Breaking The Habit – A Satu Mare Story (The Lost Lands #8)

Habit is a powerful force, perhaps the greatest force that governs our lives. It has been said that humans are creatures of habit. That truth cannot be emphasized enough. Habit brings order to the chaos of a world that constantly threatens to upend our lives. It acts as a source of comfort and security. Familiarity sets us at ease. Do the same things, the same way long enough, and habit becomes second nature. Habit is something you can rely upon. Friends and family may come and go, but habit remains with us for as long as we adhere to it. Habits are so comforting that they are hard to break. I discovered this as I planned the next stop on my itinerary for the lost lands beyond the borders of Hungary. I was left with a choice, go to either Transylvania or into the unknown.

The railroad to Satu Mare (Credit: ticsung)

Easy Ways Out – Paths of Least Resistance
Travel should be the antithesis of habit. It is supposed to take us away from the dullness of our daily routines. Travel should help us get outside of ourselves and our self-contained worlds long enough to experience something exciting and new. Travel is supposed to be an adventure, not a repetition. And yet I know from experience how habits can influence travel. Waking up in a strange land, among unfamiliar surroundings, where I cannot speak more than a few words of a foreign language sends me fleeing back to the familiar. 

When I am fearful, a habit of taking the path of least resistance begins to govern my actions and decisions. While planning the itinerary, I found myself mentally falling back on habit not long after crossing the border into Romania. I began to veer towards a preexisting pattern. First, I would cross the border at Letavertes-Sacueni like I did six years ago, take a rural highway to Alend, then wind my way up and over King’s Pass into Transylvania. This route was identical to the one I had taken six years before. I was semi-consciously following my own footsteps. The route did not excite me, but it was familiar and safe.

Once in Transylvania, I would have familiar choices for my other destinations. Cluj, Sighisoara, Sibiu, and Targu Mures, all cities I had visited before. I thought each place would help me learn about the Treaty of Trianon’s legacy. On those initial visits I was not focused on Trianon. Now I would be, with the added benefit of understanding what travel to each city entailed. This could make a potentially difficult journey much easier. I was practicing the art of self-delusion. A return journey comforted rather than intrigued me. This reminded me of returning to where I grew up. The luster might have worn off, but I would find contentment. That is what I wanted to believe. I hardly ever go home because I outgrew it long ago. The familiar went from being fascinating to unfathomable. Everything looks the same and has somehow changed. The same would be true in Transylvania.

Still, I tried to convince myself otherwise. I told myself that Transylvania was the most obvious choice to investigate the lessons of Trianon. It was the largest region of the lands Hungary lost. Hungarians went misty eyed, got angry, or became sullen (sometimes all three) when talking about it. What would a journey in search of Trianon be without Transylvania? Counterintuitive and shocking. Both of those appealed to me. Impulsively, I turned away from Transylvania. It was like walking away from a beautiful bride at the altar. I felt powerful rather than powerless. By defeating the urge for Transylvania, I was ready for a real adventure. There was still one other mental barrier to overcome.

A distant figure – Statue in Satu Mare (Credit: Elek Szemes)

On The Contrary – Coming To Crisana
I have never cared much about what other people think, but my sudden turn away from Transylvania led me to believe that in the future I would be forced to justify this journey to others. Someone would ask me, “What did you think of Transylvania?” My reply would consist of a blank stare, averting the eyes, and muttering, “I did not go there.” That would be followed by a deep and penetrating silence from my interlocutor who would silently be saying to themselves, “Are you kidding me?” Going to Transylvania is like marrying a millionaire. You might end up regretting the relationship, but the memories will be worth it. Nevertheless, I pride myself on doing the opposite of what is expected. My mother has told me on numerous occasions that I enjoy being contrary. The idea of resuming my contrarian persona energized me. I wanted to break my habit and set myself free.

I now contemplated Crisana as my new destination in Romania. I had been there before, but never spent a single night in the Romanian part of the region which encompasses the northwestern part of the country. My experience in Crisana consisted of a day trip to Oradea, passing through Arad on the train, and traveling across the region to or from Transylvania. Crisana has been mostly a place on the way to somewhere else. It had never captured my imagination the way Transylvania did. This time I vowed to not let my less than enthralling previous experiences with Crisana stop me from going there. There was one place I longed to investigate there. The city of Satu Mare (Szatmárnémeti).

Icing on the cake – Dacia Hotel in Satu Mara (Credit: Roamata)

Relegation Zone – Sitting In The Corner
Satu Mare means “big village”.  Picking it over the land beyond the forest (the literal meaning of Transylvania) was not an auspicious beginning. I knew a great deal about Transylvania, I knew nothing other than some demographic statistics about Satu Mare before and after Trianon. At least this was something to go on. The city surely had much more to offer. Satu Mare’s relative anonymity is nothing new for places in Romania. Like everything else in the country (except for the capital Bucharest), if it is not in Transylvania, then foreign tourists do not go there. Satu Mare’s location does nothing to help it. The city’s location in the northwestern corner of Romania does nothing to help it. Satu Mare is a regional transport hub of great value to local and regional travelers. It is not a destination for tourists, but it just might be for travelers. I intend to find out.

Click here for: Following The Bouncing Ball – Rediscovering Satu Mare (The Lost Cities #9)

Ghosts In The Room – Transylvania In Hungary (The Lost Lands #6)

My first confrontation with the lost lands beyond Hungary’s borders concerned Transylvania. This confrontation did not take place high in the towering mountains, deep within dark forests, nor beside sparkling lakes. Instead, it occurred within the borders of Hungary. Any foreigner who spends more than a few weeks in Hungary will discover that Transylvania is all around them. A ghost that enters the room anytime there is a reference to Transylvania. The connections are unavoidable. The Treaty of Trianon could take Transylvania away from Hungary, but it could not take Transylvania out of Hungarians. I learned this from first-hand experience.

Mystical setting – King’s Pass in Transylvania

Deep Roots – Acts of Remembrance
One thing I have noticed while traveling in Hungary is the constant presence of Transylvania. Talk to a Hungarian about the Treaty of Trianon and Transylvania will be the first region in Historic Hungary mentioned, and likely the only one. This is just the beginning. In Debrecen’s train station as I perused the hardback picture books for sale, I noticed the photos were of cities, villages, castles, and historic sites in Transylvania. I would need an extra set of hands to count all the used bookstores in Budapest that feature the three volume Erdely Tortenete (History of Transylvania). Walking down the street, I notice a sticker affixed to a car with the outline of Historic Hungary. It makes apparent that the largest region lost due to Trianon was Transylvania. At the magnificent neo-Gothic Hungarian Parliament building, the Szekely flag flies beside the entrance. An intentional act of remembrance for the Hungarian speaking minority that still guards its autonomy in eastern Transylvania as fiercely as it guarded the Kingdom of Hungary’s borders beginning in the Middle Ages.

