September 2022.
A tale of two monsters.
Before the internet, TV had it’s own classified ads channel called “Ceefax”. An early teletext service, popular for checking football results, headlines and weather reports, it turned out to be a great place to find a cheap, last minute getaway. Even 30 years ago, a two week, all inclusive deal for £200 was a bargain. Little did I know, this was not going to be a holiday quite like any other. And it is a story that MUST be told!
That’s where I first came across a bargain opportunity to holiday in Romania that seemed too good to miss. The price offered two weeks full board, hotel with a coach tour thrown in, for less than anything else on there. So, I jumped on the phone and within a few weeks, found myself crammed a very old Boeing737 operated by the national airline, Tarom airlines, white knuckled, gripping the seat and praying to the gods of air travel that it was safer than it appeared. How the fuselage didn’t fall apart upon landing, unless the passengers falling to pieces, was as much as a comrade was permitted…we can’t be sure. I know my seatbelt remained firmly done up from embarking to shoving your way to the exit and down the stairs the quickest way possible. I don’t usually have issues with flying, being safer than road travel. TAROM is still in business, although they do appear to have updated their fleet.
Tarom airlines. First and biggest in the country. 98% owned by the Romanian people.It was early 1990. Whether it was the impulsiveness of youth, willful ignorance or some bizarre thought lapse phenomenon that occurs when we think we’ve been lucky enough to grab the cut price holiday of a lifetime, we’ll never know for sure. The fact that this was a country that had a few months ago, overthrown one of the world’s most notoriously villainous dictators, in a bloody revolution was something I had no idea of. These days, I would probably be far too uncertain to venture to another country without knowing the first thing about it. Obviously, I’m still here to tell the tale, so “fortune favours the bold" and all that.
Weather reports I had checked as one of the few requirements from my choice, had prepared me for a Mediterranean climate. Arriving at our accommodation, a quite polished, if slightly dated hotel, I was not . It’s worth mentioning that at this time, the “Intercontinental” with about 18–20 floors, stood out not by its size, but by being the only hotel in the resort. Unless there were any smaller hostels, that like so many things, were closed indefinitely. Although there was a noticeable emptiness everywhere you went, I just put it down to my luck. Changing £50 into Romanian “lei", we had been told in no uncertain terms, not to do business with the steady trickle of black market money changers or the much maligned and mistrusted gypsies that were quickly, physically ejected from the hotel. Every hotel had at least one security guard at the door 24/7. A second consideration when acquiring currency was the inability to return it to the exchange, but the huge mountain of notes I was presented with necessitated buying a bag from the sparsely stocked souvenir shop to put it in. The hotel was on a wide, very quiet, empty street, facing the Black Sea. Something prevented me from venturing onto the sand itself as I normally would. Like an empty dancefloor, I guess nobody wants to be the only nutter out there.
On January 5th 1990, a telex from intercontinental hotels board congratulated employees who had remained at their posts throughout the dramatics events.I quickly discovered that spending that bagful of money might be harder than I expected, being as the few businesses there were had empty shelves and at roughly 12p for a large glass of European lager, it was becoming clear that I’d stumbled into a very different world than the one I was used to. We were repeatedly warned to beware of pickpockets, petty thieves and of course, the everpresent suspicion of the “gypsy" threat. Further along the street, trams would be full of people coming and going from seemingly nowhere. 80% of buildings were closed. Not derelict. There was clearly still the full quota of expected furnishings inside, but lights were out, doors locked, shutters down and nobody was home.
By September 2003, 1 Euro was exchanged for more than 40,000 lei.Thinking about it, there weren’t actually any houses to be found for as far as my feet would take me. Meals in the hotel restaurant were meagre and some of the other British tourists would complain about the tastelessness, but there’s always a complainer wherever you go. I’d never been fussy when it comes to food and we grew up with the idea that you ate what you were given and you were grateful for it, typical of people just trying to make sure their kids never had to go hungry.
But the little experience we had of hunger was immeasurable when faced with the desperation that can drive a parent to sever their own child’s limb, to guarantee financial security for their future. In a society where a beggar would merit an income equal to that of a surgeon, such an incomprehensible decision looking into the eyes of a child, can be compared to providing a university education, in terms of the parental ability to equip them with necessary tools for future success. To add to the fearful remnants of the ordeal these people had endured, survivors of polio littered the roadside. A horror most of my generation will never witness, was forever seared into my memories. A nightmare so many times recently, I wished I could convey to the “vaccine hesitant”.
