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)

Leaps of Imagination – Sighisoara Syndrome: The Eternal Citadel (Eastern Europe & Me # 15)

This past week I was laying on the floor of a hotel room in Omaha, Nebraska doing exercises when it happened. At an unexpected moment, I was overcome by the “Sighisoara syndrome.” This mental illness has no known cure. Modern medical science has ignored it for a very good reason. To my knowledge, this post is the first time the “Sighisoara syndrome” has been put into print. I believe there is a chance that others besides myself may suffer from it, but no one else has come forward. Perhaps others who have this affliction enjoy their suffering so much that they spend inordinate amounts of time laying in the floor, staring up at the ceiling with a look of dazed rapture on their face. I know that feeling. The one where I transcend time, forget myself, and see the citadel at Sighisoara (Schäßburg in German/Segesvar in Hungarian) materialize before my eyes. While in this trance I cross an enchanted divide that separates reality from imagination. When this happens, I find myself in the equivalent of a fairy tale townscape with the added benefit of knowing this one is real.

Lasting impression – Sighisoara syndrome (Credit: Camil72)

Forever’s Fortress – Beyond The World of Dreams
I have visited the Sighisoara Citadel both physically and mentally. It is via the latter that I have made most of my visits. In my mind, I have constructed a magical mental model of the citadel. The spire of the town entrance tower soars, gleaming silver in the sunlight. The tip of the tower is reaching for a sky that swallows all in the most vibrant blue. Enclosed within the medieval walls are buildings covered in pastels and radiant hues. The stone laden streets are cleanly swept. There is a remarkable impression of tidiness and thrift, wealth and well-being. The citadel is an enhanced version of reality. One of the few places I have been that looks so fantastical I have trouble believing it is real. I remind myself that Sighisoara’s Citadel exists beyond the world of dreams. It is the kind of place in which I can live forever. Maybe that is why I find it so strange that my two physical visits to Sighisoara did not last nearly long enough. The fleetingness of those visits made an improbably lasting impression upon me.

On the first visit, my train from Sibiu to Sighisoara was delayed due to construction. The train took almost twice as long as scheduled to make the journey. Since this was a day trip I was pressed for time to spend between arrival and departure. This left me with a limited amount of time to scale the heights on which the citadel is located. Making my way up the steep streets, the citadel was a looming presence that cast a giant shadow upon me. I was headed toward a confrontation. The tower’s sheer size intimidated me. The Saxons who first constructed the Citadel in the Middle Ages wanted to ensure anyone approaching it took notice. This was a stronghold that gave its defenders a decisive psychological advantage. The citadel was formidable in the extreme. Anyone foolish enough to contemplate an attempt at conquest would surely think twice.

Towering presence – Sighisoara in 1933 (Credit: Kurt Hielscher)

Living Memory – This Magic Moment
My visit only gave me enough time to climb the tower and walk through the cobbled streets. What I saw would stick with me long after I departed. The exquisite mixture of Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque architecture conspiring to create a whole greater than the parts. My visit lasted less than three hours, just enough to time to experience the atmospherics of Europe’s only inhabited medieval fortress. I walked the cobbled streets, inspected towers and bastions that told a story written in stone. Another visit was in order, but ironically my second visit was shorter than the first. That visit occurred during a road trip from Szekelyudvarhely to Timisoara. Due to the Romanian highway system or lack thereof, the drive took the better part of a day due to stops at the Saxon village Saschiz and Biertan. The formidable walled churches and impressive medieval architecture in both places should have been the highlight of that memorable day. Those evocatively beautiful villages ended up taking a backseat to Sighisoara.

Driving into Sighisoara I soon spied the citadel rising above the city. The Clock Tower drew my attention. Style, grace, and girth assimilated into a singular structure. Tiled rooftops of what had once been the homes of merchants and craftsmen shone in the sunlight. Somehow the citadel managed to be just as impressive from a distance as when seen closeup. I imagined how it must have looked to soldiers and travelers five hundred years ago. As they road on horses or wagons into Sighisoara they would catch sight of the Citadel. Before their eyes was a seemingly impregnable fortress, one that looked unconquerable. The Saxons built the citadel for maximum security. They could sequester themselves behind the walls to withstand assaults from invading armies.

Above all else – Sighisoara (Credit: Bogdan Muraru)

The Recurring Dream – A Source of Inspiration
The citadel safeguarded the Saxons while also protecting a unique architectural legacy. The image of the citadel today remains as powerful as it was throughout history. Whereas in prior centuries it repelled invaders, now it attracted tourists. I found it hard to concentrate on the drive into Sighisoara because my eyes had been drawn upward. They were transfixed on that fantastical scene. My mind captured the unforgettable image and stored it deep within my memory. The image of Sighisoara’s Citadel on the day I drove through the city is the same one that keeps coming back to me.

The time I spent passing through Sighisoara was a matter of no more than ten minutes. What I did not realize was the scene I found so enchanting would remain with me. It has become a recurring dream, a vast well spring of inspiration that leads me to believe anything is possible. A state of trance that leaves me laying on the floor, staring straight back into the past, and pulling Sighisoara Citadel into the present. It is with me, a part of me, and something I never knew I had within me. That is until the Sighisoara syndrome strikes once again. Then I arrive at the one place on earth where I can live forever.  