Walking through the bowels of Nyugati (Western) Station, I heard the Szekely anthem playing. Driving through the countryside of eastern Hungary I noticed numerous Trianon monuments, most of which mention Erdely (Transylvania). The obsession with Transylvania extends to literature and far beyond Hungary’s borders. While reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula, I learned that estate agent Jonathan Harker lands in a Budapest hospital after barely surviving the blood thirsty excesses of Count Dracula. Furthermore, the Count claims Szekely ancestry. During my first visit to Budapest in 2011, I noticed three thick volumes on the shelves of what would become my favorite bookstore in the world, Bestsellers. The books were the Transylvania Trilogy by Miklos Banffy, a Hungarian aristocrat who was heir to one of Transylvania’s most famous families. Banffy managed to outdo his ancestors in literary achievements. An incredible writer and storyteller, Banffy’s books have gained fame well beyond Hungary’s borders. They express the deep-rooted connections between Hungarians and Transylvania.

For the record – The three volume History of Transylvania

Paying Tribute – In The Grip of a Vision
In Kispest, one of Budapest’s downtrodden former industrial districts, I happened upon the Wekerle Estate, a Transylvanian inspired housing project. The estate was the work of architect Karoly Kos who was born in Timisoara (Temesvar) but spent much of his life in Transylvania. He brought the latter’s aesthetics with him to Kispest. The estate is prized property in an otherwise nondescript district. In Hungary, I have enjoyed meals of Koloszvari-layered sauerkraut, the name recalling Transylvania’s largest city. The dish originated in Oradea (Nagyvarad), rather than Koloszvar, but both cities were lost due to Trianon. Szekely inspired residents can be found both inside and outside the capital. A taste of Transylvania is never far away.

Even Romanians cannot escape from Transylvania in Hungary. For instance, Vlad Tepes (Vlad the Impaler) a name that lives in infamy to all but Romanians who view him as a national hero. While reading a biography of Tepes, I learned that his ferociousness did not intimidate Hungary’s most famous king Matthias Corvinus, who held Vlad under house arrest in Visegrad (along the Danube Bend north of Budapest) for a decade. Speaking of Corvinus, he was born in Koloszvar (Cluj). His exploits as King of Hungary from 1458 – 1490 gained him statues on both Castle Hill and Hero’s Square in Budapest. Corvinus is the most famous of a long list of Hungarian heroes who hailed from Transylvania. It is impossible to overstate the grip that Transylvania has on Hungary.

Some might call the Hungarian connection to Transylvania the product of historical roots, others a fetish, I would call it an obsession. One informed by passion, romanticism, sentimentalism, and depression. Hungary has a perpetual case of post-traumatic stress disorder arising from the Treaty of Trianon. Transylvania is one of the main causes, and certainly a consequence of that disorder. It is considered by far the greatest loss that Hungarians have suffered in modern history. Right up there with the Mongol Invasion (1241-1242) and the Battle of Mohacs (1526) as seminal national disasters. Unlike the older historical events, the loss of Transylvania is still playing out today. Anyone who has visited Transylvania knows why Hungarians feel its loss so acutely. Quite simply, there is no place like it in Europe. The landscape is stunning, and the history matches it. Much of that history involves Hungarians.

When the Ottoman Turks occupied Hungary for most of the 16^th and 17th centuries, and the Habsburgs imposed themselves on northern Hungary, Transylvania retained its autonomy. The principality paid an annual tribute to the Ottomans and was largely free to run its own affairs. This set off a Golden Age under the rule of Gabor Behlen, a renaissance in the land beyond the forest. For Hungarians, this preserved their essence at a time of great peril. In turn, this led to Hungarians viewing Transylvania as the purist part of their historic lands. An older book on Transylvania I have on my shelf sums this up in its title, “The Other Hungary.”

Flying high – Szekely flag at the Hungarian Parliament building in Budapest
(Credit: Derzsi Elekes Andor)

Misty Eyed – A Sentimental Journey
The deep sense of connection Hungarians have to Transylvania made its loss a national catastrophe. It was like losing a part of themselves. Discuss Transylvania with a Hungarian and their emotion is palpable. I recall one man who told me about his visit to a mountain top in Transylvania. As he contemplated the beauty before him and his Hungarian ethnicity, he became misty eyed. I found such sentimentality disconcerting. Transylvania is a life force in Hungary. No wonder the national psyche was traumatized by its loss.

Click here for: Standard Deviation – Demographic Discoveries In The Crisana (The Lost Lands #7)

The Land Before Transylvania – Crossing Into Crisana (The Lost Lands #3)

In January an academic conference on the Treaty of Trianon was held in Budapest. Though the 100^th anniversary of the treaty’s signing occurred in 2020, Trianon is still of such intense interest among Hungarians that the topic never fails to draw an audience. Of the nine presentations given at the conference, five were on relations between Hungary and Romania. This was not a coincidence. I have talked with many Hungarians about Trianon and heard a range of opinions. There is a sense of resignation in every Hungarian I have spoken to about it.  One told me it was the second worst thing to happen in world history, ranking only behind the Holocaust.

Another Hungarian told me she didn’t care about Trianon. That same woman mentioned that her surname came from a village in Eastern Transylvania where her family originated from. I looked up the village on a map and discovered that it was right on the pre-Trianon border between Austria-Hungary and Romania. One Hungarian told me the victorious powers were to blame for the treaty. They loathed Hungary and wanted to dismember the country. Every Hungarian seems to have an opinion about Trianon. The one place they most often mentioned while discussing Trianon was Transylvania. This is why I put Romania first on my itinerary for the lost lands beyond Hungary’s borders. 

The long view – Reformed Church & Ghenci village in Crisana (Credit: Ady Negrean)

Land of Confusion – Far From The Truth
Contrary to popular belief, Transylvania is not Dracula. Blood thirsty vampires do not lurk in the dark recesses of ominous castles. For centuries, vampires enjoyed legendary status among Transylvanian peasants. Bram Stoker took those legends and created a character that haunted the imagination of readers all over the world. Dracula and vampires are a distraction from the real ghosts of Transylvania. Those ghosts enter the room when Transylvania and Trianon are discussed. Hungarians and Romanians are haunted by the ghosts of Trianon. For Romanians, the ghosts are mostly friendly, For Hungarians, the ghosts are always tragic. As a foreigner, I find these extremes disconcerting. They remind me of a line in T.S. Eliot’s poem Ash Wednesday, “Wavering between the profit and the loss. In this brief transit where the dreams cross.” Dreams certainly cross the Hungary and Romania border. As do nightmares.

Listening to Hungarians talk about Transylvania can make you believe the region is right across the border in Romania. It is as though you could reach out and touch it. This is far from the truth. To get to Transylvania, one must first cross the Hungary-Romania border, then make their way across a land of confusion. This is the Crisana (Körösvidék) Region. I have yet to hear a single person call the region by that name. Transylvania literally translated means the “land beyond the forest.” Crisana should be known as the “land before Transylvania.” Crisana’s claim to urban fame is the beautiful city of Oradea (Nagyvarad). Though the landscape of Transylvania is nowhere in sight, Oradea is often wrongly placed in the region.