The standard of living for Romanian orphans remains problematic to this day.
In the opposite corner, monster mk 2, still fresh in the grave and in the minds of his victims, dictator and criminal, President Nicolae Ceaușescu. With wife Elena, he enjoyed lavish excess, while imposing controlling laws and severe austerity during 24 years of efforts to force the country into the position of a world power. First by a population explosion (resulting in the tragedies that unfolded in the many state orphanages). He completely banned abortion and any mother bearing 10 children for their country, was awarded the title of “heroic mother". Visiting China and North Korea, he fashioned himself upon Mao Zedong and Kim Il Sung.
Enforcement of political propaganda and hardline measures saw him take complete control over the country. Playing the role he became famous for, using the “cult of personality” to create allies from many Western powers, whilst rigid suppression of any “dissidents” and deployment of “Securitate" (state police tasked with imposing terror) concealed the heavy price paid by the Romanian people. His next plan was to fashion the nation as Europe’s number one oil refiner; another vast sum was borrowed from a number of Western banks, sinking them deeper into debt, requiring further austerity upon his subjects. Repayment of foreign debt became the dominant policy at the expense of all else. Restrictions included use of energy so that industry would have sufficient, basic foodstuffs and centralised heating. Beginning in 1981, the extreme austerity imposed upon its population enabled Ceaușescu to repay a national debt amounting to US $11,000,000,000. A feat unmatched by any nation. Not without consequences is such a task achieved.
Protesters of all ethnicities United with a disenchanted military. All for a new Romania.By 1987, workers began to mobilise, strike and participate in demonstrations. Many were arrested, tortured and imprisoned. The ethnic Romani people, went officially unrecognised and unrepresented. The resulting deeply ingrained suspicion and hatred was evident to newly welcomed visitors in the 1990s and continues to this day.
In a time before digital communication, word travelled quickly and soon, the notion of solidarity amongst the people had spread. Few had not experienced the hardships first hand; the fear dissipated and once enemies; ethnic groups military and even troops loyal to the dictator himself, joined forces to expel the oppressors. Many fell during that uprising not only marking an end to the iron fisted reign of Ceaușescu and wife Elena, but also an end to the 42 year long communist rule in Romania.
The cult of personality. Ceaușescu roars at his nation. A classic display of propaganda.
One of the restorative measures established following the uprising, entailed the sale of the dictator’s many flamboyant and grotesque (given the poverty of the nationals) luxury extravagances. Surprisingly, this would not prove to be quite as easy as it at first appeared.
This we travelled into a historical scene reminiscent of a bygone era, powered by horses, devoid of people, devoid of life. Whoever was responsible for opening the country up to visitors, wasn’t about to skimp on what was made available. Cernica monastery, situated on an island just outside Bucharest is a palace of exceptional grandeur by anyone’s standards. One of those incredible monuments, with ceilings higher than you can imagine, full length velvet curtains at every window, bedrooms each half the size of a “5 a side" football field, deep shag carpets and a serene location that exudes exclusivity. There still remained those that complained about the simple meals. Personally, I had no doubt we received the very best of what was available and whether it was to my taste or not, to return it untouched to the kitchen felt a disrespect too far.
One evening in the capital was all we could fit into the busy schedule. On the advice of our protectorate, along with a few others, I ventured into the city. A taxi dropped us in Revolution square, where the people had, despite the ever threatening military forces, united with such visceral opposition that even the soldiers had turned and switched allegiances, with the leader’s commanders, detaching themselves from the obviously guilty party.
The square was quiet by the standards we’re accustomed to, but tables and chairs circled the area. We were quickly invited to join some local people enjoying the novelty of leisure time, drinking rosé martinis and smoking cheap, strong local cigarettes. They were eager to describe the drama that had unfolded there, pointing out bullet holes and blood stains. Gradually it became apparent that the exuberance with which they retold the incident that turned 24 years of fearsome control, on it’s head, leaving them buoyant, filled with a taste of the power they had been denied for so long.
We were being entrusted with a very treasured and fragile piece of history. In a world where the slightest opposition to the regime, was routinely covered up and swept under the rug, this was of crucial importance to the world we had ventured into. But the victims of Ceaușescu’s rein would write their victorious tale, on the tongues of the foreigners for safe keeping. An honour that compels me to share their triumph. Their sincere welcoming warmth and the amenability with which conversation flowed, was suggestive of a voice muffled for far too long. Martini Rosso with lemonade and a squirt of lemon juice, will forever transport me back to Revolution square in 1990.
