Everything You’ll Never Need!

Wow! Q: What do you get if you cross Spencer Gifts in the mall with Shipshewana’s outdoor Flea Market? A: Exactly what’s at the base of Bran Castle. Seriously, there was a whole little micro-town laden with kiosks that contain the oddest assortment of some the cheapest trinkets I’ve ever seen. Most of it was vampire-specific, but there was your standard fare of pranks, magic tricks, swords, coffee mugs, t-shirts, squirt guns and some hand-crafted dolls and things.

Another Good Hike…

I had a sort of “time-warpish” experience wandering up the mountainside around Bran, and couldn’t shake the feeling that I had somehow been transported to somewhere completely “other” than 2007 Romania. The thick vegetation, oddly twisted roots and thick smell of moss, wood and leaves made me feel more like I was hiking through Fangorn from Tolkein’s LOTR than any “real” place on this earth. I even heard the lone, short howl of a single wolf (erm…well…I’m assuming he was “alone”) somewhere off in the distance, and as the wind raked lazily through the branches of the trees overhead, I enjoyed just sitting down for a few minutes and enjoying the peacefulness. Sometimes, I think that we get so caught up in the hustle and bustle of our lives in the US and the speed at which they operate that it’s difficult to remember just how soft and still and quiet things can really get when you can get enough distance from them.

The only things that “didn’t fit” were a lumberjack’s chainsaw somewhere near the castle, and the carved “Sven loves Nadia forever”-esque markings on some of the larger trees that pervaded the small forest pathway. I could also occasionally hear the honk of a horn or the low rumble of a semi along the highway that ran on the other side of Bran, but even amidst those rather “human” distractions, sitting on a little stump and marveling at the woodland had a very Druidish feel to it.

“Un-natural History”…

After looking through the castle, I did some hiking up one of the surrounding mountains to see what I could see, and unfortunately saw this on the way. Shame, isn’t it, that we humans have a tendency to do stuff like this?

“Invaders! Quick! Mobilize the Lollipop Guild!”

In Russia, the doorways to churches are deliberately about a head shorter than most people stand. This is due to the fact that Russian Orthodox priests “get” the value that the proper position before God is one of humility, so even the architecture “made you bow your head” (a symbol of said requisite humility) before entering. Bran is similar, except that I think it’s just because people were smaller and shorter. I felt like Goliath walking through doorways like this one, and actually laughed out loud once thinking what Ron VanderGriend (who’s like 8 feet tall and bigger around than I am) must think when he comes to places like this. It’s a good thing that probably everyone at the time was this size, or invading armies would have expected to see armor-clad equivalents to the Wizard of Oz munchkins emerging from the guard towers to defend against them. “Oh no! It’s the Lollipop Guild! Take cover!”

"REAL" Witches Brooms...

Ever notice how all stories and pictures of witches have them riding on brooms that don’t look like they were purchased for $4.99 at Wal-Mart with a complimentary dust pan? No, rather, they look like they were made with twigs or branches or bundles of straw, and in most parts of Eastern Europe, brooms like that are still evident and used today. I took a picture of these two brooms just lying against a wall here at Bran Castle, and remarked how quickly my mind wandered to images of black silhouettes streaking across full moons riding astride one just like this. I thought I would pick one up and try my luck at Quiddich (if you’re a Harry Potter fan), but having none of the other accessories (as well as no one else to play with), I left them alone. Come to think of it, however, if it worked, I could probably have made my way to Curtea de Arges pretty fast and without a lot of fuss (other than being picked up on Romanian Air Force radar and suddenly staring down a couple of Su-37 fighters).

“Shhhhhh… They’re ‘Secret Stairs’”…

This made me laugh. There’s a set of stairs inside Bran that is clearly now marked with this plaque. I’m sure that they didn’t have it up during “functional times” as they would have wanted it to remain “secret”, but what I thought was funny about it is the elaborate railing, stair-work and banister that led up to the door. “Oh yeah,” I thought, “no one would EVER guess that there’s a stairway there!” Can’t you just picture some invading Turk who had chased a Romanian soldier into this room and then emerged to find them “suddenly gone”? “Hey, where did they go?! I know they went into this room! Maybe I’ll just sit here on these steps that lead into the wall and think about where they might have gone! I’m sure there’s a secret passage in here somewhere!” :- ):

The next couple of pictures here are what it looks like “inside the secret stairs” (again, I had to turn sideways to walk up them – can’t imagine what it would have been like if I would have been wearing full armor), and then what it looks like on the other side. I think that the exit would have been covered a little more discretely behind one of the bookcases, and so maybe only the exit was deemed necessary to be “secret”, I don’t know. Either way, though, not exactly your standard “pull the false book to reveal the secret passage” kind of mechanism that you see in movies, eh? For those of you who are Young Frankenstein fans like we are, I kept expecting to hear Terri Garr’s voice saying from somewhere, “Put... zee candle…BACK!”