Splitting the difference – Crișana Region in Hungary and Romania (Credit: The Blue Mapper)

Caught In The Middle – Splitting The Difference

I did a Google search for the question, “Is Oradea in Transylvania?” The second result yielded by the search came from that long-trusted source of knowledge Britannica. The listing said, “Oradea | Cities, Transylvania, Hungary.” I guess the best and brightest are not always correct. Travelers will also be wrong footed by the open-source travel guide Wikivoyage. The second sentence of its Oradea entry begins, “Despite the city being one of the largest and most important in Transylvania…” For all those who decry Wikipedia as a less than trustworthy source, they might want to think again. The first sentence of its entry on Oradea points the reader in the right direction, stating that Oradea is “located in the Crisana Region.” It is also one of the most beautiful cities in the lost lands.

For the pedants among us, let us state for the record that Crisana gets its name from the Cris (Koros) River and its three tributaries. One of those tributaries, the Crisul Repede runs through the heart of Oradea. The boundaries of Crisana stretch into eastern Hungary and include the country’s second largest city, Debrecen. Crisana is as much a land unto itself as Transylvania. While it lacks the spectacular natural beauty found in the latter, it does include a multitude of landscapes from pastoral flatlands, verdant forests, and foothills that roll away towards the mountains. All of this is lost on the traveler who is entranced by visions of Transylvania. That is a shame because Crisana rewards those who let their curiosity guide them. There could be worse things than the Romanian part of Crisana being placed in Transylvania, but hardly more absurd ones. It is a wild exaggeration. Just how wild can be shown with a thought experiment. 

Natural setting – Sunset in Crisana (Credit: Adrian Padurariu)

Farmer Harker – Dracula In Crisana
Imagine Bram Stoker’s Dracula inhabiting a gloomy manor house surrounded by farmland. Rather than wolves, docile horses and wandering cattle doze in the surrounding fields. The only battlements to be found are stalks of wheat and corn. Jonathan Harker has come to help Dracula sell his estate to a ginormous agricultural corporation that lives off massive subsidies from the European Union. Dracula’s devious plan involves getting back at Harker who he sees as all that is wrong with the EU. Dracula blames Harker and useful idiots like him for ending the era of the wooden plow. Rather than a shadowy coachman coming to pick up Harker upon his arrival at the railway station in Satu Mare, a couple of Securitate agents driving a horse drawn wagon cart show up to collect him.

Much to his detriment, Harker discovers that Dracula sucks less blood than the summertime mosquitoes. Harker spends his time writing scathing letters back to the love of his life in London. The fact that the Count’s estate is not in Transylvania drives him nearly mad. How can this be the land beyond the forest when he has yet to reach it? Harker never notices Dracula’s sinister intent as he becomes obsessed with the vagaries of animal husbandry. Harker saves himself from an even worse fate by chasing the Count off the property and into Transylvania with a John Deere tractor. Everyone lives happily ever after. Such is life in the lost lands. I cannot wait to see what comes next in the land beyond the Hungary-Romania border. 

Click here for: Stepping Over The Line – Hungary-Romania Border (The Lost Lands #4)

Anecdotal Evidence – The Wrong Side of the Border in Historic Hungary (The Lost Cities #14b)

I rarely go back to where I grew up other than to visit my mother from time to time. Anytime I do go back, I feel like I am in the twilight zone of my life. Everything seems vaguely familiar and strangely different. I cannot put my finger on what exactly bothers me other than everything. I am a stranger in a place where I spent half my life. That life seems so distant that I have trouble believing it ever happened. Internal exile is an unsettling experience. It can also be an instructive one.

My visits back home are as close as I will ever get to understanding what it must have been like for millions of ethnic Hungarians who stayed in Transylvania, Banat, Vojvodina, southern Slovakia, and the Burgenland after the Austro-Hungarian Empire disintegrated, and the Treaty of Trianon took effect a year and a half later. They went from first among unequals, to last among equals. They still inhabited the lost lands and cities of Historic Hungary. They had memories of a much more pleasant past and worries about an uncertain future.

Lost & found – Hungarian celebration in northern Transylvania after reoccupation in 1940
(Credit: Fortepan)

Place Settings – All Is Not Lost
There were still millions of ethnic Hungarians who stayed put in regions which overnight became part of Czechoslovakia, Romania, the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes (Yugoslavia), and Austria. While these lands were no longer controlled by Hungary, they were still home to 3.2 million ethnic Hungarians. They hoped that eventually Hungary would take back some or all this territory. That would happen in northern Transylvania, southern Slovakia, and the Vojvodina between 1939-41. All would be lost a few years later, along with the Second World War. The consequences for ethnic Hungarians would be dreadful. Considering the tumultuous history they endured, it seems remarkable that so many ethnic Hungarians decided to stay in the lost lands. On the other hand, their identities were tied to the places they called home. Language and culture were also defining factors. Despite all the consternation surrounding them, there are millions of ethnic Hungarians that still live in the territories ceded due to the Treaty of Trianon. For them, all is not lost.

During my travels in Hungary and the lands lost due to Trianon, I have heard some interesting anecdotes regarding ethnic Hungarians living in what amounts to a near abroad. Their situation is unique. Other minority ethnic communities in Eastern Europe such as ethnic Germans were expelled following World War II. Despite facing serious discrimination in postwar Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia, and even worse in Ceausescu-era Romania, ethnic Hungarians mostly stayed put. One sub-group of Hungarian speakers, the Szekely in Eastern Transylvania, have proven among the most resilient.

While visiting one of their historic fortified churches, a high school age girl guided me through the complex. Along the way, I asked her if any Romanians lived in the village. According to her there were none. Only a single Romanian police officer was stationed there. The villagers had no love lost for the Romanian government. The police officer was not trusted. His duties amounted to providing an official presence. According to the girl, he did not have much to do because no one in the village shared anything of importance to him. The village was an insular and isolated community. I doubt that any outsider, whether they happened to be Romanian or not, would have been accepted.

Timeless setting – Szekely village in eastern Transylvania

Innocence & Experience – Szekely Land & Slovakia
While visiting one of their historic fortified churches, a high school age girl guided me through the complex. Along the way, I asked her if any Romanians lived in the village. According to her there were none. Only a single Romanian police officer was stationed there. The villagers had no love lost for the Romanian government. The police officer was not trusted. His duties amounted to providing an official presence. According to the girl, he did not have much to do because no one in the village shared anything of importance to him. The village was an insular and isolated community. I doubt that any outsider, whether they happened to be Romanian or not, would have been accepted.