Returning to the sumptuous splendor of Cernica, the vastness of our quarters combined with the eternal feeling of emptiness, gave rise to a persistent atmosphere, reminiscent of a classic ghost story. There was an enduring expectation that door handles would screech, as they independently turned and a long forgotten novice or even a resplendent relic of the 19th century monarchs, paced the hallways, just out of sight.
The next day, we had the chance to browse some shops. A feature that seems common when the administration needs the population to forget their empty plates, it’s common to find outlets with nothing on the shelves other than a plentiful supply of locally produced, overproof hooch. In this case, the favoured appeaser is a clear plum brandy called Țuică [tsuica], said to be about 65% vol although largely home made at the time, it was the one product in plentiful supply, arranged in rows at every store and cafe. At about 10p for a generous tumbler full, poured freehand, it was a routine accompaniment at the breakfast table and each ensuing occasion. I’m game for sampling all local specialities, but this was one tipple that required genuine determination, to win a place besides one’s toast and unidentifiable, spiced sausages.
However, British tourists the world over, never fail to provide a shining example of Blighty’s affinity with the bottle. Travelling with us on our journey to the Transylvanian mountains, the international liaison for alcoholic kinship, flying the tipsy union jack and holding his own in the ruddy faced endurance swaying event, we had John. We were all called to readiness at a point in time that was far from rigid, climbing aboard the waiting chariot to match a busy agenda. There would not be a single occasion a search was not deployed, only to find John having breakfast (minus the food) with a group of highly entertained senior gentlemen. Clambering onboard, he would mumble a red faced apology to the group, falling into the nearest vacant seat where he proceeded to snore loudly.
Luckily, our visit must have coincided with market day. This seemed to be the venue where local farmers with the means of bringing wares to the city, could get the best prices for their offerings. It was the most food I had seen, or would see during my time in Romania. I decided to try and buy some cheese (I am rather partial to a cheesy treat), but somehow ended up buying the entire wheel. Being as an unmistakable spookiness had become apparent, I invested in some beautifully plaited strings of garlic too.
Beside all the emporiums, devoted solely to the ranks of plum brandy bottles lined up on military parade, there was one exception we were all encouraged to admire. A so-called “department store”. No doubt the result of a concerted effort to revive the entire retail industry, leading by example. A selection of very odd items were available for our delectation. Some seemed to have a thick coating of dust and you could envisage, had been unearthed from some long forgotten storeroom. Then there were an array of handmade toys and crafts alongside a bucket of umbrellas, a few vinyl LPs and an eerie lack of staff. Like everything else, it was conspicuous by what was not quite right.
In 1976 Romanian gymnast, aged just 14, Nadia Comaneci became a household name, scoring the first perfect 10 at the Montreal Olympics. A feat so unexpected that the scoreboard was actually incapable of displaying it and a score of 1:00 had to make do. Four years later in Moscow, she would take home two more gold medals, with each one achieving the same mark of perfection. At 8 years old, she was probably my hero, although I would wonder why such a champion always appeared so sullen. Now we know.
As the 1980s rolled by, her sporting career began to wind down and she became a target of the Securitate. A matter magnified by the defection To the West, of her coach, Bela Karolyi. The secret police gathered information and created files, based on the 90 informants, relating every detail of her life to them. She claims to have increasingly felt like a prisoner. In her memoirs, she writes, “Life took on a new bleakness. I was cut off from making the small amount of extra money that had really made a difference in my family’s life. It was also insulting that a normal person in Romania had the chance to travel, whereas I could not…. when my gymnastics career was over.”
Securitate files have recently been opened so that those who wish to, can read the information held about them. It's often an uncomfortable read, learning about the loved ones forced to spy on them.
A special department of Securitate, dedicated to domestic espionage in sports, health, justice and education. This was led by an officer named Marian Ureche controlling a network of officers who in turn recruited informants to spy on targets. It’s said that Nadia, and other gymnasts, were beaten and called names by the coaches. She would run away, only to be caught and returned to her abuser by ever present the secret police.
The Securitate’s “sports file” is a document consisting of 36 volumes. Remarkably, Nadia doesn’t have a separate file pertaining just to her. For a while, she was romantically involved with Nicu Ceausescu (son of Elena and Nicolae), a name which CANNOT appear within a Securitate file.
Late one night in November 1989, she Was part of a group that defected over the border to Hungary, led by a shepherd and then by foot to Austria. She later travelled to the United States where she married a male gymnast, Bart Connor and became a fully fledged American citizen. They have a son and run a gymnastics business.
