the hat‑making week, I don't mind. Next week I move to a friend's place as his flatmate is going away for a few weeks. This will save me about a thousand dollars so that's pretty cool.
Munich improved, as places often do once you've decided you don't think much of them. My last day started in traditional Bavarian style; my hosts served me weissbier and weisswurst ‑ white beer and sausage, Bavarian specialties. We had a great breakfast together and I learned all sorts of things about Bavaria, such as the fact that legally, beer is not considered to be alcohol, but is in fact classed as food. I nearly cancelled my plane trip when they told me this! Starting a day on beer and sausage is great fun but it did leave me feeling like I needed a good walk. I wandered down the road, through a park where little kids rode sleds down newly snowed‑upon slopes.
Reaching the bottom of the other side of the hill I found myself following a small stream lined with the tiny garden shacks that you see everywhere in Germany. I followed the path for about half an hour until I came to another path along a bigger stream which eventually became a river, I was in some kind of nature park, the traffic noise sucked into oblivion high above me, the snow crunching under my feet and the ducks commenting to each other on how cold their bums were in the freezing water. I did a few practise snowball throws and hit my target three times, which shocked me so much that I missed the rest of my attempts. Eventually I tracked down (haha) a train station and found that I was now in zone 4 and it would cost me 5 euros to cross the 2 zones back to my street! I felt terribly smug as we went through several stops, then when I got home I couch potatoed for the rest of the day. Finally I farewelled my generous hosts and jumped on the plane to London.
Ah, London. I love it and hate it more each time I come here. The close knit buildings cocoon you in their dark colours and the people bump into you from everywhere. Things are slowly becoming familiar, I even have my own oyster card for the tube. With each visit, people here seem to be nicer and I wonder if it's my pre‑conceptions that have altered or if I'm just running into a lot of foreigners this time around! My first day was spent visiting favourite haunts; Angel ‑ because I know where everything is, Carnaby Street and Kingly Court ‑ because my favourite shops are there, and this time around, Desigual, the Spanish clothing store that is the sole reason I have managed to refrain from buying any clothes for the last 4 months, saving up for a spree there.
Tonight in the bar at the ex‑courthouse "Clink" hostel, boys are making penis shapes out of balloons, christmas lights are flashing, and I am having a night in so that I'm fresh and inspired for my week of millinery. In Kingly Court tonight I heard some girls comment on another girl's hat and when she told them she'd made it, I took it as a sign that my hats are going to be AWESOME.
And if they're not, I'll send everyone photos of someone else's hats instead.
Munich improved, as places often do once you've decided you don't think much of them. My last day started in traditional Bavarian style; my hosts served me weissbier and weisswurst ‑ white beer and sausage, Bavarian specialties. We had a great breakfast together and I learned all sorts of things about Bavaria, such as the fact that legally, beer is not considered to be alcohol, but is in fact classed as food. I nearly cancelled my plane trip when they told me this! Starting a day on beer and sausage is great fun but it did leave me feeling like I needed a good walk. I wandered down the road, through a park where little kids rode sleds down newly snowed‑upon slopes.
Reaching the bottom of the other side of the hill I found myself following a small stream lined with the tiny garden shacks that you see everywhere in Germany. I followed the path for about half an hour until I came to another path along a bigger stream which eventually became a river, I was in some kind of nature park, the traffic noise sucked into oblivion high above me, the snow crunching under my feet and the ducks commenting to each other on how cold their bums were in the freezing water. I did a few practise snowball throws and hit my target three times, which shocked me so much that I missed the rest of my attempts. Eventually I tracked down (haha) a train station and found that I was now in zone 4 and it would cost me 5 euros to cross the 2 zones back to my street! I felt terribly smug as we went through several stops, then when I got home I couch potatoed for the rest of the day. Finally I farewelled my generous hosts and jumped on the plane to London.