Beautiful Bran!

Bran is about an hour’s drive (by bus) from Brasov’s “Autogarooch”, and is nestled in the side of a mountain, where it served as an outpost against Turkish (Ottoman) invasion for hundreds of years. Originally built by the people of the Brasov region for Mircea I “the Elder” (one of Vlad Tepes’s immediate forbearers), Bran stands sentinel still today in excellent condition, and welcomes large numbers of tourists each day who come either to see it for what it is, or because of its affiliation with the Dracula legend. The small town of Bran itself (which functions as a ski resort in the winter, apparently) is laden with small shops that sell everything from cheap vampire trinkets and rubber fangs to t-shirts that say things like “love Transylvania, kiss a vampire” on them.

On the walkway up to the castle, there are a number of pretty little side gardens and diversions, including this little flower garden, and this nifty little creek that (I think) probably ran (or runs) to a cistern somewhere. The grounds are also laden with older artifacts from hundreds of years ago, including large, carved crosses such as this with inscriptions on them (I believe that the language is called “Old Slavonic”).

Once inside the castle, several things stand out immediately. First, the entire place seems to be some giant shrine to a Romanian Princess/Queen named Maria who lived and reigned a hundred or so years ago. There are all manner of hyper-devoted items around the castle that attest to her presence (i.e. “this is the very armchair that Queen Maria’s coat sleeve brushed against when she visited the castle, and is immaculately preserved in the condition in which it was at that historical event in 1916!” – just kidding, but only just shy of reality) and frequent visits. Second, most of what biologists tell us must be true about people getting “taller and bigger” over the last hundred years or so because every doorway, every stairwell, every…well… everything seems built for people much tinier than I am. Third, while the castle no longer maintains any sort of military application, you can definitely see how it once did. Glassed in parapets from which archers or crossbowmen would have had easy marks on approaching invaders are evident throughout the ramparts, and the castle itself is an intricate labyrinth of “sectioned” quarters that could be shut down, barred and defended (or defended against) in the event of invasion. It also overlooks what would have been (and still is, incidentally – see picture) the mainly traveled artery through the region, thus allowing Bran Castle to stand guard over anyone who was attempting to pass through. Finally, everything in the castle is, of course, extremely old, and, compared to the immense castles in England (such as Warwickshire Castle), very small. It has electricity now, but still no central heat or air, so when Dracula remarks to Harker that these castles are “old and drafty”, he’s really not kidding. Particularly at this height, the wind whistled through the hallways and crevices like a specter, leaving a cool chill on all who were exploring it. Additional pictures from within or of the castle below as well.

A view to Bran from the neighboring mountainside:

A view to the inner courtyard from a balcony:

Interior bedroom with massive 4-poster bed. Heavily inlaid and carved with various scenes:

Dining Room. It was considerably smaller than i thought it would be:

The castle well:

Here We Go 'Round the Mullberry Bush...

Not knowing Romanian really stinks! It also stinks that no one in Brasov seems to speak English or Russian, alas. I did my standard charades move to find out how to get to Bran Castle, and the nice lady at the bus ticket booth told me (I thought) to take bus #23 until I got to a place called “Autogarooch”. I thanked her, jumped on bus #23, and looked and looked for “Autogarooch”, but no such thing. Finally, I got off, stopped and tried to ask again, and the people pointed me back the direction I had come. “Ah-ha!”, I thought, “I guess I did miss it.” So I bought another ticket and jumped back on the #23 going the other direction. Still no “Autogarooch” all the way back to the bus station. Frustrated, I got off, walked back to the lady at the ticket counter and explained that I couldn’t find it. She did speak a little bit of English, so what I discovered is that “Autogarooch” isn’t a stop, it’s a place. It’s another bus station. And the reason I kept getting conflicting information is because people kept pointing me back to the main station rather than assuming I needed the “other” one. Armed with my new knowledge, I eventually found the “Autogarooch”, which, incidentally, appears to be Romanian for “Auto garage”. Anyway, I managed to find the bus to Bran, jumped on, and even found a group of Americans to chat with on the way. Good to go.