Here’s a bit of 1980S Romanian communist propaganda TV. It’s a series called “Comrade detective” and has been dubbed for your viewing pleasure.
Nadia: Book details abuse of legendary gymnast and her daring escape from Romania
A taste of Romanian TV propaganda.. digitally remastered and dubbed for your viewing pleasure.
Petrol queues snaked for miles. Miles of Dacia's.
This was the place where the Dacia ruled the roads. But fuel shortages dictated the “rule" (it was never described as a law), permitting drivers with a number plate ending in an odd number, to drive on its assigned days of the week. Which alternated with the days allotted to those with a number plate ending in an even number. I seem to recall Sundays were shared. Fuel stations could be identified by the mile long queues of Dacias snaking along the street approaching it. Dacia, with Renault providing the requisite parts, produced a succession of models throughout the 1960s, to the present day. I can personally attest that they’re actually more spacious, comfortable and reliable than they might seem. The “LS" model released in 1973 (Anacromym for Super Luxury) was exclusively for members of the communist party leadership. As if that wasn’t glaring enough, they only came in black. The Dacia Duster is a really popular and value for money choice for the modern British motorist. The one industrial success to survive the impact of the severe financial disruption.
For those of you too young to recall the excitement of Christmas 1989 or like me, you just miss such historic moments, this was truly a fracas worthy of the big screen. On 21st December, Ceaușescu had gathered a immense crowd to make a public address (damning the previous protests in Timișoara, as unacceptable criminal behaviour)in University square (as it was then known).
The simmering discontent that erupted across the country as a nation finally reached boiling point, resulted in the subjugation of those who dared speak out, by means of “Securitate” henchmen shooting, arresting or otherwise manhandling them. Death sentences were even imposed, to make examples of anyone who might get ideas. This large congregation was in the direct line of fire when military personnel, with a whole array of firearms... even tanks and amphibious armoured personnel carriers, opened fire. The number of lives lost that day,will never be known for certain, but each bullet hole and blood stain is etched in the minds of attendees.
But after 24 years and no sign of any improvements, facing years of imprisonment for crimes such as eating too much, using a bright light bulb or having a home warmer than 16° in the midwinter, enough was enough. When he began to speak, he was met with chants like “down with the dictator” and “death to the criminal”. They continued to heckle him and eventually he and his wife were forced to shelter in the government building. The image was broadcast live around the globe. People in every nation, finally free from media blackouts, watched as the president’s stunned expression said it all…this was a historic event… the exact moment he realized his 24 year rein of terror was over and the next one to die would be him.
Ceaușescu realised in that moment, 24 years of power was lost.The crowd descended into disorder, despite the sheer overwhelming force they were facing, which inevitably, cleared the street, causing severe injuries and even death as forces opened fire upon the unarmed citizens.
But by the following morning, the entire country had joined in the revolt. News spread of the suspicion death of the minister for defence, hearing of which, the entire military switched sides, rank and file. The commanders wrote off Ceaușescu as a lost cause, which left the leader and his wife alone and in a mighty tight spot. The couple managed to reach the roof and escape in a helicopter, with an angry mob hot on his heels. What ensued was (with hindsight) a comical chase, revealing the sustained trickery by everyone Ceaușescu tried to recruit, in aid of their getaway. Evidence, if ever it was needed of just how universally hated they were. Finally fooled into believing they could hide in a disused educational facility, within hours they were arrested and transferred back to the judicial buildings in the capital. Brought before a makeshift and court.
The couple’s ad-hoc trial lasted no longer than two hours, during which Ceaușescu tried to accuse some of those sitting in judgement of being “traitors”. Found guilty of genocide and crimes against humanity, they were immediately taken before a firing squad. Images of the unfolding drama were broadcast on TV sets worldwide. The very moment of the pair’s execution was omitted (only because of an error by the camera operator).
It was later explained out that the process (essentially a "kangaroo court") was the only option. Otherwise, they would have been lynched in the street by the mob. In the ensuing days international support and assistance in the form of food, medicine, clothing and other material aid flooded in, much of it from the very leaders who had stood by his side and shaken hands for photo opportunities.
It was soon revealed that the Ceaușescu’s claims of academic prowess and wisdom were complete fiction. Ceaușescu himself had been a poor student, who’s rise to power had come from nothing more than being imprisoned alongside people who were to become influential. In fact, his main reason for such confinement had been a murder, having shot a neighbor over a petty dispute.
