Part One: Bran Castle and Poenari Citadel
On Saturday, we headed out of Brasov to begin our double adventure of, first, Bran Castle and then Poenari.
Bran Castle is a pretty castle on the top of a hill, surrounded by the beautiful green forest and a large stone walkway...and, as my roommate put it, an entire village of kitsch surrounding the base. But the castle itself is large and white and brown and lovely, and so much more than just 'Castle Dracula.' I have to do more research, but it was a fortress and castle and place of residence for many a Romanian noble, including Queen Marie, who was really cool based on all the plaques we read. It's a nice touristy type of place.
However lovely Bran is as a cute little town, it is indeed a veritable village of tourism and kitschy souvenirs. (Big ol' mugs with a painted Dracula face, fangs extended and forehead scrunched, for example.) We had lunch at a cafe, a couple of us and our field director, and it was a nice relaxing time.
Which is more than I can say for Poenari.
During the three hour bus ride through tiny villages and unpaved roads into the Carpathians, dodging cows as we swung perilously around tight curves, we had a lot of time to chat about the upcoming adventure. It turns out that Poenari, being at a most defensible position at the very tip top of a mountain, has something like 1,480 steps. Yes, you read that right. One thousand four hundred and eighty stairs, just to get to the man who takes my money.
The hike up Poenari was disgusting. I was frustrated and in pain. I was following behind athletes, who may as well have been Transylvanian mountain goats for how they frolicked up the steps to the top. The forest itself is a pretty sight, the concrete stairs rising up through the spread green trees, pointed and thin, like fangs but more beautiful--but other than that, it was quite a miserable time, all told.
Poenari Castle is worth it all.
The view, the power, the history of it all was breathtaking. And that's even after I huffed and puffed and got my breath back. It is at a nigh-impenetrable height, a stone and brick fortress that overlooks the entire valley, the River Arges slithering far below us, roaring and rumbling. The outline of the crumbling fortress is still formidable, skeletal against the silhouette of the mountains.
I stood at the edge of the cliff, staring down into the long drop below, and felt powerful and tiny simultaneously. AJ and I had a conversation about why. For her, it's the longevity of the surroundings, that we are seeing the same rocks and trees that Vlad saw; for me, it's the remains of the castle and the manmade imprint on history. Nature ebbs and flows to its own rhythm; humans create and force themselves onto this landscape, using it to our advantage. Vlad's genius lay in his use of his own resources and the natural ones at his disposal.
I stood where Vlad III stood, staring down at those dark, unfathomable trees. He scans for enemies while I see cars. He strides with worn boots and powerful steps, and directs his soldiers; hold, wait, but do not be merciful, do not miss. I can feel the military strength, the tactical shrewdness, the strictness that spills over into cruelty. It's a truly incredible feeling.
And that's not even to mention the soaring height of the Carpathian Mountains--which is where I shall pick up in Part Two.
The view, the power, the history of it all was breathtaking. And that's even after I huffed and puffed and got my breath back. It is at a nigh-impenetrable height, a stone and brick fortress that overlooks the entire valley, the River Arges slithering far below us, roaring and rumbling. The outline of the crumbling fortress is still formidable, skeletal against the silhouette of the mountains.
I stood at the edge of the cliff, staring down into the long drop below, and felt powerful and tiny simultaneously. AJ and I had a conversation about why. For her, it's the longevity of the surroundings, that we are seeing the same rocks and trees that Vlad saw; for me, it's the remains of the castle and the manmade imprint on history. Nature ebbs and flows to its own rhythm; humans create and force themselves onto this landscape, using it to our advantage. Vlad's genius lay in his use of his own resources and the natural ones at his disposal.
I stood where Vlad III stood, staring down at those dark, unfathomable trees. He scans for enemies while I see cars. He strides with worn boots and powerful steps, and directs his soldiers; hold, wait, but do not be merciful, do not miss. I can feel the military strength, the tactical shrewdness, the strictness that spills over into cruelty. It's a truly incredible feeling.
And that's not even to mention the soaring height of the Carpathian Mountains--which is where I shall pick up in Part Two.
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