Ah, London. I love it and hate it more each time I come here. The close knit buildings cocoon you in their dark colours and the people bump into you from everywhere. Things are slowly becoming familiar, I even have my own oyster card for the tube. With each visit, people here seem to be nicer and I wonder if it's my pre‑conceptions that have altered or if I'm just running into a lot of foreigners this time around! My first day was spent visiting favourite haunts; Angel ‑ because I know where everything is, Carnaby Street and Kingly Court ‑ because my favourite shops are there, and this time around, Desigual, the Spanish clothing store that is the sole reason I have managed to refrain from buying any clothes for the last 4 months, saving up for a spree there.
Tonight in the bar at the ex‑courthouse "Clink" hostel, boys are making penis shapes out of balloons, christmas lights are flashing, and I am having a night in so that I'm fresh and inspired for my week of millinery. In Kingly Court tonight I heard some girls comment on another girl's hat and when she told them she'd made it, I took it as a sign that my hats are going to be AWESOME.
And if they're not, I'll send everyone photos of someone else's hats instead.
Friday, December 12, 2008
wann das weg langweilig ist
// when the trail is boring
Long term travel twists the traveller's moods back upon themselves constantly. Sometimes everything works in your favour; the sun shines, your wanderings take you to vibrant artists' squats, you find great little cafes that you'd never find at home and you meet people who suit your personality of the moment perfectly.
Other times, you are in a city who's underground is either very deep or non‑existent, where the most cultural thing you can afford to do is wander around the Weihnachtsmarks, and even if you could afford to visit all the museums, you've done it all before anyway. To cheer yourself up, you find a traditional looking pub and grab a beer, sitting down to write.
Then "Can't Fight the Moonlight" comes on the stereo and you find yourself in the deepest, darkest pit of despair. (Slight exaggeration perhaps.)
There are down days and up days, but in general for me the down days have been few and short. There's nothing wrong with Munich as a city, but I can't seem to find anything unusual here. The Hofbrauhaus, upon which Oktoberfest centres each year, is surrounded by extremely kitsch tourist junk. The buildings are cool enough but after 8 months it takes something pretty impressive to get more than a few seconds' glance. I wandered the Englischer Garten and visited the Chinese Tower but, again, a park is a park really. Nice enough though but not photo worthy. There are various other 'must‑sees' in Munich and I've seen them all while wandering around various Weihnachtsmarks. All in all, Munich has left me a bit underwhelmed, but probably through no fault of its own.
My couchsurfing hosts have been great. On my first night they bought a big christmas tree which sits in the living room where I am sleeping. The girls decorated it beautifully while the boys made Gluhwein and we all sat in the cosy house listening to christmas carols ‑ very christmassy! We also went to see Madagascar 2 which was hilarious even in a foreign language. Their apartment is decorated with a lot of cool ideas that I'm going to steal when I have my own place; so at least I have a great place to watch tv in when I'm bored with wandering around.
London in 2 days, and on to my hatmaking course. Home in just over 6 weeks ‑ luckily for the bank account! I'm not sad that the trip is coming to an end, but I'm still enjoying myself a lot ‑ the perfect balance that all my fellow travellers wish they could attain.
Long term travel twists the traveller's moods back upon themselves constantly. Sometimes everything works in your favour; the sun shines, your wanderings take you to vibrant artists' squats, you find great little cafes that you'd never find at home and you meet people who suit your personality of the moment perfectly.
Other times, you are in a city who's underground is either very deep or non‑existent, where the most cultural thing you can afford to do is wander around the Weihnachtsmarks, and even if you could afford to visit all the museums, you've done it all before anyway. To cheer yourself up, you find a traditional looking pub and grab a beer, sitting down to write.
Then "Can't Fight the Moonlight" comes on the stereo and you find yourself in the deepest, darkest pit of despair. (Slight exaggeration perhaps.)
