My memories (and this blog) are the souvenirs I bring home from my journeys – I know I’ve mentioned this before. Today is my last day here, and when I go home I’m bringing donuts with me. Charlie told me about them – we were talking about cooking fat (they like lard here) and he told me about a time when he was a child, and his grandmother on the farm fried donuts in goose fat for a special occasion. I could tell by the way his voice cracked for a fraction of a second that they were the best donuts of his life. Nobody could ever make a donut like that again, because it’s impossible to replicate that moment, in her kitchen, with her hands, and her instincts.
They are her donuts, and hers alone.
As I reflect on this conversation, I think about those donuts he’ll never have again, and I imagine that they were probably delicious in every way, but they were never meant for me. Nevertheless, I was lucky to have him share the remembrance with me, and that memory got me to thinking about my own family and times that have now passed by, such as the only time I remember tasting my Southern grandmother’s chicken and biscuits, or the many times I had my Sicilian grandmother’s cannoli (and reaching into the fridge to sneak out dollops of ricotta cream filling from the bowl). Those moments are mine, and while I can’t share the foods with you – not the way my grandmothers made them – I can share those memories.
Charlie, who was our guide yesterday, was once again my guide today, and this time there were only the two of us. We had 8 hours together roaming the roads of Transylvania, so we were able to have such conversations about things like donuts and grandmothers.
It was a cool morning when he picked me up in front of my hotel, wrapped again in my two layers of insulation. Above us the clouds lurked low and grey, constantly threatening rain, but only letting go of a few drops that barely wet the windshield.
The tour today would take us to the citadel town of Sighişoara
But first there were other stops to make.
The fortress of Rupea was first on the list. This is one of many peasant fortresses that mark the hillsides here, paired with a village below. There was no great army for these fortresses – they were merely places for the Saxons to escape to if an attack came. There was enough room for all of the families in town to take shelter, and there were defenses prepared.
Importantly, there was a bacon tower, where bacon (or other cured meat) was stored, hung from the rafters. This would typically be the northernmost tower of the fortress because it would be the coolest of the towers.
Next we stopped in Viscri, a quiet Saxon town where the Fortified Church stands, doubling both as a church and a fortress. It’s a fascinating structure (and it, too, has a bacon tower) with magnificent views of the surrounding countryside.
The King of England has a small home here, in this little fairytale village, where he comes every year (or at least he used to) to witness the blooming of a local orchid.
To reach the church, we had to park outside the village and walk the byways through town. The trees here are pocked with dark green globes, which Charlie identified as mistletoe. As we walked through the village, he explained that kissing under the mistletoe is a tradition in Romania, as it is at home, but it’s a curious one because mistletoe grows as a parasite from the branches of the host tree. Unchecked, it will kill the tree.
As we continued our walk through town Charlie told me that, as with elsewhere in Romania, the Saxons have almost all left this town (or been sent away). The population of 400 was once almost all Saxon, but only 13 remain. Now 3/4 of the town is Romani (Gypsy), with the remainder being primarily local Romanian.
This made me a little sad, to hear of such populations who have been a core of the community dwindling away.
Not far away was Sighişoara. The villages here are all about 7km apart, because that’s how far the sound of bells travels.
Sighişoara, Charlie told me, is the only citadel town that remains inhabited.
Vlad the Impaler was raised here. There was a movement at one point to add a dracula themed amusement park, but the locals had the town declared a Unesco Heritage Site to prevent such a travesty from occurring.
We walked through it’s quiet byways, over its cobblestone streets.
We felt the mossy earth of its aged cemetery under our feet.
And saw the adorable guild towers the mark the town.
As we moved to the car, he asked me if there was anything else I wanted to see. I declined – I had seen enough for one day, and I wanted to get him home. It is March 1, and this is a special day here for lovers, and he had mentioned a girlfriend waiting for him.
I dozed on the way back to Brasov where a robust dinner awaited, and packing for my trip home in the morning.
I spent much of the evening thinking about the day exploring Transylvania, and the things Charlie and I spoke about. Along the way I was worried about prying too much into his life, so had avoided asking too many personal questions. But somehow it happened anyway and the goose fat fried donuts just sneaked out.
Those donuts were the best thing I learned today, and I’m taking that vision home with me tomorrow at noon when my flight departs.
Yes, my friends, this trip was too brief, but it’s been a great one. But fear not, I’ll be back in a month for new and exciting travels.
‘Til then,
With Love,
Butterblogger
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