His wife, Elena, who alongside her husband, rose to a position of significant power within the regime, completely fabricated her doctorate in science. Blundering her way through interactions with visiting dignitaries, by formulating regulations dictating the permitted methods of communication, essentially handing her the words to say in a manner which would appear, if only to her, that she had invoked them herself. These two uneducated peasants had come from nothing to dominate the entire nation for more than two decades.
Thus we left the majesty of Bucharest, with its imposing communist urban planning and wide avenues. An impressive , yet bitter reminder of the misuse of the county’s meagre finances, which had no effect on those at the top and the priority of presenting a desired facade to the world.
Ceaușescu's "House of the People"
First stop is the rural island monastery and chosen “getaway" palace location for murderous despots, Snagov. Ceaușescu fled the angry crowds here by helicopter. Our coach was probably far more comfortable, relaxed and less likely to transport us to imminent death. The village is built around lake Snagov, which is the biggest natural lake in Romania. Ceaușescu kept his luxury private yacht on the lake and made use of Snagov palace for his, his wife’s and associates personal use. I was among the lucky few, permitted to enjoy the use of the presidential yacht. Before, along with the vast horde of sumptuous splendor amassed by the dictator, it would be auctioned in lieu of restitution. I can reveal that I perched my rear upon the presidential toilet. That surely isn’t something many people can lay claim to.
Another opportunity for keen birders, or if you just enjoy a steady boat trip, gliding through an area of wetlands, known as the last wild place of Europe. Small vessels slowly transport you through scenery, straight out of an Attenborough nature documentary. 360 species of birds, 135 species of fish, 54 species of mammals (excluding those in the boat), 2,400 species of insect (yes, I’m scratching too), 11 species of reptiles and 10 of amphibians are going about fighting, flying, splashing and pretending to be a water lily, with no human interference. Indeed, should you fancy setting up a hide or casting out from dry land, be sure to book with someone who knows the right spots. I would be rather nervous, being as what often appears to be solid ground, turns out to be anything but. It’s the scene of some marvellous sunsets, with many perfectly flat miles to the horizon, unimpeded by any manmade obstacles.
Prices vary according to your choice of boat, preferred tour (each priorities a certain activity suited to the biodiversity), any special skills required of your guide, the equipment included for your use and meals/beverages included. No doubt, this is a truly unique area and in its entirety, is protected as a World Heritage site. Pelicans, egrets, ibis, herons, owls, Wild dogs, cats, horses, otters and vipers are among the inhabitants of this hotbed of activity. The landscape emerged from a natural change in 400BCE, as a result of the level of the surrounding Black Sea, rising. It is constantly evolving and ownership is split between Romania and Ukraine.
Again, the totalitarian regime took what should not have been taking from this area. Reed was harvested and large scale agriculture, was planned here, leaving 1/3 of the surface affected by crop cultivation, forest plantation and overfishing due to lack of protective restrictions. There truly was no corner of this country, that the bobble head’s superiority complex, couldn’t do profound and enduring harm.
The perk of having use of a boat on lake Snagov is the ease with which one can reach the island which is home to Snagov monastery. This place gives you the chance to touch base with both of the nation’s biggest butchers of men. Beneath the altar within the heart of the monastery, lies the remains of Vlad Tepes, the living inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Well…his head is, or perhaps it’s the rest of him, minus the head…there’s some confusion. But until somebody proves otherwise, this is the narrative they’re sticking with. Despite his gruesome reputation for the brutal torture and execution of his countless enemies, laid out in some of the earliest records made by eye witnesses, created a historical character regarded by many as a national hero. Described as a “demented psychopath, a sadist, a gruesome murderer, a masochist”, it’s asserted that were he put on trial at Nuremberg, he would be convicted of crimes against humanity.
Yet there is a school of thought that maintains such violence and despicable acts of cruelty, were necessary to maintain order in Wallachia. It might be difficult to justify torture, disemboweling, dismemberment and murder in any way. But such accounts, given that the motive is terrorism, must be taken with a pinch of salt. You can’t help but wonder if there isn’t some kind of twisted magnetism to a lake that attracts the two historical figures with the most blood on their hands. Ceaușescu, even as the people were chasing him with their own murderous intentions. Vlad Tepes, who chose this location to rest for eternity. That’s a very similar pattern of behaviour from two individuals who would, faced with a trial like those afforded the Nazis, most likely end up dangling from a rope, side by side.