It’s Exactly Like Hollywood… But Completely Different.

My daughter (Peri) is really into saying oddly paradoxical things right now. She’ll come in and say things like, “she’s my best friend, but she’s not”, or “this tastes really good, but it doesn’t”. In that same vein, Brasov is JUST LIKE Hollywood… but it’s not. In fact, in virtually every way that I can think of, Brasov is NOTHING like Hollywood except that they have a giant sign for Brasov just like Hollywood has for its name set in the hills. It was kind of far away, but maybe you can see it here. It was completely ridiculous. They don’t make movies here in Brasov. There’s no “glitz” either. It’s a town left over from the Soviet era that never really grew out of it. There are no Ferrari’s here either. Or tasty local restaurants that I have seen. There’s no massive influx of tourists (just a few crazy outsiders like me), and no Figueroa or Vine. There’s no skyscrapers, no multi-lane roads, no Pacific Coast Highway (in fact, there’s no large body of water for another 100 miles or so). So, having said that, I can say that Brasov has a sign “just like Hollywood”, but in every other way, you might as well be comparing apples to oranges, or…well… Hollywood to Brasov.

Adapt, Improvise, Overcome… Or Not.

I arrived in Brasov (terminal pictured here... isn't it picturesque? I know...not really) just after 5:30 a.m. with no idea how to start about trying to get to Curtea, and tried a number of options, all of which included, by the way, a significant amount of wandering around, pointing and grunting, trying English, Russian, Martian… whatever, all to an eventual no avail. You see, there’s really just no way to get to Curtea de Arges in a day, at least that I could find. I’m a big believer in the Green Berret maxim of “Adapt, Improvise, Overcome”, and so set to work on trying to figure out how to make it happen, but below is a basic outline of where my efforts got me.

• Train. Quite simply, no trains run to the Curtea. Period. If you look at a map of Romania, none even run close, except to the next most proximal town, which still leaves you some 50 km (30 miles) from the Curtea (which is too far to walk and back when you have to be back in Brasov by 9 pm the same day). Plus, said trains run infrequently, so even if you got out there, you might not be able to get back until the next day.
• Bus. Okay, get this. Buses run to Curtea, but it takes 8 – 10 hours to get there!!! Remember now, it’s only 100 km away (200 by road)! That means that the bus is only averaging 20 km/hr (12 mph). What the heck? The lady at the info counter indicated that I could catch a bus to Curtea at about 10 am, and that it would get into town around 6 pm. When I asked when it came back, she just sort of grimly smiled and shrugged her shoulders. Based on that, there would be no real way for me to get there and get back and still make my 9 pm hard deck for going back to Budapest.
• Taxi. I approached a taxi, showed him the map for where we were (Brasov) and where I wanted to go (Curtea) and asked him how much it would cost to get there. He scratched his chin in contemplation and then told me 100 Euro (about $200). “What?!” I responded incredulously, “it’s only a 200 km drive!” He just smiled and shrugged as well and said that it was a long way off, a difficult drive, and considering that he would need to take me there and back, plus waiting time in between as I putzed around the ruins, anything less than 100 Euro wasn’t really reasonable. After I thought about it for a few minutes, he was probably right. It’d be 400 km, easily 6 – 8 hours, and therefore the equivalent of a full workday, plus cost of gas and wear and tear. I thanked him and then turned back to the drawing board.
• Car. You can rent a car for about 20 Euro (about $40), which didn’t sound bad, and that included insurance. But by the time you add in gas (which is even more expensive than in the states), that would be another $75, plus mileage (the 20 Euros don’t cover an “unlimited mileage” plan and are intended for local driving, I think), you’re back up to what it would cost to just pay the cabbie for a taxi.
• Covert Air Insurgency. So how about it I chartered a plane from Bucharest and a parachute, and had them drop me somewhere above Curtea around 5 pm, leaving me to try to just “drop in” to where I was supposed to be. The problems are less daunting than the other options, admittedly, but I just didn’t think I’d have time to pull it all off. I mean, considering that I’ve never parachuted, the winds around here are fairly strong at this time of year, there is significant cloud-cover, the ruins sit next to a large hydro-electric power plant on a fast-moving river, and everything else is thickly covered by 50’ pine trees, with still free-roving wolf-packs on the forest floor, and that my knee surgery from May still isn’t 100% yet, not to mention that I’d still have to figure out a way to get BACK to Brasov by 9 pm, well...I figured I’d punt. I know. I’m a wuss. Sorry to disappoint.

