BY NATALIE BOWLUS

In print | Published March 6, 2008

Transylvania: not just for transsexual transvestites. That’s not the Romanian government’s official tourist slogan, but I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who thinks it should be.

If the Hungarian government had a slogan for Transylvania, it might be something like “You used to be part of our country — please come back!” I’m joking (sort of) and I could take the joke further, but I won’t because it makes me feel guilty. I’m also willing to bet I’m the only Swarthmore student who thinks irredentism can be funny.

My first banal statement in this column is that Transylvania is really big. Thus, my exploration thereof was limited to the three days I spent in the town of Brasov. I arrived via overnight train, my first brush with that seeming relic of la belle epoque. I mistakenly purchased a berth in a proper sleeper car, so while my companions were stuck for 13 hours in what amounted to a glorified Sharples booth (admittedly one with three layers of pull-out bunks), I had a cozy bed in a room I shared with only two complete strangers. We had our own mirror and complimentary bottles of water; if it had been the Titanic, we would have gotten on lifeboats.

Generally speaking, overnight train travel is possibly one of the best things ever. You go to sleep and wake up in a new country … if only it always worked that way. The one disadvantage is disorienting late-night (or 3 a.m. early) passport checks by brusque guards in heavy quilted coats that remind me a little too much of what I imagine the KGB to have been like. Maybe this Cold-War era paranoia is what made me feel like my American passport always got an extra going-over. Then again, it could also be my immeasurable narcissism.

Even the sun was only just waking up when we arrived. Our hostel (thoughtfully booked in advance) was a short bus ride from the station through cobblestone streets, past the Black Church (a popular tourist destination blackened in a fire 400 years ago) and the main square to a smaller square with a fountain and a war memorial. Brasov is ringed by Southern Carpathians or Transylvanian Alps, which leads me to another potential tourist slogan: “Brasov: If you thought that Hollywood was the only city that decorated its hills with its name on an ugly neon sign, think again.”

The sign aside, the constant sight of forested mountains was a refreshing change after two months in achingly flat Budapest. On my second day there, I made a point of hiking around for a couple hours, breaking mid-way to admire the view of the city and the occasional mounds of what I can only surmise were bear droppings. Before any frivolous enjoyment of nature, however, I needed to pay my respects to Romania’s own Mecca, at least for vampire enthusiasts: Dracula’s castle, also known as Castle Bran.

Not to break any hearts, but the castle is remarkably underwhelming and the closest Vlad the Impaler came to living there were the two days he was allegedly locked in the castle dungeon by the Ottomans. But, if you think this would prevent people from capitalizing on the myth, think again: rather than making any effort to dispel the Dracula myth, or at least point out Brasov’s other cultural attributes, the government has launched an aggressive marketing campaign by land, air and sea. (This is doubly impressive in light of the country’s land-locked nature.)

As a result, at Bran Castle you can buy Dracula mugs, Dracula t-shirts, Dracula puppets, Dracula paperweights and Dracula shot glasses, to name a few items. Lest I depart entirely from this semester’s food-and-alcohol theme (see the illustrations for my previous two columns), you can also purchase more than one brand of vampire-themed wine.

Finally there were the items only tangentially related to Vlad, if at all; namely, neon Mohawk wigs, traditional Romanian lace tablecloths and very expensive fur hats. I would say that the area of the tourist market wasn’t quite twice as big as that of the castle, but pretty close.

Late in the day, we made it back to the town center, despite our minimal knowledge of Romanian and our inability to make heads or tails of the bus schedule. We hit a motorcycle in the dark, but everyone was okay. I didn’t see any vampires, but at least I got a t-shirt.

Natalie is a senior. You can reach her at nbowlus1@swarthmore.edu.

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