I was not surprised by the Szekely girl’s attitude. She lived in a world that was bound by traditions that had changed little over the centuries. In the grand scheme of Szekely Land, Trianon was very recent. What I did find surprising was the girl’s opinion of Hungary. She had spent some time there and did not find it to her liking. She said the people were “different” and “not very nice.” The humble, rural lifeways of the Szekely’s could not have been further from Budapest. Szekely’s and the land are inseparable. Trianon could not put a stop to that. If anything, the treaty only solidified it.

I came upon another surprising attitude from a Hungarian woman who had been born in Czechoslovakia, but now lived in Simontornya, an hour and a half south of Budapest. Her family was originally from southern Slovakia. They decided to move back to Hungary after Trianon. They had the option of staying in Czechoslovakia where life for the family had been pretty good, even after Hungary lost control of the territory. Uncertainty about what might happen in the future, drove her father to move the family back to Hungary.

When I asked the woman her opinion of Slovakia, she thought it was fine and still had family in the area. After the family moved to Hungary, she recalled hearing her mother say to her father, “I told you we should not have left.” Hungary during the interwar years was not a better place to be than Czechoslovakia. Starting a new life in a country riven with economic problems and seething with resentment over Trianon could not have been easy. That woman’s family story reflected the difficulties.

Divide & conquer – Trianon Monument in Batasszek, Hungary (Credit: Netpartisan)

The Way Things Were – The Way Things Are
Trianon is still an emotional subject in Hungary. Sometimes I believe it is more on the minds of those who live inside the country, than it is for ethnic Hungarians who live outside it. Finding a voice of reason can be difficult. Another Hungarian acquaintance who lives in Budapest and has traveled throughout the lost lands had a sensibly nuanced take on Trianon. He said that the resentment and revanchism during the interwar years was understandable. Emotions were running high, and many of those who wanted Hungary to regain the territory had suffered directly from Trianon. In his opinion, the Hungarian attitude should have changed after the Second World War. The retaking of territory lost to Trianon had only proved temporary. The result was more pain and suffering for ethnic Hungarians.

The terms of Trianon were never going to be revised. Hungary’s loss in the war decided that. In his opinion, it was past time for Hungarians to move on. Complaining about the situation was not going to make it better. Millions had learned to live with it. There was no use deluding oneself, the borders of Trianon were solidified after the war. There was not anything that would change that. Hungarians could live in the past, but what good would it do them? As the author Thomas Wolfe said, “you can never go home again.” For millions of ethnic Hungarians that will always be the case.

You Can Take It With You – Baggage Handler at Bontida (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #79)

They say you can’t take it with you. I have found that in terms of travel that is not true. I have always taken “it” with me. For a long time, I did not realize that I was carrying “it” with me wherever I went. I thought that I was traveling to experience new places, new people, new languages, and new cultures. I was going to see famous, infamous, and obscure sights. I was going to go from reading history in books, to experiencing history where it happened. I was going to escape the repetition and dullness of daily life by traveling to places that stimulated my curiosity. I was going to get away from it all and I thought I did. I did not notice anyone or anything following me. Then one day, I finally realized that I carried the world I thought I left behind within me.

You can take it with you. There is no finer example than the time I spent in Riga, Latvia. The weather was cold, humid, and blustery. The opposite of what it had been in Kyiv when I left there a day earlier. The climatic change led to me catching a terrible cold. Sore throat, fever, chills, clogged sinuses, I had caught an awful cold. The physical part of this cold would be mitigated with medication. The mental part was another matter altogether. It could not be cured by anything in a bottle. What I really needed was my mom. That might not sound like the most macho thing for a middle-aged man to say, but while lying in the bed at night fending off fever dreams, I wished that my mom would walk into the room. Her presence would have comforted me. She always did when I was a child. Now I was in Riga, as far from home in place and time as I had ever been. My mother would not be coming to check on me. This was the moment when I realized how much I relied on her. I carried my mother with me wherever I went, in sickness and in health.

Chilled – Autumn in Riga (Credit: Laurijs Svirskis)

Keeping Watch – In The Eyes of Strangers
I have spent an inordinate amount of time looking into stranger’s eyes. Behind ticket counters at train stations, at bakeries while picking up breakfast, during check-in at hotels, on numerous free tours, I searched in stranger’s eyes for affirmation. This is much more difficult in foreign countries where I cannot speak the language. I must look for signs. Perhaps a subtle warmth in the eyes, knowing glance, or hint of a smile. I did not need much more than that. That was exactly what I received on free tours in Bucharest and Bratislava, Prague and Pula, among many other places in Eastern Europe. Acknowledgement from the guide meant the world to me. Once that was done, I could relax, listen, and go back to being a loner. I did not need to be the center of attention, only an acknowledgement. That need has always been inside of me.

I always talked too much as a child, probably because I felt like no one was really listening to me. I have learned to live with being largely ignored, but only after an acknowledgement. If one was not forthcoming, then I would continue to search. The need comes from a childhood where my dad had disappeared, and my mom was distracted with trying to meet our most basic needs. There was no one to really listen, but my mom always acknowledged me and my two siblings. As for my father, he never knew what I was missing. Unfortunately, I did and still do, no matter how far I am from home, I still search for affirmation in the eyes of strangers.

Affirmation – Guide on the Free Tour of Bucharest

Illicit Love Affair – An Epic Tragedy
I carried a lot of baggage to Bontida and none of it was on my back. I went to see the ruined home of the Transylvanian aristocrat, Miklos Banffy whose Transylvania Trilogy I had read with intense interest. That lost world fascinated me with its elegant balls, crazed eccentrics, illicit love affairs, intellectual endeavors, and sporting pursuits. That grand splendor was dealt the first of several fatal blows by the First World War. The world which had existed prior to the war never really returned afterwards. It struggled on like a bad marriage momentarily saved by material possessions and money. There was no going back to the way things used to be. Memories evoked sadness rather than joy because they were a reminder of all that had been lost. Everyone was left fending for themselves.

The old order had been upended to the point that no one knew what came next. Some picked up the pieces and rebuilt a semblance of their lives, others took to slowly killing themselves, while still others practiced the fine art of self-delusion. There were plenty of poisons to pick from. Radical ideologies were among the most lethal. Banffy erred on the side of truth masquerading as fiction with his epic trilogy. I felt a kinship with the lost world he so elegantly portrayed. Another great writer of the early 20^th century, Marcel Proust, once said, “the only true paradises are the ones we have lost.” I didn’t quite realize at the time of my visit to Banffy Kastely that I was searching for a paradise I had lost. Slowly the truth revealed itself to me. I was searching one lost world for another. 

Light and darkness – View from a ruined room at Banffy Kastely

The Lost World – Transylvanian Trauma
The lost world of Transylvanian aristocracy portrayed by Banffy reminded me of the one our family lost when my father walked away from it all. We went from wealthy to working class overnight. The upper economic echelon of society was no longer open to us. Love turned to loneliness, and the emotional tumult took a toll on everyone. No one was ever the same. Some of us were better, some of us were worse, none of us were left unscathed.  The baggage I carried to Banffy Kastely was the heaviness in my heart brought all the way from home. They say you can’t take it with you. I know better. I know the truth.