So… I adapted, I improvised, but didn’t overcome. Maybe next trip when Sami is with me. If such a thing comes to pass. In the mean time, I decided to opt for my original plan and to visit Bran Castle instead. Bran has Drac history in it too, even if he did only hang out there for a few weeks at various times during his attempts at conquest, and since I was already in Transylvania, and since I couldn’t get to Curtea, it seemed like the thing to do.

The Revelation of St. Louie…

The guy inside looked almost exactly like Matt Damon with a thin beard and mustache. Honestly, the resemblance was uncanny. I also noticed that he spoke great (although accented) English. I introduced myself, and he introduced himself as Louie, from Montreal, Quebec, Canada. “No kidding!?” I exclaimed. Come to find out, Louie had been on vacation in Romania for nearly a month, but was “getting bored of seeing churches”, so decided to come to Budapest for the weekend. He was quite an interesting guy, and works (get this!) for Price-Coopers-Waterhouse in their Montreal office. If you remember, that’s who my new friends Cainna and Linda worked for as well (met them on the train from Auschwitz to Katowice) in the DC office. Louie was a wealth of information about Romania, and explained that he takes all his vacation each year by just picking a place and stumping around there at his leisure. Last year, he did Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam. The year before that, he did North Africa and Israel. Apparently, he had a friend with him for a while on this trip, but had to split up when his friend had to get back to work, and so had been on a solo mission for a couple of weeks.

Louie asked what I was doing, and I told him that I was going to visit Bran Castle because of my affection for the Stoker myth. Louie nodded, and then said, “that’s cool…it’s a nice castle. But you know it’s a fake, right?” “Come again?” I said, not sure what he meant. “Yeah, it’s what the Romanian government typically touts as the ‘real Dracula castle’, but the truth is, Vlad Tepes only spent a couple of weeks there on and off during his campaigns. But see, it’s in way better shape than the ‘really real’ castle that Tepes built as a stronghold on the Transylvanian border to the Ottoman Empire, so it’s the one they try to steer tourists toward.” “NO WAY!” I said, impressed, but still not convinced. “Here,” he said, pulling out a book, “read this and look at this map.” Sure enough, it was a phenomenal book on Romanian history and sights, and there was a giant map that showed Bran Castle with a little “bubble” that said, “beautiful castle in southern Romania that also serves as the ‘fake’ castle often sited for Dracula fans.” “Well, crud,” I thought, “where is the ‘really real’ one, then?” I had no idea! And you’d think I would have, wouldn’t you? Apparently, as I read further, the stronghold that Tepes built through forced labor by captured Turks is about 100 km to the southwest of Bran. It is the site where, during one particular siege and fearing that they would not get out alive, Vlad’s wife threw herself from one of the castle turrets to prevent herself from being taken prisoner (or worse) by invading Ottomans. The castle (called Curtea de Arges - “Koort-A-yuh*Dar*Zheesh) sits neatly above both a hydro-electric power plant and a former military maneuvers base, and, like Csjethe, is in really bad shape. Apparently, in 1888, a considerable section of it simply crumbled down the hill on which it was built, and so there are now little more than head-high ruins to walk through. Still, a little caretaker sits ready to charge 2 Leu (about $.75) to those who can get to the ruin, and can also hike its supposed 1,048 steps to get to it.

Well, honestly, in all my reading and surfing and searching, I had never come across such a place! I had heard the stories about his narrow escape from Ottoman invasion, but that was kind of the “morning ride to work” for Vlad. I’d also heard the story of his wife’s suicide (indeed, the recent film Dracula, starring Gary Oldman, Winona Ryder, Keanu Reeves, Cary Elwes, etc. was based on that event being the “turning point” for Vlad in his decision to become a minion of evil rather than a servant of God), but all the stuff I ever read either directly indicated Bran, or merely talked about details that inferred its location.

So then! I decided that if at all possible, I would see what needed to happen to get to Curea as my primary objective, with Bran as a fall-back, and seeing both as “optimal mission parameters” if at all possible.