There are down days and up days, but in general for me the down days have been few and short. There's nothing wrong with Munich as a city, but I can't seem to find anything unusual here. The Hofbrauhaus, upon which Oktoberfest centres each year, is surrounded by extremely kitsch tourist junk. The buildings are cool enough but after 8 months it takes something pretty impressive to get more than a few seconds' glance. I wandered the Englischer Garten and visited the Chinese Tower but, again, a park is a park really. Nice enough though but not photo worthy. There are various other 'must‑sees' in Munich and I've seen them all while wandering around various Weihnachtsmarks. All in all, Munich has left me a bit underwhelmed, but probably through no fault of its own.
My couchsurfing hosts have been great. On my first night they bought a big christmas tree which sits in the living room where I am sleeping. The girls decorated it beautifully while the boys made Gluhwein and we all sat in the cosy house listening to christmas carols ‑ very christmassy! We also went to see Madagascar 2 which was hilarious even in a foreign language. Their apartment is decorated with a lot of cool ideas that I'm going to steal when I have my own place; so at least I have a great place to watch tv in when I'm bored with wandering around.
London in 2 days, and on to my hatmaking course. Home in just over 6 weeks ‑ luckily for the bank account! I'm not sad that the trip is coming to an end, but I'm still enjoying myself a lot ‑ the perfect balance that all my fellow travellers wish they could attain.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
couches und wein in Wien
// couches and wine in Vienna
In Vienna I couchsurfed for the first time. Couchsurfing is like matchmaking for travellers ‑ you need a couch, someone has a couch, you speak to each other online and if you're lucky someone agrees to let you crash at their house.
Katy is a French girl who has been living in Vienna for three years. After failing to find a couch in Copenhagen she decided to host in Vienna so that other travellers wouldn't have to be lonely like she was. She's a biologist with a very open and happy personality and an incredibly generous nature. She fed me breakfast, cooked me lunch, washed my socks and guided me all over the city. By the end of the weekend we were good friends and I felt totally comfortable in the house of a girl who'd been a stranger only 48 hours ago.
For the first day in Vienna Katy took me on a personal tour all through the city. Resplendent in white stone, Vienna is far and away the most beautiful city I've seen. Older buildings are sometimes two‑tone, blackened by pollution but in the process of being cleaned to the original sparkling white; it adds to the romance of the place, almost as though the buildings are undressing for the tourists, or perhaps dressing up ‑ this is Vienna after all, not Amsterdam. The huge museums, opera house, theatres and palaces vie for one's attention, all decorations and angles and grandeur. Their imposing height somehow lends a cosy atmosphere to the streets without making them feel crowded. At this time of year Vienna is especially welcoming, with christmas lights in the shape of chandeliers or giant balls hanging in the streets, criss-crossing in gold and red, stars twinkling above the famous Weinachtsmarkts ‑ Christmas Markets. Flash floods of people crowd the streets and with all the looking up that the tourists are doing, there are a lot of collisions. In the centre of town, the writhing figures atop the Plague memorial shriek silently above a wasted and sallow old woman who personifies the Black Death, while an angel stabs her victoriously ‑ even this horrifying scene doesn't escape the Christmas decorations and the resulting festive death is bizarre.
Vienna is famous for her grandeur. Just being there makes you feel rich and privileged as you sip hot chocolate in the posh coffee shops, look at the luxury fashion, hear snatches of the opera (only 3 euros if you don't mind standing), visit the museums and marvel at the architecture (that word gets used a lot in descriptions of Europe doesn't it!). It's indescribably stunning.
My weekend there was like a weekend with friends. After my tour with Katy we went back to her apartment for a rest, and then went to a couchsurfing dinner party hosted by an excellent cook and her two playful cats. In addition to Katy and I, there were five other women, all intelligent, independent travellers. We ate mountains of lasagne and pasta and finished off with Japanese sweets and French chocolates, before being served a home made cake. We chatted well into the night, talking about our travels, exchanging information on various parts of the world, telling stories about the best and the worst couchsurfing experiences and being teased by the tomcat who thought it was hilarious to jump up from behind the couch and make everyone scream. (To be fair to the cat, it really was quite funny.)