Click here for: Playing The Victim – Imagining The Worst In Sarajevo (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #80)

Reputation Management – Transylvania: The Land Beyond The Myth (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #73)

Transylvania has a fictitious reputation in the west. The region is reputed to be gloomy, ominous, and prone to the supernatural. A place where people can disappear or if they survive, are never the same again. A place of strange people and even stranger customs. A land frozen in time. Where horsepower is still in vogue, style starts and ends with embroidered shirts and superstition inform patterns of belief. It is always the late 19th century in Transylvania. As I am sure you can imagine, Transylvania’s reputation in the west stems from its portrayal in Bram Stoker’s Dracula. That portrayal comes to mind anytime Transylvania is mentioned. It is extremely difficult for anyone to look past the popular image. While Stoker started Transylvania’s sinister reputation, Hollywood successfully cultivated and exploited it. Numerous films have been made about Count Dracula lurking in his hilltop castle. He hatches devious, blood-soaked ventures against anyone unlucky enough to set foot in his domain. Full moons, rabid wolves roaming the land, and terrified peasants cowering in their homes. Utterly ridiculous, and incredibly captivating.  

Stark reality – Fortified church in Transylvania

Beyond The Forest – The Allure of Danger
Anytime I read glowing reviews of Transylvania from first time visitors I think of two things. The first is that they are correct. Transylvania is a lovely place filled with natural and historic wonders that are unique to Europe. Those first-time visitors who imagine a land seductively sinister are shocked to discover Transylvania’s spectacular charm. My second thought comes in the form of a question. How much of a first-time visitor’s shock is a reaction to a preconceived notion that Transylvania is menacing. Reality comes as a pleasant surprise. Interestingly, many visitors do not realize that Stoker’s portrayal of Transylvania was not ill-informed or altogether wrong. His fiction had its basis in fact. He relied heavily on Emily Gerard’s The Land Beyond The Forest which provided information on peasants’ beliefs in vampires and the power of superstition. Stoker never visited Transylvania, but by relying on Gerard as a major source of information he might as well have. Her observations came from first-hand experience and were spot on.

Beyond Stoker’s ominous portrayal of the region, there is also the fact that the landscape of Transylvania lends itself to mystery. The literal translation of Transylvania, “land beyond the forest” speaks to this. When I read that phrase, I want to know what exactly was “beyond the forest.” What does that land look like? Why was it considered “beyond?” And what will travelers face in the forest on their way to the “land beyond?” Is the “land beyond” magical and sublime? Transylvania is a mystery waiting to be solved in the most literal manner possible. The region’s spectral reputation has part of its basis in nature. There are thick forests filled with wildlife, remote mountains, and howling wilderness. What would Stoker’s Dracula be without this landscape? Just another crazed aristocrat living out his days in isolation while hoping to prey on wayward travelers. We have all seen that movie before. What we rarely see is nature playing a starring role. A character, wild and beautiful, inviting and unhinged, the allure of danger. This is Transylvania’s natural personality. Much of its reputation flows from that.

Life on the edge – Ruins of Rasnov Fortress in Transylvania

Subverting Expectations – Preconceptions & Misconceptions
Transylvania is also a place where reality meets fantasy. For instance, Stoker’s novel met its architectural match in a castle never mentioned in the novel. It is doubtful that Stoker had Bran Castle in mind when he was writing Dracula. No worries because legions of promoters and tourists would do the work for him. Bran Castle has become the stand in for Dracula’s Castle, though it was no such thing in the novel. The hilltop setting and fearsome appearance are the perfect match for what many want to believe should be the home of Dracula. They are not going to let truth get in the way of a good story. That Transylvania can mesh fantasy and reality shows just how phenomenal the landscape and associated architecture of the region can be.

This being Transylvania, Bran Castle also subverts expectations and upends preconceived notions. Rather than Count Dracula living there, the Castle’s most famous resident was Queen Marie, Romania’s most beloved royal. Though Bran Castle is also associated with Vlad Tepes (Vlad the Impaler), it is Marie’s time there that steals the show for visitors. I doubt this is what anyone expected, but this is a fine example of how Transylvania turns assumptions on their head.

The same effect can be seen with the fortified churches found throughout the region. Churches are supposed to be places of peace. In Transylvania, they were prepared for war. The church and fortress aspects are one and the same. They were integral to survival both spiritually and militarily. They are more common than castles and just as atmospheric. Behind the sturdy are sanctuaries with wooden pews. Fortified churches are simple and sophisticated. That could sum up much of what makes Transylvania such a delight. Horse drawn wagon carts amble down roads in the shadow of soaring battlements. It is hard to explain such a thing. One must experience it for themselves. 

Unexpected virtues – Town hall of Targu Mures in Transylvania

Stoker’s Filter – A Skewed Perspective
I, like so many others, fell under the spell of Stoker’s portrayal of Transylvania when I read the parts of Dracula set there. Oddly enough, I read those parts of the book after, rather than before, I visited. I understood that Stoker’s version of Transylvania was very different from reality. I found it complementary rather than contradictory. The Transylvania of Dracula was one interpretation of a place that lends itself to multiple perspectives. Stoker was able to pick and choose aspects that fit his novel. This made for a narrow portrayal of the region. Much of Transylvania’s complexity was lost in Dracula. Emily Gerard saw some of what Stoker envisioned, but she also documented many other fascinating aspects. Gerard had a wealth of experience to draw from for her holistic portrayal of the region. Some parts of her perspective on Transylvania were filtered through Stoker’s Dracula. Rightly or wrongly, that is the way millions in the west still view the region today. Nothing other than a visit to Transylvania will change that view. 

Click here for; Here Be Dragons – Stalked In Brno & Nyirbator (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #74a)

Shelf Life – A Fellow Traveler In Sighisoara (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #72)

A bestselling author working on his next book visits hundreds of museums across Central and Eastern Europe. He is looking for any artifact or exhibit that might increase his understanding of the sprawling Habsburg Empire which once stretched from northern Italy to western Ukraine. The author is interested in anything eccentric or unusual that he finds intriguing. This will inform his book which will be part history/part travelogue on a vast scale. With one of his trusty notebooks in hand and pen at the ready while visiting Sighisoara, Romania. The small Transylvanian city has much to recommend it. Most prominently, an Old Town – a UNESCO World Heritage Site – which rises above the rest of Sighisoara. The spires of several structures can be seen soaring skyward from a great distance. The most famous of these reaches crowns the Clock Tower.