On My Way… Again…

I jumped on a bus (red bus #7, actually) at just a little after 4 pm and headed for Budapest Keleti (one of the local train stations). It took me considerably less time to get there than I thought it would, so I had about an hour to spare. Keleti is an interesting place as you her all sorts of accents, languages, and cultures buzzing around your head. Budapest really is a “gateway city”, so there were people there from southern regions like Azerbaijan (I recognized them and their language from my time in Russia), Turkey, and then every conceivable language in Europe. Even saw or heard some American, Aussies and Brits along the way too.

Finally jumped on my train to Brasov at just a little before 6 pm, and happily found my little 6 bed “sleeper” compartment, already complete with at least one other person inside.

Meet Katya!

This is Katya! She’s a local artist who specializes in what she calls “naïve style” (a sort of whimsical water-color that she has perfected), and who also served as Ron and I’s translator during the church-planter training. She’ll be coming to the States next year to visit her sister in California, and may attempt to see if there is a market for some of her art while she is here. She was pleasant, and hung in tough with us as each day required a continual string of translation.

The "Jesus Freaks" We Met...

After the first day of training, Ben was invited (along with Ron and I) to come meet some young people who are planting “faith communities” with a movement called The Jesus Freaks, International, in places like Germany and Israel. Originally, the movement began with a bunch of punk-rockers who decided to follow Jesus, and who were motivated to reach out into the drug-culture to help others, and so they have a very “non-traditional” look and feel that was actually really edgy and fun. Miokol, one of the leaders, had Rob Bell hair and glasses, and a ring in his lower lip, and was exceptionally thoughtful and honest about the challenges they’ve engaged in planting (through “viral” means) several dozen communities throughout Germany, and was equally quick to share the successes as well as the failures. It was pretty hard not to like them immediately, and we all laughed hard as Simon, one of Miokol’s ministry partners said with a wry smile when we walked in (in thickly accented German), “oh no… Americans… now I’ll have to watch my language.” I laughed and said, “hey, don’t put yourself out on my account”, to which he instantly responded with a string of deliberate profanity that went on for the better part of a minute. For some reason, it was hilarious hearing a German guy cuss in English words about the challenges of ministering to the punk-rock and drug-cultures of Germany as they plant faith communities in that context. They were also trying several Shane Clayborne-esque experiments in “authentic community” where they rent a flat and try to incorporate at least one homeless or drug-addict by inviting them to live with them. They said that the results have really challenged their assumptions about such people, but also challenged much of their theology as people in those contexts “grow, but don’t always grow in the way you would think. My friend still does drugs… he still gets high… and he still runs sound for us at worship. But we think it would do more damage to him to ostracize him for his drug use, particularly when he is genuinely trying, than to continue to embrace him. Plus, even though he struggles, he has a unique ‘in’ with people who are still trapped in that culture as well.” The whole reason for their being in Budapest is to be mentored through a network of European church planters, and I was significantly encouraged by my time spent with them and their unconventional, unorthodox and unabashedly authentic perspectives.

Frontliners...

As I mentioned, I went to Budapest to work with Ron and Ben in doing some initial training for a round of church planters who will be seeking to plant culturally relevant, seeker-sensitive churches in Budapest. Because of the urban nature of the environment, and the fact that the people who live in Budapest are both largely multi-national (or have a global perspective), post-modern, and used to contemporary things, these men and women face a lot of the same challenges that GCC has successfully engaged or negotiated. My job, therefore, was going to be to do a brief overview of Purpose Driven principles, as well as how to establish a “profile” for who their church would be trying to reach. I talked about our “Granger Gary” general profile, talked about Saddleback’s “Saddleback Sam”, and how both Rick and Mark B set about surveying to identify how they would proceed with building their churches. In addition, the people here were asked to “sign on” for a 2 year “learning community” in which church-planting issues would be “workshopped” rather than “directly taught”, and to provide a network for one another that would allow them to build, encourage, and learn from/with each other. Please note that the two gentleman on the far right standing by me are both deaf (their names were Imrek and Odrian), and are planting churches among the deaf community in Budapest (about 5,000 people, by their estimation). They were delightful to be around, and had tremendous hearts for Jesus. They were also assisted by Odrianna, the dark haired, thin lady who provided sign interpretation for them throughout the training. You can be praying for each of these people as they set out either as individuals or in teams to begin the process of impacting their communities, and can pray as well that Ben and Ron would be able to support them well.

Chicken Paprikash a’la’ Serenade.

