Feldioara was highly exposed to history. The German equestrian order, introduced in 1211, was granted permission to build a castle from dirt and wood. They could build a stone castle only 2 years before being exiled. The castle is mentioned for the first time in 1240 having the name Castrum Sancte Mariae, the guarding saint of the German order. Historians are still working on the exact history of the castle. Traditions say that the Tatars raiding in 1345 demolished the castle which was rebuilt later on. The castle had 4 high towers but they all collapsed. Thus, today it’s only the ruins that have a story to tell. It is possible that the Evangelical church stands on the ground of the former chapel of the order. There are people who see the figure of three praying armored knights on the churchwall. In the XV century a strong stonewall was built around the church to protect it from the Turks and Tatars. In the middleages they also built a wall around a part of the settlement. Feldioara was the site of a prisoner of war camp during World War II. Around 350 Hungarian prisoners have died here. (Feldoara)

We spent a considerable amount of time here, and as we were getting in the car I mentioned to Teresa a spot she might be able to get a good shot of the castle walls.  As she was focusing, two horse drawn wagons came through the  gravel road.  We waved at the riders and then got in the car and headed out.  I mentioned as we turned back onto the main road, “I bet there was a geocache there”. Sure enough, Teresa brought up the GPS and there was one there. Oh well, too late. We were at 399 found caches and we wanted to get our 400th cache outside the US. Goecaching is a high tech treasure/scavenger hunt using GPSs (For more information on geocaching, search our other blogs or seewww.geocaching.com).

Again, we were awed by the beautiful of the countryside. We passed through many small picturesque towns, many with walled or fortified churches.  Men were carrying pitch forks walking up the roads, women were traditionally dressed and carrying large loads of food (or in one case farm equipment).  We would have loved to have stopped within each one, however we wanted to get to Sighişoara. If it was a tourist trap, we’d have plenty of time to stop in these towns on the way back. A couple towns were really tempting to stop at, but we drove on.

Teresa was reading the guide books and I was in a hurry, but I did not think I was speeding (there were several cars in front of me). We rounded a curve and as the road straightened out, just before a bridge, there was a police car. There was an officer inside and another standing beside the road. The cars in front of us he let pass, but as we got closer, he walked into the road barring our exit and pointed at us.  He motioned us to pull over. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” I had read that the Romanian cops were still a little corrupt and that it usually took a bribe to get you out of a ticket. Then again, if the books were wrong and I tried to bribe an uncorrupted police officer, then what?

I stopped, rolled down my window and waited for him. He stepped up to the car and said something in Romanian. “Excuse me? Do you speak English?” I could not even remember how to say it in Romanian. “Hhhmpph” was his reply and he reached into the car (that ever happen to you? Not in the US!) I was not sure what he was reaching for, but he landed on the headlight switch. He turned it and said something else, stood up and motioned me to move on. I later found out that it was the law that when driving through the mountains, day or night, no matter how beautiful it was out (and it was a beautifully sunny day) you must have your headlights on.  Needless to say, I’ll always remember that if we ever go back!

Sighişoara claims to be the birthplace and childhood home of Vlad the Impaler (yes, Count Dracula). Here, though, he is a ruler and hero, nothing like the Dracula stories!  He was  brutal to his enemies, oven impaling their heads on spikes and leaving them outside his castle as a warning.  It was interesting listening to the stories and eating in his childhood home (which had *very* tasty food!).

The town itself  was indeed a nicely preserved town.  Old cobblestone streets lined the village.  We saw as a worker worked on preserving one of the old inns, and the walls of the houses had plaques identifying what the building use to be used for. 

The main attraction was the old bell tower, which towered over the town.  This was a photographer’s mecca with all the photo opportunities!

One of those opportunities was the old German cemetery that was located above the main town. It was located on a hillside next to a church and very old, yet still active. I wish I had brought some paper and charcoal or pencil. The barrier shoring up the hillside and protecting the path in the photo on the right is made up of old headstones. Most were so worn, they were almost smooth, but others might have been able to be read from rubbings.

After finishing up at the cemetery, we headed back to the main town.  The “Hilly” church had an interesting history, and there was a fascinating woman giving “English” tours. As we were taking some pictures of the outside, I stepped in and was greeted by this older woman. “Hallo”, she said with a thick german accent (while this was still Romania, this area was settled long ago by the Germans and German is the native language). “Guten Nachmittag”, I replied, “Sprechen Sie English?” She did, a little, she said. She asked if I wanted to see inside the church and pointed to the sign. It gave the price, but it also said no pictures inside. I told her I had to wait for my wife because she had the money. She laughed, saying “she (my wife) must be the finance minister”. Teresa came in and we paid. Putting our lens caps on, we went inside and the lady proceeded to explain the history of the church.

It was filled with turkish rugs and had a beautiful hand carved alter made in the 1600’s. She explained that the patrons would make pilgrimages to the holy land through the Islamic areas and return with prayer rugs. Each rug had a story. Additionally, there were wooden plaques lining the church with the insignia of the various guilds that supported the church.  The guide then pointed to the organ.  It was made in 1680 and the year was scribed in the design of the last four pipes.