By the end of the night we were all friends, it was just like hanging out with people from home. Even just being in a real house instead of a hostel was a welcome change, and having someone to look after me and show me around was such a pleasure after so many months of being independent. It was a really fantastic first experience and such a fun way to see the city. We shopped and drank Gluhwein and Orangenpunsch at the Weinachtsmarkt with our new friends. I bought a Christmas decoration that may or may not make it home in one piece and enjoyed feeling so at home in such a lovely city.
In Vienna I couchsurfed for the first time. Couchsurfing is like matchmaking for travellers ‑ you need a couch, someone has a couch, you speak to each other online and if you're lucky someone agrees to let you crash at their house.
Katy is a French girl who has been living in Vienna for three years. After failing to find a couch in Copenhagen she decided to host in Vienna so that other travellers wouldn't have to be lonely like she was. She's a biologist with a very open and happy personality and an incredibly generous nature. She fed me breakfast, cooked me lunch, washed my socks and guided me all over the city. By the end of the weekend we were good friends and I felt totally comfortable in the house of a girl who'd been a stranger only 48 hours ago.
For the first day in Vienna Katy took me on a personal tour all through the city. Resplendent in white stone, Vienna is far and away the most beautiful city I've seen. Older buildings are sometimes two‑tone, blackened by pollution but in the process of being cleaned to the original sparkling white; it adds to the romance of the place, almost as though the buildings are undressing for the tourists, or perhaps dressing up ‑ this is Vienna after all, not Amsterdam. The huge museums, opera house, theatres and palaces vie for one's attention, all decorations and angles and grandeur. Their imposing height somehow lends a cosy atmosphere to the streets without making them feel crowded. At this time of year Vienna is especially welcoming, with christmas lights in the shape of chandeliers or giant balls hanging in the streets, criss-crossing in gold and red, stars twinkling above the famous Weinachtsmarkts ‑ Christmas Markets. Flash floods of people crowd the streets and with all the looking up that the tourists are doing, there are a lot of collisions. In the centre of town, the writhing figures atop the Plague memorial shriek silently above a wasted and sallow old woman who personifies the Black Death, while an angel stabs her victoriously ‑ even this horrifying scene doesn't escape the Christmas decorations and the resulting festive death is bizarre.
Vienna is famous for her grandeur. Just being there makes you feel rich and privileged as you sip hot chocolate in the posh coffee shops, look at the luxury fashion, hear snatches of the opera (only 3 euros if you don't mind standing), visit the museums and marvel at the architecture (that word gets used a lot in descriptions of Europe doesn't it!). It's indescribably stunning.
My weekend there was like a weekend with friends. After my tour with Katy we went back to her apartment for a rest, and then went to a couchsurfing dinner party hosted by an excellent cook and her two playful cats. In addition to Katy and I, there were five other women, all intelligent, independent travellers. We ate mountains of lasagne and pasta and finished off with Japanese sweets and French chocolates, before being served a home made cake. We chatted well into the night, talking about our travels, exchanging information on various parts of the world, telling stories about the best and the worst couchsurfing experiences and being teased by the tomcat who thought it was hilarious to jump up from behind the couch and make everyone scream. (To be fair to the cat, it really was quite funny.)
By the end of the night we were all friends, it was just like hanging out with people from home. Even just being in a real house instead of a hostel was a welcome change, and having someone to look after me and show me around was such a pleasure after so many months of being independent. It was a really fantastic first experience and such a fun way to see the city. We shopped and drank Gluhwein and Orangenpunsch at the Weinachtsmarkt with our new friends. I bought a Christmas decoration that may or may not make it home in one piece and enjoyed feeling so at home in such a lovely city.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
one bin man, five prayer ladies, many dogs, a stern girl on a bridge and a bearded banjo player who misses his steak
I had several strange little encounters with odd characters in Romania, it was like stepping into an arthouse movie.
Cluj brought me the bubbble‑blowing bin man, making childish noises as he blew bubbles with his own saliva. I turned to him and he said something to which I responded in my broken Italian‑Romanian, then he kindly posed for a photo before blowing me a kiss and giggling along his way.
