My Castle, My Home

It's 7.15 as I stumble into the bar at Sihshoarra train station. I am in dire need of a strong coffee. I sit down at a table, and take a look around - there's one middle aged, ragged-looking man slumped on a bar stool slurping from his beer, across from him another equally ragged man with a half-filled shots glass giving one-way conversation. More than coffee shop, this looks like an afters bar with half the energy.

Caffeinized and with breakfast-to-go , I board the 'personale' train for Brasov - there are 4 types of train in Romania from personale (they stop EVERYWHERE) all the way to intercity - I'm in for a slow ride. We leave with 'fire in the disco' blaring out the loudspeakers. I look around my carriage, and can only see middle-aged men dozing in their sleep - wrong music for this morning crowd.

Once in Brasov, I take a bus right back out into the countryside, and head for Rashnov. Rashnov competes with Bran for having the nicest castle/palace in the region. I decide to go to Rashnov castle - my guidebook claims it's more authentic and somewhat less touristy.

A little later, I am trudging in ankle deep snow, on the side of the mountain, heading for the palace on the top. There is not a soul in sight. I am surrounded by tall conifers and pine trees - the incoming rays of sun are melting the snow that has collected on the fir branches, and, every now and then, I hear a big thud as snow comes crashing down. It feels like I'm getting bombed - thud, thud, thud. I take cover under my rucksack and keep heading up.

When I finally make it to the top, I get looks of astonishment from the castle staff

Staff 1: "you come up mountain? "
Staff 2: "many snow, much walking"
Staff 3: "that's veeeery long way. Why you not come with steps from town. Only 5 minutes"

If only I had read my guide book...

In anycase here we are - at Rashnov palace which competes with Bran for one of the most visited tourist attractions. And I am on my own. You read right. All 8 staff of the Rashnov Citadel and myself...My castle, my home! I enjoy it to the max: throw myself in jail for a while, have a go at archery (it was never my thing), flirt with the cafeteria girl, flirt with souvenir shop girl, and
, when my idyllic world is shattered by the all too familiar sound of Spanish at 80 decibels , I make a quick dash for the exit and the steps down to town. It's a treacherous walk - the thud, thud, thud of the snow crashing down on me felt less life threatening.

Brashov is a nice town - again it's the medieval look that does it for me: the coloured guesthouses, the peeling paint on the facades, the cobbled streets, the soft street lighting...the mist which has lingered on for most part of the day adds to the effect.









It's dark by 5, and given the freezing temperatures outside, I decide there's no better plan than find the one place that will solve the entire night ahead. And I find it in the (very Romanian) name of "Cafe De Les Artes": I have a hot cup of tea to bring some warmth into my frozen limbs, eat goulash (not really romanian, but near enough) that will restore my energy levels, wash it down with romanian cabernet sauvignion that makes me merry , and finish the night off with gin-tonics that make my head spin...