Dam Beavers

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There were more “lucky” eggs in the morning, before our date with the big city. Brasov is the metropolis of Transylvania, but looked smaller than the 225,000 quoted population. It has had a mixed past. Kronstadt as it was known in German, it became Orasul Stalin for a spell in the 1950’s before the local Communist crew decided they could do without the Russians.

The Huntsman ignored a very attractive gold dome church in the distance as we reached the outskirts of Brasov, before making his 1^st stop at a more Saxon religious venue. The original German church had no striking architectural features of note, but the graves in the yard had plenty of Fritzs and Hermans interned in them. There were some with pictures of the “inhabitants”, one of which bore a striking resemble to that chap who caused a spot of bother round Europe in the late 1930s. In the years of the early 20^th century, nearly 40%!o(MISSING)f the population were of German descent.

The 1^st Romanian church, St Nicholas, was a shade more interesting with a morning service underway. The 1^st Romanian school was in the grounds, dating back to the 1400s. On the theme of firsts, the building held the 1^st Romanian printing press. It turned out a mere 39 books. We were distracted at this point by a spat between the Hunstman and another guide, who was trying to earn himself a big fat tip from his entourage of 2 north Americans. We left for the “Black Church”, the largest evangelical church in southern Europe. We were on a church roll at this point.

The Black Church dated from 1477. We were treated – if that is the right word – to a mini tour with a guide. We learned that the mixed up design and architecture came about with the various extensions being added on, that the ornamental pews and private booths each had the crests on the front depicting their trade e.g. goldsmiths, merchants etc. We also learned that Romanian kids are as noisy as their other European counterparts, so much of what was said was drowned out by the adjacent local school children. There was also a collection of rugs – the largest in Europe – scattered around the Church, which were gifts from the wealthy merchants who had just come back from an away foray into the land of the Turks and wanted to show off their wealth.

We retreated across the road into a cake shop. A typical example of what can still be found in all Germanic cities from the Hanseatic ports in the Baltics to Vienna – lots of calories and nice coffee at prices beyond the average Romanian. After a get your bearings brief from the Hunstman we set off to explore.

An avenue of street cafes lead off from the Main Square, where the aspiring locals came to see and be seen. The bullet holes from the Revolution were still clearly evident down near the administration building at the end of the road. The posters on the billboards advertised Richard Clayderman was playing in town. It appeared he was no longer confined to the box of old vinyl in your local charity shop and is still out there doing his thing. Brasov hosts an international music festival. We climbed to one of the towers near the city walls for a panoramic view. The red roofs glistened in the afternoon sun. A mass of Communist tower blocks rose up at the end of the Old Town. A sign proclaimed “BRASOV” similar to the Hollywood sign from near the summit of Tampere Mountain. Beverley Hills was not visible. A cable car ran to the top.

We descended to walk around the perimeter of the city walls, part of which remain intact. We were obviously in L postcodes at this point, as we came across a car jacked up on bricks with all 4 wheels missing. A number of other dwarfs took the same photo and reached the same conclusion, even though I subsequently learn with horror that Brasov is twinned with dirty Leeds.

We continued round the city wall. A small athletics stadium was next to the wall, with a clay court tennis club and a rather imposing clubhouse that dated from better times. There were some impressive views of the Black Church from under the mountain and the silver domes of the other churches of which there were many glistened in the sun. We paid 5 Lei to enter an old tower turned into a Museum in the wall, before completing the circle and reaching the Old Town again.

The afternoon came to halt, when along with Bashful and Sneezy we discovered Happy and Doc sat in a pavement cafe and that beer could after all be ice cold in Translyvania. Bashful as usual mixed her drinks – a nice cup of tea and a sangria.

We headed to a restaurant, where a cold meat platter was the local speciality. The staff wore “traditional” costume, which is never a good sign. It was perhaps responsible for the slow and muddled service. The beer was cold, but Danish? Very traditional! A complementary offering of home-made pork scratchings arrived. They were very tasty, but not to all the group’s taste. The Hunstman was very keen to enjoy the cold meat platter, so most of us joined in. It was a mix of cold meats and salami, part of which was wild boar and a little tiny bit – bear! Shock, horror. It was apparently the supply created by trophy hunting, which is still active. It was very good, but the sheer amount on the platters encouraged us to take it away as a doggy bag. Very fitting, it transpired to be. A lot of the group ordered, wild boar. I liked it, but Dopey reminded me that it wasn’t half as good as that in Ljublana a few years back, Happy meanwhile got stuck into a plate of testicles!!

After the bears the other day, it was time for beaver. There was much on words in advance of this mission. Beaver – reintroduced into Transylvania – indeed. The said river did not look too promising at first glance and neither did the sky. The black clouds could mean wet beaver watching. I was unsure what to expect. They dam rivers, don’t they? No sign of a dam here and not really many trees either. It seemed that the few sparse willows were just the thing, the dam wasn’t necessary and the beaver was doing just nicely thank you very much..... just as long as the locals don’t find out he could make a fairly decent sausage.

It had been a long day and I closed my eyes en route back – thus missing the mighty venue of FC Brasov. We were back at the Villa in no time, back sadly to warm beer after being spoiled in the big city. The game of choice with the beers tended to be shithead – last played on the back packing circuit of New Zealand in 2002. Happy and Dopey excelled. I was determined to win at least 1 game.

The “big” walk was scheduled for the last full day. A walk into the gorge of the Piatra Craiului National Park and climbing to a shepherd camp under the Kingstone Mountain. They filmed “Cold Mountain” in the gorge with Nicole Kidman. She probably didn’t walk up there! It was peaceful and pretty without being overly spectacular in the gorge. We came across another shepherd camp, before our intended destination. A group of their horses were enjoying themselves feeding on the lush grass. A young foal was in tow – fascinated by of all things a thistle. The accommodation quarters were basically a small hut with a few sheep skins inside to keep warm. Very cosy. The shepherds just head up the mountain in spring and take the livestock back down to the village in autumn. The animals eat. The shepherds occasionally make some cheese and spend the rest of the time drinking. The plastic bottles scattered around are testament to the quantities.

We reached our intended camp. A much more upmarket venue than the last camp. We dined on fresh cheese and the maize meal vegetable. A bottle of schnapps appeared. The star of the show was their young puppy, who was a happy bundle of fun as he investigated his new playmates. The older sheep dogs looked on. We fed them our take out “doggy” bag, which will probably turn out to be their most expensive if not best ever meal. The dogs were very appreciative. Our hosts were to, when Happy didn’t finish the schnapps. We left a supply of chocolate éclairs. They were saved for later. They don’t mix with schnapps.

We descended again back to base – there was a lot of that in the week. The only surprise was that our drinking neighbours were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they’d gone into town for a big night – it was Friday after all! The weather was the best it had been all week, so we sat on the terrace and got our beer heads on. It was BBQ night. The irony was a new beer fridge had been delivered as we were arriving back. We would never get the benefit. Happy and Doc produced some duty free spirits. Cocktails were on the menu for those so inclined. Shithead was also back on the menu. As Happy said in the morning – after the other nights I was just tired, today is officially a hangover. It could be along 3 hours back to the airport.

It was pointed out during this trip ………….. Bucharest is not Romania. We’ve now spent time in Transylvania and can vouch for that. Go to Transylvania now - before it changes and the way of life is lost forever!

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Photos

Shepherd
The "top" man

Top Dog
The puppy stole the show - likes his wild boar at early age

Brasov
Main Square

Brasov
Brasov's Michael Jackson appreciation society

Horseman
............ complete with Lidl bag

Brasov
Bright sunshine - but the weather can be changeable