The author sets out to climb the 64-meter-high Clock Tower to get a bird’s-eye view of the surrounding Old Town in all its glory. Along the way he comes across an exhibit on the Transylvanian Saxon rocket scientist and spaceflight pioneer Herman Oberth. The author stops to have a look. He is fascinated by this odd exhibit improbably placed in a seven-hundred-year-old structure. He takes copious notes. This is not out of the ordinary for him. He has reams of such details lining the pages of his notebooks. The information from many of these notes will never make it into the book. Only those which are the most unique and make a larger point about the Habsburg Empire will find their way into print. That includes the exhibit on Herman Oberth in the Clock Tower.

Looking forward – Hermann Oberth bust in Sighisoara

Source of Fascination – A New Chapter
I am not a bestselling author, nor do I carry notebooks with me while visiting museums or historic sites in eastern Europe. I do carry a smartphone which I will sometimes use to take notes on intriguing people, places, incidents, and exhibits that I come across while traveling. When I visited the Clock Tower in Sighisoara, I took some photos. Unfortunately, all but one of them were lost several laptops ago. I must rely on photographic memories of what I saw during my visit. I found the exhibit on Hermann Oberth a source of fascination. Years later when I recalled seeing it, I wondered if my memory had been playing tricks on me. An icon in rocketry celebrated in a building constructed during the Middle Ages.  Yeah whatever. Who would believe such a thing? Perhaps a person who has visited one too many underfunded museums. Lack of money has given many museums license to go in odd directions.

I have been in enough provincial museums to know that items of dubious historical value often end up in the exhibits.  The Clock Tower in Sighisoara felt different. The tower was the museum for me. The artifacts on display were of minor interest at best. Climbing the tower was the only experience that would do. Nothing else could compare. At least, that was what I thought. There would certainly be no need to include an exhibit about someone not associated with the tower such as Hermann Oberth. The exhibit on him would have been better off in the Sighisoara History Museum, but the tower doubled as that museum. This left me bemused. I was not the only one.

A decade after my visit to Sighisoara, Oberth came back to me. Between 2014 and 2024, he lingered in my subconscious until one day curiosity got the best of me. While doing research on Oberth, I glanced across my living room at a bookshelf stacked with volumes I keep outside of my library and close at hand. Most of these are used as ready references. The books also act as eye candy. I love looking at the colorful spines of the (mostly) soft cover books. One of these will often catch my eye, tempting me to pull it from the shelf. On this occasion, it was the white spined Danubia: A Personal History of Habsburg Europe by Simon Winder. Danubia is a book I have read from cover to cover and often return to as a source of inspiration. Winder traveled all over what was once the Habsburg Empire. He spent most of his time there visiting hundreds of museums and historic sites in countless places. These visits are woven into the narrative fabric of Danubia. Winder’s observations are funny, illuminating, and provocative.

Great Read – Danubia: A Personal History of Habsburg Europe by Simon Winder

Historical Justice – Sins of Omission
I pulled Danubia from the shelf and instinctively searched the index looking for references to Sibiu and Sighisoara. Both cities are associated with Oberth. I was looking for information and inspiration about Transylvania. The handful of pages on Sighisoara immediately caught my attention because the Clock Tower exhibit on Hermann Oberth featured in them. Winder had seen the same exhibit I did. He too viewed it as a sublime piece of history found in an improbable place. The subtitle in the chapter dealing with the exhibit is “Transylvanian rocketry.” That is bound to get the reader’s attention. Unfortunately, many other subjects explored in museums do not. Winder talks about the bizarre exhibits that can be found in the museums of Eastern Europe. He creates a fictitious scene where the dullest exhibition case award is given at the annual Christmas dinner for museum directors in western Romania. Winder’s choice goes to an exhibit of two books in the Sighisoara Museum with “illustrations of a man demonstrating a back strengthening device.” For good reason I do not recall this exhibit.

Mania for museums – Simon Winder

I have experienced the same befuddlement as Winder at provincial museums in Eastern Europe. Artifacts that should never see the light of day are on display. It is anybody’s guess why. Perhaps because the museum does not have better artifacts, or the museum director has made a deliberate choice to avoid controversial historical topics. This is particularly true of recent history. The past in Eastern Europe is never far away. Memories and wounds are still raw. Better to stick with absurd therapeutic devices then delve into the 20^th century. Even Hermann Oberth was a controversial subject. His work on V-2 rockets helped lead to the deaths of almost 3,000 British civilians. There was nothing about that in the exhibit. For all anyone knew, a local boy had succeeded beyond the wildest expectations. As Winder says, “Oberth was a terrible figure in many ways but from his mind stepped most of the basic principles of the space programme.” The exhibit did not do Oberth’s life historical justice, but it was still unforgettable. 

Click here for: Reputation Management – Transylvania: The Land Beyond The Myth (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #73)

Destiny & Danubia Calling – Taking Flight In Transylvania (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #71c)

The same question arises when I try to put together the patterns of my life. Is life a series of random events and bizarre coincidences, or does life follow a discernible pattern called destiny? In other words, do things just happen or are they meant to be? I would like to think the latter, but I realize that our minds discern patterns to make sense of an insanely complex and chaotic world. Whether it is true or not, I prefer to keep on believing that most things in life are meant to be. Coincidences are connections, and life’s puzzles will reveal patterns if pursued long enough. This was the case when I began to research Transylvania’s rocket man, Herman Oberth. A chance discovery a decade earlier had settled somewhere deep in my subconscious. Little did I know that Oberth was not only lurking in my memory, but also on a nearby bookshelf.

Looking up – Sighisoara Clock Tower rises to the occasion

Clocking In – Scientific Methods
I heard curiosity rather than destiny calling when I began to research and write about Herman Oberth, a Transylvanian Saxon who through imagination, intelligence, and self-belief became the father of German rocketry. Oberth was very different from the other Transylvanians that have interested me. He was not a prince or peasant, aristocrat or artist. Oberth was a brilliant scientist. This was foreign territory for me. I am not scientifically inclined and have very little interest in space travel, which was one of Oberth’s specialties. He wrote several books which I could never read because the concepts are (literally) over my head. And yet, Oberth was one of those people I could not get out of my mind. Our only meeting did not last more than a few minutes and was so memorable that I am unlikely to ever forget it.

Oberth died twenty-five years before we met, but I doubt he could have made as much of an impression in the flesh as he did that spring day in Sighisoara.  The rocket man’s life and work were the subject of a small exhibit in the 13^th century Clock Tower. History went from the medieval to the moon for anyone who huffed and puffed their way up very steep stairs. If I remember correctly, the exhibit was located between flights of stairs. The Oberth exhibit was there to greet anyone out of breath. I imagine that many people have the same incredulous reaction as me. Surely this could not be a serious attempt at engaging visitors. The Clock Tower does a fine job of that on its own. As does Sighisoara’s immaculately preserved Old Town. I went there to see it and search for Vlad Tepes (Vlad The Impaler’s) birthplace. I achieved both of those goals. The unexpected byproduct was a lasting acquaintance with Oberth, one that would infrequently keep coming back to me until a decade later I finally acted on my curiosity to find out more about him.