Transylvania's towns each circle the spires of a church, usually Orthodox. I witnessed the still strong traditions of these churches one snowy morning in Brasov. As I entered the church, the shadows danced around the candlelight and five hooded ladies knelt at the far end of the room, kissing the ground repeatedly in front of a picture of the Virgin Mary. There was no alter, instead one approached the front of the church by walking along a red carpet, stopping at small lecterns to bestow three kisses upon the pictures of various important people. The ladies watched me with wary eyes as I crossed myself three times, inadvertently going the wrong way (right and then left in this branch of the religion apparently). They each passed me, turning several times to cross themselves and kiss whatever was closest. And they wondered how the Plague started.
Stray dogs are common in most cities and towns. Bucharest is famous for them and there, many have rabies. They follow you around, generally not menacing but certainly a bit disconcerting. Good luck eating your lunch in the street without an audience. presumably it's a problem that will eventually be dealt with, but for now tourists will have to continue to skip around the skinny animals.
I hate to draw such an ugly comparison, but the gypsies aren't much different except that they are better fed. Walking though town we were accosted more than once by a tiny child, whining in a high pitched voice asking for money or chocolate. When you spot the kid's family waiting up ahead you can safely assume that the disconcerting noise will stop the minute you reach them. It happens in Vietnam as well but there is something quite menacing about these little kids dressed in black and taught so young to present a pitiable aspect.
One day while crossing the bridge, Sally Charles and I met a strange young girl who said something with great authority to Sally. There was no hint of menace or question in her tone, just a touch of 'telling off' in the way that she spoke. She carried on without looking back and we all looked at each other in bemusement.
Fittingly, my train ride from Romania back to Budapest brought me the most memorable character of all these: Tom the banjo‑playing Kiwi and his "I miss mah steak blues". He'd pushbiked from western europe to Istanbul over a period of a couple of months and he was the perfect traveller stereotype with his beard, in need of a cut hair and incessant smile. He regaled us with tales of his travels and then (on request) played us the "I miss mah steak blues" ‑ here's hoping he got his steak in Budapest.
These people represent one of the reasons I was so charmed by Romania; the interesting and unusual variety of people I encountered there, locals and adventurers alike.
Cluj brought me the bubbble‑blowing bin man, making childish noises as he blew bubbles with his own saliva. I turned to him and he said something to which I responded in my broken Italian‑Romanian, then he kindly posed for a photo before blowing me a kiss and giggling along his way.
Transylvania's towns each circle the spires of a church, usually Orthodox. I witnessed the still strong traditions of these churches one snowy morning in Brasov. As I entered the church, the shadows danced around the candlelight and five hooded ladies knelt at the far end of the room, kissing the ground repeatedly in front of a picture of the Virgin Mary. There was no alter, instead one approached the front of the church by walking along a red carpet, stopping at small lecterns to bestow three kisses upon the pictures of various important people. The ladies watched me with wary eyes as I crossed myself three times, inadvertently going the wrong way (right and then left in this branch of the religion apparently). They each passed me, turning several times to cross themselves and kiss whatever was closest. And they wondered how the Plague started.
Stray dogs are common in most cities and towns. Bucharest is famous for them and there, many have rabies. They follow you around, generally not menacing but certainly a bit disconcerting. Good luck eating your lunch in the street without an audience. presumably it's a problem that will eventually be dealt with, but for now tourists will have to continue to skip around the skinny animals.
I hate to draw such an ugly comparison, but the gypsies aren't much different except that they are better fed. Walking though town we were accosted more than once by a tiny child, whining in a high pitched voice asking for money or chocolate. When you spot the kid's family waiting up ahead you can safely assume that the disconcerting noise will stop the minute you reach them. It happens in Vietnam as well but there is something quite menacing about these little kids dressed in black and taught so young to present a pitiable aspect.