When the tour was finished she asked us where we were from and made some small talk. I told her her that her English was pretty good. She smiled and told me she learned it from sub-titled movies and TV shows. her favorite was “The Young and The Restless”, to which I replied, “With Victor Newman?”

She beamed, “yes, yes.. Victor, he’s single again… he’s married, he’s divorced, he’s married again. You watch?” I let her know that my mother was an avid watcher and that I used to watch it too in the lunch room of a place I had once worked.  She laughed and told us to take our time looking at the church and to enjoy the beauty of it.  We stayed for another 20 minutes, taking in the craftsmanship in every piece within the church.

It was getting late and we needed to be back in Brasov to catch our train. We were hungry though, so we ate a quick meal at Vlad the Impaler’s childhood home before proceeding back to the car. There was at least one place I wanted to stop at on the way back to Brasov that appeared to have nice castle ruins in it (and a geocache). So, we made our way back down the E60 road. Soon, we were entering Rupea.

I saw a sign as we entered town that said something like Castel and pointed off the road. We could see up the hill and the castle, so I turned. It looked like someone’s driveway, but another sign pointed to another road and we turned on it. Within feet, the road went from paved to dirt with deep ruts.  They were deep enough we thought that there was a possibility that we could get stuck and miss our train.  I took it slow and kept out of them.

The road leveled out about half way up and started turning away from the castle. I pulled over and we saw down a path the wall with a gate. It was closed (just our luck). As we walked up to the wall, we waved at an old man working in the field.

We had a choice here, left or right? We wanted pictures and we saw the outside looked good from the right. We also hoped to find another way in (and were trying to get to a geocache as well ). So, we went right.

Now, I think I said that this castle or fortress was built on top  of a very tall hill.  As we started circling, we found the hill to be dropping off, quickly and steep. Of course, if one is building a castle, it would make sense to build it with natural defenses and this was a good location. We scaled the hill and cliffs, following a very small trail,  as we went around, still trying to figure out how to get to this geocache.  About a quarter of the way around, the trees stopped and exposed the hill and the wall. There, we found a hole in the wall and I looked looked in. It dropped about 6-7 meters down into the interior of what used to be a multi-story building. There was no way to get from this cellar to the floor level (even though the floor was gone). It just did not look safe. Besides, getting back out would be another issue.

We continued around, still intent on the cache and still looking for a way in. The trees got thinner and the path more treacherous. We got half way around and the view of the town below was stunning.

There was no turning back (well, we could have, but what would have been the point). We kept going along the path. The wall was formidable, so was the hillside. Teresa checks her GPS and we are close now. The hill became less steep and the path was not hugging the wall. The GPS points up, closer to the wall and Teresa went up to search, taking care not to get too close to the power lines that appeared to be coming out of the castle and across the ground to light some rather large lights.

About that time, I spot two young girls coming up a path from the town, I look and they are following a path lead that lead to another gate. It too looked closed. I let Teresa know; the objective of geocaching is to be stealthy and be aware of non-players, so she stopped the searching.

We made our way to the gate. I asked he girls if I could take their picture and they smiled and nodded.

Teresa also discovered that somewhere along the path that her Palm device met a devastating fate; the screen had cracked (even though it was in a hard case). There goes our geocaching, all the data (descriptions, clues, etc) were in that palm device (and we knew from past experience that with those, cache are much harder to find).  

About that time, I spotted an old man coming up the same path the girls had come up and he looked familiar. He was using a walking stick about as tall as he was, but still moving at a pretty good pace for a man his age. As he got closer, I recognized him as a man from the field. He started talking to us, in Romanian of course, at a pace that matched his speed.  I turned to the girls and asked in English if they could help. Well, you remember how the guidebooks said the younger generation spoke some English. It lied (again). These girls looked as lost as I felt. I turned back to the old man who was now standing next to me (he was agile for an man in his 70’s, and I am being generous). I explained that I did not understand and he started yelling at me. I looked at Teresa who looked from the old man to me and back. It was then that I realized he was saying the same thing he was saying earlier, only louder (like the volume would magically break the language barrier).  Well, Romanian is close to latin, which I can read some of, but have never heard spok….

“Wait… did I hear? Yes… he said it again… bani … denar … Money, he wants money” Now, he was either a robber, or the keeper of this place. I was betting on the latter. I reached in my pocket, pulled out some bills and said “How much?”

He smiled and said something in return and I stood there. He repeated it, “Cinci south” is what I heard, or something like that. I looked again at Teresa and the girls, no help. I held out the money and he took the 500 bill as I pointed to both Teresa and I, gesturing we were together. He smiled, said something that sounded affirmative and reached into his coat. He pulled out one of the largest keys  I had ever seen and went to the gate. He put it into a hole in the gate and turned and turned. He opened the gate and motioned for Teresa and I to go inside and the young girls followed.  We think they must have been family.

Inside, there was one building intact, with windows (though some were broken). There was a sign showing the lay of the ruins. Of course, it was written in Romanian and offered no English translations, but I’ll work on that (later). 

There was a more modern (more recently made) looking structure deeper within the walls. We made our way there and found an uncovered  well (I later read that the well’s water could still  be used for drinking and was said to even have medicinal properties. Of course, different wells from difference regions each cured certain illness’s; if you combined them all, maybe you’d have the fountain of youth.