It’s not easy to track down information about ostentatious riches such as those garnered by the Ceaușescu family and what became of them. Bureaucrat, Aurel Vlaicu who was charged with the task of selling the spoils of a tyrant, tells how only 2,000 of the 8,000 lots haven’t sold. “The problem is he did not have taste, he had the taste of a Romanian peasant”. I think that’s a bit of a harsh judgement upon the Romanian peasants that are tasked with unearthing the remains of fellow countrymen..murdered by the securitate.
From here we make the trek up to the deep black forest area of the Transylvanian mountains. But this is a place with a different castle looming round every corner. If history is your bag, this is where you need to be.
First stop (it’s necessary to pick and choose, unless you have a month to check out every sight along the way)was Poenari fortress. This was the citadel of Vlad Tepes. It appears that it’s gained some kind of additional tourist trappings by way of poles with impaled, oversized rag dolls on. I can’t speak for the possible development of the most popular attractions. From my perspective, the beauty was its unspoiled character. These strongholds have ample impact and are wonderful illustrations of the bloody histories associated with each one. But you can hardly blame a nation with such a rich connection, to one of the best loved creatures of the night for making the best with what they have. Literally rooted in their history exists the makings of a reality show beyond compare. One thing we were warned of in advance at this location is it’s one for the relatively fit and mobile. There’s 1,480 steps to climb, which demands additional caution in anything less than ideal weather conditions. It’s still easier than climbing any of the other approaches. These places were never intended for easy access.
With 1,480 steps, Vlad's impenetrable Poenari Citadel is an attraction for the fit and healthy.
Some tours suggest these sights maybe day excursions from Bucharest. We spent 5 days travelling in order to spend time at each location and spent each night, in one of the beautiful towns and villages that offer traditional style accomodation. A truly immersive experience. If you’re spending time travelling through the countryside, which is in itself, breathtaking, at the time of my visit, outside of the places we stopped overnight, I don’t recall seeing a single shop or restaurant. So be prepared.
Also, if you use a public toilet…they are VERY randomly positioned but well maintained by the attendant, make sure to tip for service. This is their entire income and they’re, rightly, proud of the facility they maintain immaculately.
Our first stopover is in the 12th century walled citadel of Sibiu. There’s some fine museums if you have the time and inclination to take a look. The Gothic architecture features 39 towers. Everything is beautifully maintained and the streets are spotless. It’s so easy to feel you have stepped outside of time itself. This was a great place to stay. At the doorstep of Transylvania’s Carpathian mountains. I was feeling reassured by the strings of garlic I was lugging around. I am now tipping heavily with my enormous cheese purchase. I mean, I REALLY like cheese, but even I can’t eat an entire wheel in two weeks.
Good old John put in his time building international relations, speaking the universal language of unintelligible drunkenness. I guess some people just can’t help making friends wherever they go.
We were then headed for a location only now available to the independent traveller. When we were told of our destination, I recalled hearing about this in British news, although my understanding of the situation was vague to say the least. This would be something you truly carry with you and consider yourself very fortunate for having more choices than the population of Copsa Mica, Europe’s most polluted town. The industrial objectives of the two big factories had led to the announcement describing how “the people had all turned black". I’m of an age still familiar with miners “tattoos”. Areas where coal residue has permeated the skin by one means or another, leaving a mark akin to a tattoo and equally as permeant.
They’d clearly been primed for our visit. As we arrived a line of adults and children formed for our inspection. Not wanting to cause them to feel like a zoo exhibit, but bearing in mind, they would be getting paid for the show and how very much they deserved the dignity of earning a living, everyone quickly dug in their bags and pockets, producing pens for the kids and cigarettes, packs of wet wipes, tissues, batteries, and scrunched up notes, passed while shaking hands so as not to appear demeaning. Their skin was blackened, as were their clothes, hair and everything else. It wasn’t clear what difference a nice hot nath might make, but I can absolutely appreciate the futility in such conditions.
I recently learned that the area has been cleaned up and both factories are closing. The people have mixed feelings about all this. Understandable given that their status, having around 40% poverty and nearly 12% being from the ethnic Roma community, so vulnerable to the worst society can throw at their fellow man, the security that came with the contamination, was something. I’m in touch with some people who are trying to support them in a positive transition. As a friend of the gypsy/Romany travellers liaison, the hate, accusations, prejudice and even legal persecution this community faces daily is shameful. Simply because they want to maintain a living, respectful connection with their heritage. It’s always those who are at greatest risk who are least heard.