Epic! There’s just no other way to describe it. We stopped for dinner (after picking Ron up) and ate at a traditional Hungarian restaurant where we were serenaded by a Gypsy traditional folk band. I had Chicken Paprikash (a traditional Hungarian meal served often with flour “dumplings” in addition to chicken breasts served with a paprika-based “sauce” and sour cream) while Ron and Ben both had big, steaming bowls of Gulash (the REAL kind of Gulash… not hamburger helper!) and thick-crusted bread. It was excellent, and even better, a truly cultural experience. Eating traditional Hungarian food in a restaurant in Budapest while Gypsy folk-musicians serenaded from behind! Wow!

Like Being in a Candy Shop…But With Gunships.

I know, I know… I’m the only person I know who gets excited about this stuff, but I couldn’t help this one. On our way out to pick Ron up from the airport, as Ben and I cavorted across Budapest, I looked out the window as a large, familiar silhouette from my childhood instantly registered on my retinas. I gasped (I’m sure Ben thought something was wrong), pointed, and shouted, “Ben! That’s an Mil-Mi-24 ‘Hind-D’ Gunship from the Soviet Era!” He cocked an eyebrow, so I continued, “for several years – that is, until we started supplying Afghani freedom fighters with ‘Stinger’ surface-to-air missile systems – the Hind was arguably the most perfect close-air-support and anti-tank weapon in the Soviet arsenal. Even for its size, it boasted a top speed of over 310 mph (25 mph faster than our AH-64 Apache gunship helo), while still carrying a troop load of 12, a 20 mm chain gun mounted on a swivel-pod at the chin, and 6 hard-point pylons for a variety of rocket and missile systems (the most common of which were a combination of 2.5” rockets, additional 20 mm gun pods, and AA-10 “Atoll” air-to-air missiles or “Spiral” air-to-ground guided missiles. To your average ground or tank unit, the Hind’s approaching roar would have meant certain death to just about anything in the immediate vicinity, and again, despite its size, the Hind maintained a high degree of both maneuverability as well as survivability thanks to its armor-plating. Interestingly, however, with the development of shoulder-launched, highly accurate, optically and laser guided surface to air missile systems like the “Stinger”, a single little Afghani could bring one of these massive birds down with a single shot, and once they got good at it, did so with amazing regularity. By the end of the Afghan War, even Soviet soldiers called these machines “flying coffins” because the Afghanies would hide behind rocks until the Hind had picked up a full troop load, wait until it got substantially airborne, and then pop off a Stinger to bring it, the crew and the troops to a fiery debacle. Still, you just never expect to see one of these things sitting by the side of the road on your way to the airport.” As I finished, Ben laughed and said, “well, then, we’ll have to stop on our way back.” We did so, nearly were killed crossing 6 lanes of traffic to get to the little fenced in area, but got some good photos despite the fact that we couldn’t actually “get in” to the little park for close ups. Here’s also me standing in front of a Soviet era surface-to-air missile rack. I’m the guy in the black t-shirt… just in case you couldn’t pick me out. :- ):

New Friends: Ben and Mary Ann Kovatch

I met Ben and Mary Ann at the train station in Budapest (Keleti station), and here is a quick picture of them. They are quite a handsome couple, and have been married now for just over 1 month! Ben works for The Bible League, and does a fantastic job coordinating everything from church planters and training to other events, printing, and…well…pretty much everything in some fashion that The Bible League does in Hungary and slightly beyond. He is also a body-builder, a rapier wit, a phenomenal grasp of the English language, and a great all-around guy. His wife, Mary Ann, is also amazing. She works for IBM’s Germany branch in the Human Resources Dept, and helps to coordinate logistics, benefits and expenses for German execs with IBM as they travel and work. She is super-sharp! She speaks English and Hungarian rather seamlessly, and I believe German as well. The more time you spend around either or both of them, the more you like them. It’s impossible not to. They are young, aggressive for the Kingdom of God, pleasant and happy! I just wish they lived a little closer.

On My Way to Budapest...

Took the evening train to Budapest via Bratislava and thought it would be an overnight gig. When, instead, it was only going to take 5 hours (2 hours to Bratislava and 2 to Budapest, with about an hour in between as “lay over”), I called our Bible League contact and friend Bernat (“Ben”) and asked if it would be possible to tell me how to get to wherever we would be doing the training from the train station as I would be getting in earlier than I anticipated. Even though it was relatively late in the evening, Ben insisted that he come pick me up, and that from there, we would go to “The Griff”, where Ron and I would both be staying during the duration of our stay. As I had about an hour in Bratislava, I looked around a bit, but didn’t stray too far from the station. One thing to note… I sure will be glad to be back in a land where public bathrooms are free. In most European countries, you have to pay to use the facilities. It’s not a ton, mind you, but if you really have to pee, there’s nothing worse than fumbling around in your pocket for change to pay the nice lady at the counter at the outside of the bathroom.