Space age – Romania stamp for Hermann Oberth (Credit: Post of Romania)

Unsolved Mystery – An Historical Anomaly
A cursory search of the internet revealed that Oberth is a legend in the history of rocketry. He lived a long life with most of it spent in Germany. He also lived in the United States where he worked on rocket programs for the military. The most obscure parts of Oberth’s life are his first thirty years, most of which were spent in Transylvania. His Transylvanian Saxon roots in the region do not seem to fit a man who imagined such things as moon cars. The Saxons were good at trade, constructing fortified churches, and keeping to themselves. Nothing could be further from the space age than such an insular community. Perhaps Oberth’s imagination was stimulated as a reaction against century old traditions. He wanted to visit new frontiers, though he grew up in a very old one.

I can think of a lot of things Transylvania stimulates such as a love of nature, folk culture, and the simple pleasures of life. Rockets shooting across the sky and manned space flight would be the furthest thing from my mind. Obviously, Hermann Obert had other ideas. The kind that could change the world though he lived in one that had changed very little since the Middle Ages. Obert’s imagination was stimulated by a couple of novels by Jules Verne. There might have been something about Transylvania that spurred his scientific creativity as well. Whatever that was we will probably never know. The Oberth exhibition in the Clock Tower was not going to solve that mystery. Nevertheless, if not for the time Oberth spent in Sighisoara, mostly during World War I, he might never have achieved many of his dreams, which not coincidentally turned into nightmares for British civilians who were on the receiving ends of V-2 rockets he helped develop during World War II. All that was in the future. In Sighisoara, Oberth was already looking towards it.

Personal history – Danubia by Simon Winder

Taking Notice – Strokes of Genius
Getting transferred from the death and destruction of the Eastern Front to relatively quiet Sighisoara led Oberth to scientific strokes of genius with liquid fueled rocketry and weightlessness. His career began to take flight in the small and sleepy Transylvanian city. I doubt the Sighisoara History Museum, which administers the Clock Tower, would have put together an exhibit on Transylvania’s rocket man if several of his intellectual breakthroughs had not occurred while Oberth was stationed in the city. Thank goodness they did. Otherwise, I would never have known Oberth ever existed.

When I first saw the exhibit, I questioned why it was there. Once I learned of Oberth’s time in Sighisoara, I then questioned why the exhibit was in the Clock Tower. The most probable answer was that the hordes of German tourists who come to Sighisoara love to learn about how one of their ethnic kin has a connection there. I assumed that I was one of the few English speakers who showed the slightest bit of interest in the Oberth exhibit. Foreigners who visited the Clock Tower probably glanced at the exhibit and never gave it a second thought. My interest in Oberth was only because I led tours of a former nuclear missile site at the time. Who else could possibly have been intrigued by the exhibit? Simon Winder, the author of Danubia: A Personal History of Habsburg Europe, was who.

Click here for: Shelf Life – A Fellow Traveler In Sighisoara (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #72)

Outer Limits – Hermann Oberth’s Strange Destiny (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #71b)

Sixth grade was an eagerly awaited event in my adolescent school years. One of the teachers happened to be a model rocket enthusiast who styled himself a sort of middle-aged astronaut. He applied to be the teacher taken on the space shuttle Columbia which would tragically explode after taking flight. The closest he got to liftoff was by living vicariously through model rocket launches with his sixth-grade science classes. His love of space flight was infectious to the point that he had the entire class getting their parents to pay for model rocket kits. Then he would help all his students assemble them for launch on the school football field. This was great fun even for a non-scientifically minded student like me.

We would watch the model rocket launches and then chase down the ones with working parachutes. This was a one-of-a-kind experience that helped me understand the fascination with rocketry and outer space. For enthusiasts of space travel, the sky really is the limit. I imagine that was how Hermann Oberth felt as a child. The Transylvanian Saxon grew up in a scientific netherworld where the idea of space travel was as foreign as science fiction. All Oberth had to guide him were Jules Verne novels, his imagination, and whatever he could cobble together for experiments in rocketry. That did not stop Oberth from pursuing his dreams of rocketry and flights to outer space. During his long, complex, and deeply conflicted life, several of Oberth’s ideas changed the world of rocketry and space flight forever.

Looking up – Hermann Oberth at seven years old

Taking Flight – A Single Minded Pursuit
Hermann Oberth was born in Sibiu (Hermannstadt), Austria-Hungary. As a child he became obsessed with rocketry after reading From The Earth To The Moon and its sequel Around The Moon by Jules Verne which dealt with space travel. This led Oberth to build a model rocket and formulate the idea of multistage rockets while still a teenager. As an ethnic German Saxon, he was able to gain entry at a medical school in Munich, Germany where he was to follow in the footsteps of his father who was a physician. Oberth’s studies were cut short by World War I when he was drafted into the German Army and posted to the Eastern Front as a medic. He survived the battlefield long enough to get transferred back to Transylvania. Oberth was assigned to a medical unit in Sighisoara, but he had by this time decided not to become a doctor. Oberth had enough extra time to renew his interest in rocketry and space flight. His time in Sighisoara explains the small exhibit on Oberth that I discovered at the Clock Tower. Romania would prove kinder to Oberth’s early career than Germany.

Oberth moved back to Germany after the war to study physics, but his doctoral dissertation on rocket science was rejected. Fortunately, Augustin Maier, a Romanian professor at the University of Cluj gave Oberth a second chance to defend his dissertation, which he did successfully. He would go on to author a book on space flight. Oberth’s single minded pursuit to see his ideas put into practice eventually paid off. He started a group dedicated to the study of spaceflight which attracted many prominent scientists, including Werner Von Braun. Oberth proved to be a fine mentor for Von Braun. His ideas were ahead of their time. Von Braun, rather than Oberth, would put many of these into practice. During World War II, Oberth worked on different rocketry projects for Nazi Germany, including the V-2 which was used as a weapon of terror against Britain.

Aiming high – Hermann Oberth in his element

Tragedy & Triumph – Delayed Gratifications
Oberth was awarded the War Merit Cross for his service in furthering the German war effort though he was not in lockstep with the V-2 program. Oberth criticized it as militarily unfeasible. True to form, he had his own ideas about what would work better. In this case, a solid fueled V-2 rocket. That idea never came to fruition for V-2’s, but it would for missiles during the Cold War with remarkable results. Oberth made it through World War II unscathed. The same could not be said for two of his children. A son died fighting on the Eastern Front and a daughter was killed in an explosion while working as a technician at a rocket test base. Despite these losses and Germany’s defeat in the war, Oberth never lost his adherence to right wing politics. Many years after the war, he became a member of a far-right political party in West Germany.