One day while crossing the bridge, Sally Charles and I met a strange young girl who said something with great authority to Sally. There was no hint of menace or question in her tone, just a touch of 'telling off' in the way that she spoke. She carried on without looking back and we all looked at each other in bemusement.
Fittingly, my train ride from Romania back to Budapest brought me the most memorable character of all these: Tom the banjo‑playing Kiwi and his "I miss mah steak blues". He'd pushbiked from western europe to Istanbul over a period of a couple of months and he was the perfect traveller stereotype with his beard, in need of a cut hair and incessant smile. He regaled us with tales of his travels and then (on request) played us the "I miss mah steak blues" ‑ here's hoping he got his steak in Budapest.
These people represent one of the reasons I was so charmed by Romania; the interesting and unusual variety of people I encountered there, locals and adventurers alike.
Friday, December 5, 2008
acesta este meu journal in romania
// this is my journal in romania (romanian)
When I spoke to Doug about coming to Romania he said that in his mind, it's the epitome of mediaeval Europe. Spot on.
Two centuries collide to bring a surreal clash of time to Romania. The 19th Century meets the 21st, with the only evidence that the past 100 years touched this place being burnt out factories and industrial areas.
Flash new cars swish past rudimentary carts pulled by tired horses. Roads between villages have been bituminised only recently while villages still make do with streets of dirt and many are yet to gain running water. Stunning architecture presents its colours against the backdrop of ramshackle and rotting houses, while the wooden churches in tiny towns hold a place on UNESCO's world heritage list.
The university town of Cluj Napoca was my first stop. Architecturally it's one of the prettiest places I've visited; twin buildings reflect each other across the grand entrance of the "Mirror Street", the blue spires of an Orthodox Church splinter into the sky, a little Taj Mahal look‑alike winks at its yellow, art deco neighbour and everywhere there are colourful facades. In spite of this. without the students (who are on holidays) the town lacks
vibrancy and I moved on fairly quickly to Brasov.
In Brasov the eyes are equally as delighted. A Hollywood ‑style sign lights up the hill above the town each night, while a white tower on the opposite side of town squats over a stream. There is yet another Orthodox church set against a hill and surrounded by old gravestones, the streets are laid thick with inches of snow and ice (very hard to walk on) and the ominous air of Dracula is reflected in the shapes of the rooftops.
Refreshingly, Transylvania
doesn't cash in on the Dracula fame at all. Apart from a few kitschy items found outside Bran Castle, they don't take much notice of him. Even at Bran, where Vlad Tepes (the inspiration for Bram Stoker's Dracula) is said to have lived...well, stayed a night...or perhaps just popped in for tea; there is only one tacky pub and a few t‑shorts. It's quite fun to sit on the coffin seats and drink hot wine after the snowy walk up to the castle. I visited the castle with Jason ‑ a fellow traveller I'd met in Budapest who'd turned up in Brasov as well. It was pretty and interesting, but I imagine the tourist hordes expecting Dracula and not a medieval museum might leave somewhat disappointed.
After Brasov, I made my way to Sighisoara. The original plan was to head from there up to remote Maramures, but a combination of the people, some romance and a lot of laziness kept me in Sigh for a few extra days.
Sighisoara, or more affectionately, Sigh, is one of the many "UNESCO" towns in Romania. Her citadel rises high above the lower town, the house where Dracula (Vlad) was born nestles close to a famous clock tower, and muddy streets are lined with posh restaurants where a meal still costs only a few euros. A river cuts through the town and, once again, a blue‑tipped Orthodox church sits sedately below the citadel, surrounded by gypsies dressed better than the people from whom they beg money (i.e. me).
At Sigh, the hostel was a vortex of timelessness. With a few 'long termers' already ensconced, I was welcomed by the very entertaining Lumi, the delightfully British Charles, the talented artist and fellow Aussie Sally and the undeniably likeable Russ. The five of us spent a week being driven around local villages (thanks Russ), eating, sleeping far too much and drinking more alcohol than I could ever justify to my grandmother.