Pizza and Pop...

“Who’d a thunk” that the best cheese pizza I’ve had in a while would be in Novo Mesto nad Vahom, Slovakia? I sure didn’t, but was both hungry and intrigued as I walked by and saw this sign for a “Pizzeria” near another hotel. At first, I couldn’t find it. I walked all around the building, but couldn’t find an entrance anywhere and eventually had to ask. The local people looked at me like I was crazy, motioned with their hands how to get in, and then, I’m quite certain, chuckled behind my back at how the stupid American apparently doesn’t know what a door looks like. But it wasn’t that… it’s just that in most countries, zoning laws are ambiguous at best, and so apartment buildings bundle with convenience stores, and the entrances to restaurants are sometimes in the back of hardware stores. Anyway, once I actually GOT to the restaurant, it was quite nice inside. Had sort of a cross between a hunting lodge and a Tuscan pizza kitchen (translation: they had a wonderful brick fire oven for pizzas, stone floors, large hearths… and lots of stuffed dead animals around, including a moose. I thought it seemed like the kind of place that Mark Beeson would probably enjoy.). Not being able to easily read the menu (as it was all in Slovakian, of course), I just ordered one of the easiest and least threatening looking pizzas. You see, “easiest and least threatening”, not because I like to be a wuss or don’t like adventure, just because a lot of Eastern European countries equate “ketchup” and “tomato sauce” as the same thing. If you’re not careful, you might end up with a pizza that has ketchup for the sauce base, a prospect which I honestly don’t care for much. So…until I knew what was going to come out, I just decided to play it safe.

I was pleasantly refreshed, however, to have a crisp crusted, home-made tomato sauce, cheese pizza delivered straight from the oven, and WOW, was it good! Topped off with about a dozen cokes (I can’t figure it out… most of the rest of the world likes to drink carbonated beverages only one at a time, and in shot-glass size portions. You have to keep asking for more – unless it’s just a cruel joke for foreigners to see how many they’ll order before finally giving up), I felt thoroughly refreshed!

Hotel Javorina...

This is Nemseve (“Nem-Seh-Vay” - I think I got that right)! She and her brother own the hotel in which I stayed while in Novo Mesto nad Vahom, and she stopped for a moment when I checked out to tell me their story. Apparently, their father built the hotel some 50 years ago, but sold it to a new proprietor. After he passed away, Nemseve and her brother decided to try to get it back, and now, after 20 years, have finally acquired and paid it off. They now proudly own and operate the little hotel, and it sits right next to the little train/bus station in Novo Mesto. It was also cheap (a little less than $30/night for a room with two beds), clean, and well maintained. Also has a little restaurant in the basement, though I preferred the “Pizzeria” about a quarter of a mile away, as my next post will describe. Anyway, believe it or not, Novo Mesto is actually a pretty “happinin’” place, and it was a good thing that I got the room when I did as the other local hotels had already filled up and there was quite a bit of action at the Javorina as well.

Rene's Pictures...

Hey! I just got these pictures from Rene (my friend from the previous post) of Csjethe, and wanted to post them here. He's a much better photographer than i am. :- ):