When the war ended, Oberth wisely surrendered to the Americans. His Nazi past was overlooked because he did not directly commit any war crimes. After the war he worked on various rocketry projects, the most notable of which were in the United States. Among these, Oberth was a consultant for development of the Atlas Missile, the first Intercontinental Ballistic Missile (ICBM) deployed by the United States. Oberth’s ideas about human spaceflight, once dismissed as ridiculous, went mainstream. He is known as the German father of rocketry.  Among his innovations was work on the mathematical equations used as the basis for rocketry. He also correctly theorized that liquid fueled rockets would be vastly more powerful than ones that were propelled by gunpowder.

A familiar scene – Sighisoara as it would have looked to Herman Oberth between the wars (Credit: Kurt Hielscher)

Improbable Journey – A Long Way From Home
Despite his dubious wartime record and penchant for right wing politics, Oberth was celebrated in his lifetime and still is today. Ironically, there is a moon crater named after him. Quite appropriate, considering that his life’s work advanced rocket science to the point where craters were created by the V-2’s fired by Nazi Germany at Great Britain. Discovering Oberth in the Sighisoara Clock Tower exhibit was just as strange as his life and work. It is difficult to imagine how a boy obsessed with a couple of Jules Verne novels ends up changing the trajectory of rocketry and science for mankind. Oberth’s life journey was just as dramatic and improbable as the spaceflights he dreamed up. That he came from a provincial city in southern Transylvania is as hard to believe as any Jules Verne novel. Yet Oberth was a true believer in the potential of Verne’s visions and of his own. Imagination and intelligence took Oberth a long way from his Transylvania home. The rest of humanity has gone along for the ride.

Click here for: Destiny & Danubia Calling – Taking Flight In Transylvania (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #71c)

Rocket Man – A Surprise in Sighisoara (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #71a)

The man who came closest to being a father to me was a font of wisdom. As an Englishman, Brian Walton loved to provide incisive anecdotes and witty jokes. As a professional historian he had an inexhaustible supply of stories to draw from. The best of these combined historic events with his own personal history. Brian grew up in Stockport, an industrial town in Greater Manchester, during the aftermath of World War II. The mentality in Britain was very different from that of today. The war was still fresh in everyone’s mind. Germans were not to be trusted. They had dropped bombs all over Britain, including three on Brian’s street when he was a toddler. He had an understandable anger towards them which would sometimes still be displayed in gallows humor. Like all good humor, it had subversive intentions.

Coming to America – Hermann Oberth (forefront) with several German scientists including Wernher von Braun at the U.S. Army Ballistic Missile Agency

Taking Flight – Pushing The Limits
One evening, Brian and I were discussing the American development of solid fueled missiles. This was a game changing technology that allowed nuclear missiles to be launched at a moment’s notice. At the time, I was working as a guide at a former nuclear missile site on the Great Plains. Brian filled me in on some missile history which I was only vaguely aware of. He mentioned that America’s missile program excelled partly due to the work of Werner von Braun, a German rocket scientist who conveniently emigrated to the United States after the war and proceeded to help America develop rocketry. Von Braun did not do this out of altruism, but to save himself from the crimes he had committed during the war by developing V-2 rockets which killed almost 3,000 British civilians, wounded thousands of others, and terrorized the populace.

Brian, who was a great lover of movies said, “they made a film about Von Braun’s life while he was still alive. It was called, “I Aim At The Stars. And we used to say in Stockport that it should have been called, “I Aim At The Stars and my rockets fall on Britain.” That story came to mind many years later when I was visiting Transylvania. While climbing to the top of the 13th century Clock Tower in Sighisoara, I came across a small exhibition about a Transylvanian who also aimed at the stars. Hermann Oberth, was a mentor of Von Braun and the man most responsible for rockets falling on Britain. Transylvania has a reputation for the supernatural, but a rocket scientist at one of the most iconic sites in Sighisoara was really pushing the limits. Then again, so did Oberth throughout his long and complex life.

Above all – Clocktower (center) in Sighisoara (Credit: Bogdan Muraru)

Conflict & Complexity – The Saxon’s Story
The last thing I expected to find as I made my way up the medieval Clock Tower in Sighisoara was an image of Hermann Oberth and information on his life. That was because I had never heard of the man. I doubt many others have either and that includes Romanians. Oberth was a Transylvanian Saxon, that community has been dwindling in Romania ever since World War II. An estimated 100,000 Saxons fled westward when the Red Army was about to overrun Transylvania in 1944. Another 70,000 were arrested and sent to the Soviet Union to work as slave laborers. Ironically, Romania, unlike other nations in Eastern Europe did not expel the Saxons following the war. When the Romanian Revolution in 1989 led to the overthrow of dictator Nicolae Ceausescu and communism, there were still 95,000 Saxons living in Transylvania. Due to the dire state of Romania’s economy during the transition from communism to capitalism, most of Transylvania’s Saxons migrated to Germany. They found the peace and prosperity in Germany that had eluded them during their last fifty years in Transylvania.

By the time of my visit to Transylvania in 2014 there were approximately 25,000 Saxons left in Transylvania. That means three out of every four Saxons had left the region since 1990. They had set out for greener pastures. There are plenty of these in Transylvania, but not the kind covered in money like Germany. The Saxon’s greatest legacy are the fortified churches and remarkable villages with spectacularly quaint architecture. Several of these have been designated UNESCO World Heritage Sites. As for the Saxon’s human legacy, that has mostly vanished. This made discovering an exhibit on a Transylvanian Saxon, who had also emigrated from the region long ago, that much more unique. Judging by the number of Germans who I observed visiting Transylvania during my time there, I should not have been so surprised. Perhaps the wounds of war had finally healed enough to promote the accomplishments of Oberth, even if some of his accomplishments helped propagate the war that led to the Saxon exodus from Transylvania. Oberth’s life and legacy is just as conflicted as the Saxon’s recent history in the region.

Making a name for himself – Street sign in Sighisoara (Credit: Renardo la vulpo)

Egregious Exhibition – A Matter Of Importance
I did not spend much time studying the small exhibit on Oberth in Sighisoara’s Clock Tower mainly because it was located on one of the upper levels close to the stairs. I was too busy catching my breath and wiping sweat from my brow due to the long bursting climb up the 64-meter-high tower. My first thought upon seeing the exhibit was perplexity. I could not imagine what would possess someone to put an exhibit about a man who represented one of the modern world’s most ambitious undertakings inside a medieval tower. I have seen enough exhibits in Eastern Europe’s provincial cities to realize that the people running them feel that they must exhibit anything of even the mildest interest to compensate for a lack of funds to create modern exhibits.

I found the Oberth exhibit so egregious as to be memorable. I committed Oberth’s name to memory, promising myself that I would find out more about him later. In the next several years any time I thought of my time in Sighisoara, Oberth would come to mind for a few seconds and then like Transylvania’s Saxons vanish into the past. Finally, a decade after my visit, I decided that it was time to find out why he was so important to Sighisoara and the world. What I discovered was just as fascinating and unexpected as the exhibit I came across in the Clock Tower.

Click here for: Outer Limits – Hermann Oberth’s Strange Destiny (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #71b)