We stopped into an educational, industrial and medical intersection... the city of Târgu Mure. Officially bilingual, but often trilingual, the population consists of Romanian, Hungarian and German residents. Home to an impressive array of important pantheons, monuments, structures and sanctuaries, a fortified monastery now encompasses the Romanian orthodox 46.74%, Reformed church 30.06%, Eastern Catholic 2.60% and Unitarian 2.58% religions. During WWII nazi occupation of Hungary, a Jewish ghetto emerged to accommodate refugees resulting in the erection of the Great Synagogue in 1899. In 1707, the city was struck by the plague, killing more than 3,500 people. This was followed by an outbreak of the Black Death in 1709, lasting for a decade and reappearing in 1738 for just a single year. 1745 saw the city become home to the supreme court of justice for the principality of Transylvania. Following WWII the communist administration of Romania commenced their policy for massive industrialisation which totally reshaped the community. The prime minister visited and decided the position, in which to build the fertilizer production plant and additional, residential quarters for its employees.
1913 heralded the building of the Hungarian art-nouveau style city hall complex and Palace of Culture concert hall, home to the Târgu Mureș state philharmonic orchestra. cross the city sits the national theatre. Two companies perform regularly, one uses the Hungarian language, the other Romanian.
The fertilizer production plant continued to operate under the communist principles which, due to the number of employees living in the city, influenced the community every bit as much as on the factory floor. Party directives replaced Hungarian workers with Romanians. After an entire graduating class of Romanians, from a technical school were taken on, the company’s request for two Hungarian scientists was refused. The plant is owned and run by Azomureș, the largest Romanian producer of fertilizer. The company was brought in 2002 by Turkey’s biggest fertilizer producer Transworld Fertilizers. Swiss company Ameropa acquired the business in 2011.
Târgu Mureș has a long and proud standing within the history of photography. In 1981, the factory was adapted and enlarged to accommodate the processing of photosensitive materials to produce photographic films, paper and imaging products for the medical community. However, digital photography means the production of items used with a camera, is no longer financially viable. Hobbyists would process their images themselves in a dark room. State owned medical operators proved to be notoriously bad customers, either late with payment or not paying at all. They plan to turn that area into a museum of photography, in keeping with the city’s prominence on the world of photography.
There are more than 8,500 private companies and several state owned ones too, within the fortress walls.
The city is home to a curious piece of artistic architecture designed by Hungarian gadgeteer and mechanical engineer, Péter Boden. One of the earliest known musical fountains.
Other industrial concerns that have thrived here include pharmaceuticals, wood, textiles and food, namely Bread production (Mopan) and dairy products. A feature of the area that has helped bolster industry is it’s prime location, in the very centre of Transylvania and the great road network to and from the city. Târgu Mures boasts Transylvania’s international airport, serving the nation’s winter sports resorts, has a frequent, modern bus service and a city street plan that’s almost perfect, in symmetry and order. Three railway stations operate domestic and international services while the new A3 motorway will have an exit here. It’s counterpart, the East-West motorway, (intended to traverse the nation horizontally) will intersect nearby.
There’s a whole host of schools, polytechnics and universities which, like all the public buildings in Romania, are magnificent in stature and design. In fact I spent today looking at The university of Timisoara, it’s course availability, the requirements for a foreign student to study there, immigration law and costs.The university and facilities for medical services, are all national concerns. What a fantastic potential there must be, for the development of a rich and varied, practical understanding of the subject. Furthermore, it’s the cheapest method of getting a degree there is now. Plus a chance to live in my favourite destination, pick up another language and meet some interesting people.
Our next overnight stay was in the tiny town of Sebes. The amazing clean streets of these places is one of the things, I wish I could bring back to show to my neighbourhood. There are no receptacles in the street but it’s common to see business owners and residents alike, with a broom sweeping up every last speck of dust outside their property. Houses are freshly painted. People take pride in not living in amongst their waste. It’s behaviour you might expect from a community, familiar with the value of such matters in attracting tourism, based upon a history that feels alive due to the lack of modernity. When you consider how little they had in life at this time, but the appreciation of what was theirs is profound.
I do hope this cheesy tips are sending the intended message and it’s not some major cultural faux Pas. That would be just my luck, to find the only place on the planet, that uses gifts of cheese to trade insults.
If there was only a single café serving plum brandy breakfasts in town, at least the assigned John location party, knew best where to find him. I often wonder what the regulars thought, especially when he was dragged from their company so wheels could roll.
Next stop is a favourite which from what I can see, has been developed with the whole Dracula theme eventually availed of for profit. But remarkably, a a degree of restraint is exhibited, and although not as naive as it had been, it’s not ruined as it could have been so very easily.