New Friends: Rene and Dasha

The two lovers I had seen and briefly addressed walked by as I set about trying to figure out how to get down from the castle. Really, only two options presented themselves, the first of which being to try to navigate down the rocky slope I had used to ascend (the prospect of which I did not relish), and the second was to take the little road and follow the sign, and hope that I could somehow find my way back to the train tracks at Visnove where I would have to wait until 4 a.m. for my train back to Novo Mesto nad Vahom (a prospect which sounded daunting and rather unpleasant as I was already soaked with sweat, the temperature was dropping radically, and 4 a.m. would still be 9 hours away). Considering that I didn’t really like either option, I asked the couple if they spoke Russian, German or English, and the man indicated that he spoke a little English. After a couple of minutes, he told me that he had a car at the base of the road, and that he would be happy to take me to Chactice, the next neighboring town, so that I could catch an earlier train to Novo Mesto if I wanted. I thanked him vigorously, and then the three of us began walking down the rocky little road on the back side of the castle. I introduced myself, and the man told me his name was Rene, and his companion’s name was Dasha. After about 150 yards, a little Alfa Romeo was parked, and we all piled in for the rest of the trek down the mountain road. Rene told me that if I couldn’t get a train from Chactice, he would just take me all the way to Novo Mesto, and while I knew that such was a good 10 km away and didn’t want to be a bother to them, he insisted. When we arrived at Chactice, it was quite obvious that no one was operating the little station. Rene asked some teen aged boys who were smoking cigarettes in the dark when the next train would be coming by, they responded (I couldn’t understand them), and then Rene looked at me, smiled, and said, “well, Jack, I will be your taxi this evening.” I told him I didn’t mind waiting, but again, he waved me off and so I piled back in his car. 10 minutes later, I was at the door to my hotel here in Novo Mesto, and waving goodbye to him and Dasha. They were really sweet people, and honestly, angels in disguise as I have (after winding with them through the roads in Rene’s car) no idea how I would have re-located the train line or found my way back to Visnove without them. I’d probably still be stumbling around in the darkness trying to figure out where the heck I was, and watching over my shoulder for a woman clad in white (note: female vampires are ALWAYS dressed in white… at least so the mythology dictates before about 1950) with long, pointy teeth quickening her step behind me. Thanks, Rene and Dasha!

Mission Accomplished!

So there I stood, achieving one of my long-set upon ambitions. Standing in the remoteness of inner Transylvania with a blood red sunset diving over the Eastern horizon of the Carpathian mountains amidst the ruined ramparts of a 600 year old castle that housed, as many people call her, “the female Dracula” with my heart still pounding in my head from altitude and lack of oxygen with bats flying over my head, making “thippy” flutters of their wings and small squeaks as they cavorted about in sharp turns after insects in the narrowing dusk. Picture included. Mission accomplished!

The Tower.

As I mentioned in my previous post, Elizabeth was walled up into her bedroom and served food through a small slot until she eventually died. This picture shows the “walling” of that room (you can tell that the brick looks “newer” than the brick around it), and the tower still stands like a sentinel above the small town below. Interestingly, as I crept closer to get a better look, a small bundle of bats burst from a hole in the brick overhead and zinged in tight turns around my head for a couple of seconds. I must have simply startled them, but the effect was noteworthy as adrenaline shot through my veins and I subconsciously pulled my coat collar a little closer over my neck.

The Castle...Or What's Left of It.

Truthfully, as I think I have already mentioned, there’s really not much left of Csjethe. I’m not positive about this, but I think it was actually burned to the ground at some point after Elizabeth’s demise, which would account for the only things remaining being stone-works, but I’ll have to confirm that sometime from other sources. Someone has erected large bracings to hold up what remains of the castle wall at various points (some shown here), but in general, the place looks like it won’t probably make it past another century or so. Still, the pictures that follow give some brief glimpses of what I saw as I explored the ruins.

This is the entryway through the main wall of the castle from the small trail that leads to the castle. It’s fairly narrow, but would easily have accommodated a caleche (a horse-drawn carriage) or horsemen.

This is a “back” view from the inside of the wall and emerging onto the castle grounds, just having passed through the entrance. You can still see the primary ramparts, the castle wall, and Elizabeth’s “death tower” in which she spent her remaining days.

This is some geek who traveled 6,000 miles to hike a 1,000 foot cliff in order to see the remains of a castle that belonged to an auspicious vampire, and who had, at this point, no idea of how to get down or back to his hotel. However, he’s having the time of his life, as you can probably tell from the smile on his face.

This is a view down to the little town of Visnove from the castle wall. It’s a loooong way down. Unless, of course, you can turn yourself into a bat.

This is the “inner archway” that would have been the primary entrance to the castle itself. If you look closely, you can see a young couple who shortly after I reached the castle, came walking up the back road. I waved to them, and I’m sure looked just as much of a freak to them as I felt, and generally tried to leave them alone as we each explored our own routes through the castle. Seeing them, however, desperately made me miss Sami even more, particularly when the young man would hold the young woman closely in the chilled air to keep her warm, or sneak a quick kiss under a weathered walkway.

These last pictures are simply a random assortment of shots from within the castle. Notice, as I mentioned, some of the necessary bracings that have been put up to keep the walls from falling over. The castle is definitely not in any kind of shape to last too much longer.