For a number of reasons ‑ including a certain British boy who is the only person I know who talks betterer than I do ‑ I was sad to leave, but eventually I had to bow to the realities of time and travel and move on to Budapest, followed closely by Vienna.
After only a few days, I had already decided that I will definitely visit again, but next time with a car in summer. The mountains and plains are beautiful and the interspersed man‑made ugliness only adds to the appeal. The future is quickly erasing the past and Romania will soon become just another EU country. Now is the time to go.
When I spoke to Doug about coming to Romania he said that in his mind, it's the epitome of mediaeval Europe. Spot on.
Two centuries collide to bring a surreal clash of time to Romania. The 19th Century meets the 21st, with the only evidence that the past 100 years touched this place being burnt out factories and industrial areas.
Flash new cars swish past rudimentary carts pulled by tired horses. Roads between villages have been bituminised only recently while villages still make do with streets of dirt and many are yet to gain running water. Stunning architecture presents its colours against the backdrop of ramshackle and rotting houses, while the wooden churches in tiny towns hold a place on UNESCO's world heritage list.
The university town of Cluj Napoca was my first stop. Architecturally it's one of the prettiest places I've visited; twin buildings reflect each other across the grand entrance of the "Mirror Street", the blue spires of an Orthodox Church splinter into the sky, a little Taj Mahal look‑alike winks at its yellow, art deco neighbour and everywhere there are colourful facades. In spite of this. without the students (who are on holidays) the town lacks
vibrancy and I moved on fairly quickly to Brasov.
In Brasov the eyes are equally as delighted. A Hollywood ‑style sign lights up the hill above the town each night, while a white tower on the opposite side of town squats over a stream. There is yet another Orthodox church set against a hill and surrounded by old gravestones, the streets are laid thick with inches of snow and ice (very hard to walk on) and the ominous air of Dracula is reflected in the shapes of the rooftops.
Refreshingly, Transylvania
doesn't cash in on the Dracula fame at all. Apart from a few kitschy items found outside Bran Castle, they don't take much notice of him. Even at Bran, where Vlad Tepes (the inspiration for Bram Stoker's Dracula) is said to have lived...well, stayed a night...or perhaps just popped in for tea; there is only one tacky pub and a few t‑shorts. It's quite fun to sit on the coffin seats and drink hot wine after the snowy walk up to the castle. I visited the castle with Jason ‑ a fellow traveller I'd met in Budapest who'd turned up in Brasov as well. It was pretty and interesting, but I imagine the tourist hordes expecting Dracula and not a medieval museum might leave somewhat disappointed.
After Brasov, I made my way to Sighisoara. The original plan was to head from there up to remote Maramures, but a combination of the people, some romance and a lot of laziness kept me in Sigh for a few extra days.
Sighisoara, or more affectionately, Sigh, is one of the many "UNESCO" towns in Romania. Her citadel rises high above the lower town, the house where Dracula (Vlad) was born nestles close to a famous clock tower, and muddy streets are lined with posh restaurants where a meal still costs only a few euros. A river cuts through the town and, once again, a blue‑tipped Orthodox church sits sedately below the citadel, surrounded by gypsies dressed better than the people from whom they beg money (i.e. me).
At Sigh, the hostel was a vortex of timelessness. With a few 'long termers' already ensconced, I was welcomed by the very entertaining Lumi, the delightfully British Charles, the talented artist and fellow Aussie Sally and the undeniably likeable Russ. The five of us spent a week being driven around local villages (thanks Russ), eating, sleeping far too much and drinking more alcohol than I could ever justify to my grandmother.
For a number of reasons ‑ including a certain British boy who is the only person I know who talks betterer than I do ‑ I was sad to leave, but eventually I had to bow to the realities of time and travel and move on to Budapest, followed closely by Vienna.
After only a few days, I had already decided that I will definitely visit again, but next time with a car in summer. The mountains and plains are beautiful and the interspersed man‑made ugliness only adds to the appeal. The future is quickly erasing the past and Romania will soon become just another EU country. Now is the time to go.
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