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[travelpod.com Recent Updates] TRANSYLVESTITE - Brasov, Transylvania, Romania: Count Dracula, was born in Sighisoara, another absolutely gorgeous medieval Transylvanian town about two hours by train from Brasov. I saw the home in which he was born, now a tacky tourist restaurant next to the clock tower on the highest point in town and near a beautiful square with a number of excellent little cafes.
[Going Besök] Switzerland and northern Italy: I dryly quipped to Emma. Then we realised that we'd walked into the middle of the annual motorbike convention (It was a Sunday BTW), with enthusiasts showing off their vintage motorbikes in some sort of judging parade. The vintage nature of the bikes at least made these guys eccentric enthusiasts rather than wanker revheads, but the continual roar of engines was starting to jangle our little piggy nerves and we continued towards the "beach". Unfortunately this took us (and the rest of the stream of pedestrians) along a narrow (albeit 2 lane) country lane with high walls on each side (built by another Italian with no sense of public space) and no footpaths. This would have been lovely if it wasn't also the main road into town and full of cars and motorbikes whizzing past. We eventually turned off where we could, down through a couple more villages (they pack 'em close in them thar parts) and down along a stream/drain to the beach". This was another stony affair, but at least there were people swimming. So we changed and limped into the water for a bit of a dip. It was nice enough but certainly not worth the journey. We walked back and noticed that there'd been a pathway along the lakefront all along, which we started to take only to be stopped by and old bitch screeching at us in Italian and demanding 6 euros each to walk through the "Who-gives-a-crap-they're-the-reason-for-no-public-access-along-the-lake Manor Gardens". I was all for making a run for it through to the other side but Emma's inflated superego prevailed and we stormed back along the road (which at least took our minds off being worried about the traffic). I should say that I affirm her right to speak her own language in her own country, but when someone clearly doesn't understand you then screaming louder doesn't help and she gets dumped in the same category as rude tourists (which she probably thought we were - but I'm writing this history). Bitch (Emma would like to distance herself from this last “sentence” (except this bit), but it is a fairly accurate reflection of our feelings at the time and since).
[All articles - onelilrose.webnode.com] A Passion Most Pure - Julie Lessman: She was almost oblivious to the faint limp in her stride, the only mark of her childhood bout with polio. Some of the children still laughed at the halting way she walked and ran, but Faith didn’t care.
Reflected tags on Technorati: Blog, Hiking Romania, My Romania
