Somehow i became stuck in this little ...
Trip Start
Jun 01, 2002
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11
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Trip End
Aug 22, 2002
Sighisoara,
Romania
Saturday, June 29, 2002
The opportunity to meet a pasty-faced man with a cape, fangs and unquenchable desire to nibble my neck? The lure of Romanian countryside? The chance to delve into the murky politics of Romanian orphanages? Or was it just the great vibe of the Elvis Villa Hostel, the premier (only) hostel destination of Sighisoara? All of the above.
Sighisoara has the dubious honour of being the hometown of medieval despot, Vlad Tepes aka Vlad the Impaler and inspiration for Bram Stokers novel. He is best known by his nickname of Draculea (literally son of Vlad Dracule). It seems young Vlad had a passion for impaling his enemies on stakes, particularly the Saxons and Turks. Nothing like the sight of an army of impaled Turk soldiers to repel the next invading army. Useful tactic.
So Sighisoara is obsessed with their local hero and us travellers obsessed with the Dracula attractions. The citadel is the oldest part of town and is built high on a hill overlooking the city. The fifteenth century clocktower gives spectacular views of the forest surrounding the town and the red-roofs that I am always raving about. The architecture is very Dracula-like, with pointy roofs, low doorways and dark oak.
The premier attraction is dining at Dracula's house. His fifteenth century home is now a restaurant with a menu featuring steaks and the aptly titled "Vampire" wine.
1. Sighisoara
Only someone with perverse tastebuds could enjoy that dark-red liquid..... So as much as the non-superstitious might laugh at the Dracula myth, there is something very creepy about wandering these medieval cobbled streets under a full moon. Especially when Romanian dogs appear out of nowhere and Romanian girls are scared to walk past gravestones and creepy buildings.
Even the locals are in on the act, though most celebrate the man rather than the myth. I met a man claiming to be Dracula's grandson. With his black (dyed) hair, squeaky violin, cape and authentic Transylvanian accent, he is a hard act to beat. To his credit he looks pretty good for being about five centuries old. In true Romanian style, he charmed my friend and I, read us his poetry, promised to write a poeam entitled "The beautiful Catherine" (though I didn't inspire him enough to actually write it) and then bummed a cigarette from my mate. Always charmingly polite.
Other than meeting local imposters, I did see some countryside. Hiked into the dark, drak forest where we saw a little old lady and her dog collecting herbs and I scared myself more than anyone with tales of Baba Yaga, the forest witch. Braved Romanian roads and cycled to a small town a few hours away. Past fields of wheat, maize and potatoes. Lots of potatoes. The countryside is timeless. People still till the fields with sickles and scythes. The main motoring danger is the horse and cart. Usually piled high with hay and children.
On one road my friend and I were held up by a little old lady with a pitchfork who, from my dodgy Romanian translation, had four children, lived in a house nearby and was adamant that we were going the wrong way.
2. Turrets and Towers
This took about half an hour of conversation to decipher, but on a lonely country road one doesn't argue with a wizened little lady carrying a pitchfork!Romania's infamous orphan problem.
Few opportunities for westerners to adopt, lots of charity money flowing into the country, and still children sit in dirty nappies for five hours a day. Nathan at the Elvis Villa hostel is involved with the Sigihsoara spitel (children's hospital) and encouraged me to go down there. The first morning was encouraging and disturbing. The sick and HIV positive children locked in their cots and in locked rooms - children who can't walk are obviously judged very dangerous here - was an interesting sight. One girl, proabaly eighteen months old, was very aware that people didn't want to touch her and, unlike most children, didn't reach out to grasp our hands.
I spent a second morning with a kindergarten group who are looked after by five local women. Of these children two are autistic and the rest are "normal" - meaning they crawl around, throw toys at each other and sit in dirty nappies. The one little boy I spent most of my time with, Lazo, is six years old, very cross-eyed and had limited walking ability - very unsteady on his feet. He and I practiced counting to three in Romanian and stacking blocks. This was between bouts of dodging flying blocks, scratching children and unsteady toddling.
My criticism is two fold - Charities send money to these countries and set up programs that are well-intentioned.
3. Local interaction
However, how many actually check that these programs are being utilised to their full potential? Paying five women to sit on their bottoms every morning and cuddle the children is not really making much of a difference. These girls spent one morning teaching the brightest and cutest boy, Moses, to pull faces so that they could laugh at him. Education or rehabilitation? I don't think so.The Sigihsoara program is well intentioned but in practice it seems to be about entertainment for the nurses and giving these children a big pile of toys to play with. Interestingly, all the children played by themself. Very little interaction. Trainee nurses do come by and "walk" the children for ten minutes, but that seems to be the extent of any form of physical exercise.
Second criticism - if charities send toys and books to children then that is wonderful and should be encouraged. It would just be helpful if the books being sent to Romanian children were written in Romanian instead of English.
So, it beat me. Two mornings and I was defeated, disillusioned and realised that short-term volunteering is largely pointless. As much as it was great to have a cuddle, especially the social pariahs of the Gypsy children, my presence was pointless, though eye-opening. It was the lack of action by the kindergarten girls that infuriated me. How can anyone do a job that involves watching children throw things at each other and cuddling some of them for five hours a day? Anyway, off the soapbox again.
On a brighter note, the hostel crew survived the infamous Elvis Villa punch party (think dangerously fluro-pink liquid and drunk Romanian lads) and found a television to watch the World Cup game.
Thanks to the Australian male contingent, two local boys will now be accosting tourists for money with the line of "G'day mate!" Don't know that they will be increasing their income with that one....
Romania is brilliant. The people so friendly. Don't believe the scare-mongers about Gypsy thieves as it is not as bad as it is made out to be.