This is the site upon which stands the birthplace and childhood home of Vlad Tepes. Back then it was little more than that exact same abode, offering set meals for prearranged visitors in the front room. We ate muddy carp from ceramic plates adorned with the Tepes family sigil- a red dragon reared up on its hind legs. In fact everything had this insignia. Unsurprisingly, there was no way to buy any kind of souvenir bearing this simple and unique mark. So my response was to pocket an ashtray, replacing it with a good wedge of notes. This was later the subject of a debate, split as to whether I would be forever persecuted, by the wronged spirit of one of history’s greatest warriors and butchers of men.
I’ve never seen anything adorned with the sigil in that way and considered both parties had done well from the deal. Perhaps my action in part, led to the expansion of the attraction as it stands today. I believe the entire floor is now turned over to the restaurant diners, whilst the remainder of the property operates as some kind of museum.
When Ceaușescu was trying to win favour with western nations during the 1970s, he recognised the potential in ascribing the homeland of Vlad Tepes, partly the basis of Stoker’s fictional creation, to this particular edifice. With its favourable location and ideal style, the plan was to market it to the west as the real castle Dracula. Many cinematic productions have solidified the belief. A hilarious phenomenon that you might notice amid tourist materials from Romania, is equally disturbing. While scrolling through images from various places of interest, the Romanian signature is evident. Slipping an image of young dark haired, pale skinned, classic Romanian beauty amongst all the innocuous attractions, illustrates their idea of what best appeals to the westerners. A Google search for “Romanian mail order brides” will yield an identical stereotypical persona. I shall say only this... Andrew Tate.
A few years ago, it was rumoured across numerous international news journals, that Bran castle was being sold with an asking price of £47 million. A statement was issued, declaring that the information was indeed nothing more than a rumour.
The next choice of location for an overnight stay, is the city of Timișoara. This ensemble of architectural styles was once a Serbian capital, a regional capital and the scene of one of the revolutionary activities, that marked the turning in the tide of power, back into the hands of the Romanian people. This was the scene of the incident that brought together the many ethnicities which made up modern Romania-the Romania ready for change.
Alongside an intricate, but perfectly preserved historical facade, hides a modern metropolis that boasts six universities, is a key provider of medical services, aswell as being a powerful IT hub. In 2013, Timișoara had the fastest download speed in the world.
Every day I am chomping sandwiches, with as much cheese on them as I can stomach. But it’s like the miracle of the loaf and five fishes, the cheese made to feed a nation. Tipping generously and leaving a slightly smelly trail of confusion in my wake. Hey! If someone tipped me, with a yummy surprise, it would be inside my tummy by sunset. Eat it or leave it for others to consume, this may be a magic cheese as it didn’t appear to be getting any smaller.
First being affiliated with Hungary, then Austria, Serbia and finally Romania, records date back to 1212. With a layout consisting of five unfinished concentric circles, it’s an architecturally fascinating symphony that will puzzle the finest of scholars.
The Austrian influences are plain to see from the manicured gardens and parks, to the wide, spotless pedestrianised promenades amid brightly painted town houses. Giving credence to the nickname “little Vienna". It’s the perfect place to stay for a while to investigate at your leisure. Accomodation has varied in style and status, but had always been clean, comfortable, with the expected amenities. It’s not somewhere one visits to sit in the hotel room anyway. It’s a fascinating country of a unique historical significance and beauty.
Moving an apartment block in communist Romania
Timișoara is everything Bucharest should have been had the communist blueprint for urban planning not prevailed, fashioning it into a copy of Berlin, Moscow and Zagreb. Common features of the style are evident in China and North Korea too. Bucharest has retained its emphasis on the gallic influence. Impressive and functional for a dense population, but Timișoara will always be more appealing. With its polished, wide, clean streets safe places for children and pedestrians, there's no contest. I only hope that time has not permitted humans and their dependence on cars, to sully the jewel of Transylvania. This is one of the places I would most like to live out my days. The climate suits me and it seems very progressive and eternally proud of all it has managed to retain.
Home to 21 different ethnicities and 18 different religions, this is one of the most beautiful cities I’ve seen. Far better than Venice, Verona, Athens, London or Cairo. I remember a considerable effort was put into locating the glowing cheeks of boozy John. It’s a very orderly place, but there were plenty of bottles into which he may have climbed. His ability to pass out and sleep it off, on the road, makes me wonder if he was actually out clinking glasses through the night.