Click here for: Time Does Not Fly – Eastern Europe’s Airport Experience (Eastern Europe & Me #16)

Later Rather Than Sooner – Sibiu to Sighisoara By Rail

In 2007 Romania became a member of the European Union (EU). Since that time, the question has been raised about whether they should have been admitted as members. Critics believe that the country was not ready to join. The foremost reason cited was the level of corruption. Romania is plagued by opaque government and poorly functioning institutions. Everything from procurement to health care is prone to waste and graft. I have now visited Romania three times since its accession, but on these trips I have not personally experienced corruption. Of course, tourists are not applying for unemployment benefits or using the public health system. The closest most tourists get to experiencing the effects of the Romanian government is when using the public transport system. Accession to the European Union was supposed to help Romania improve their transport infrastructure. After traveling through Transylvania a month ago I would have to state unequivocally that Romania has a long way to go in order to catch up with developing countries let alone the rest of the EU.

Time Delayed Device – The Romanian Express
A memorable experience, occurred when my wife and I decided to take a day trip by train, traveling from Sibiu to Sighisoara, a place famed for its citadel, medieval old town and as the birthplace of Vlad the Impaler. We went to purchase our round trip tickets a day in advance. The ticket agent was a lady so helpful and pleasant that she felt compelled to lead us into a labyrinth of route iterations and timetable possibilities. We finally called mercy after a good ten minutes of migraine inducing options. Settling on the simplest plan, we were to leave Sibiu at 7:23 a.m., make one change at Medias and arrive at Sighisoara at 10:25 a.m. Even if one did not count the 19 minute layover in Medias, this was still over two hours and 40 minutes of travel time to cover a mere 80 kilometers. On the return trip, we would have a straight shot, but it would still take over three hours. Our main worry seemed to be making it to Medias for the connection. I had never been on a Romanian train that arrived on time. These trains were the ultimate in time delayed devices. Even the night express which took us direct from Budapest to Brasov earlier on the same trip was over two hours late. Then again that had been a thirteen and a half hour trip, so another two hours didn’t seem all that bad. On the trip to Sighisoara I would find out just how long hours or two can be.

The Most Polluted Town In Europe
The next morning, we left the station beneath clear blue skies. It was shaping up to be a beautiful Saturday, the time of departure was exactly 7:23 a.m. We were rolling along slowly, making stops at various villages along the way. Village life looked as though it had not changed much over the last hundred years. There were as many horse drawn wagon carts, as there were cars on the road. Cracked facades were the main hallmark of the houses and roosters crowed at nothing in particular. It was another spring day in the sleepy villages of Transylvania.

Slowly, ever so slowly the train crawled along, an ominous landscape came into view. The train stopped just outside one of the most depressing places I had ever seen. The land was scalded and scarred between the railroad tracks and a nearby town. Gruesome skeletons of abandoned industrial buildings were haphazardly arranged in the distance. The scene was toxic and nasty. This was the dustbin of heavy industry. I opened my guidebook to Transylvania, hoping that this unsightly monstrosity was marked. It was. The nearby town’s name was Copsa Mica. It was said to be the most polluted town in Romania. I later learned that many believe it is the most polluted town in Europe. I believe it. Copsa Mica was ruined by the heavy industrialization policy of Nicolae Ceaucescu. Two industrial plants had been the culprits. One produced carbon black for dyes, the other was a smelter. This has caused lead poisoning and lung cancer on a terrifying scale. The life expectancy for the citizens of the town is nine years lower than Romanian average.

Copsa Mica with Carbosin Plant in the distance (Credit: Julian Nitszche)

Welcome To Romania
While staring at this environmental disaster I reminded myself that next time someone tries to say a good word about communism, I will ask them to google Copsa Mica. It is a tragic, horrific concoction of ideology and industry. Copsa Mica made it hard to believe that we were still in Transylvania or that less than an hour away was the beauty and elegance of one of the first European Capitals of Culture, Sibiu. I have been to Chernobyl and the nearby abandoned city of Pripyat, but Copsa Mica looks much worse. Today over five thousand people still live in the town. With a shutter and clang, we pulled away from the unsightly, industrial wasteland and through Copsa Mica. I have rarely felt so relieved. Even with a couple of five minute delays, it seemed that we just might make it to Medias in time for the connection. We had to be less than ten kilometers away by now. And then the train began to slow, as we arrived at another village. The difference this time is that we just sat there. The engines shut down. This was followed by an uneasy silence. Minutes went by and nothing happened.

The passengers in the half empty car began to murmur and frown. A ticket checker was stopped and questioned by one man. Even though I can hardly understand a word of Romanian, one could tell that he was being quizzed on the problem. He patiently stood talking for some time. The passenger he addressed sighed when he was finished. Interpreting these gestures I guessed that it was going to be awhile. It was more than awhile. A good 30 minutes passed before the train slowly, ever so slowly began to roll again. We asked a young man of college age on the train if he could tell us what exactly had been the problem. He replied that the ticket checker claimed the line was undergoing construction. He also added for effect, “Welcome to Romania.” The final miles to Medias were prolonged by an excruciating slowness.

Romanian Railways – not exactly at your service (Credit: Marcin Szala)

The Hurry Up To Be Late
We rushed off the train at Medias. Groups of bored looking people were listlessly waiting on several platforms. I rushed into the station, wondering whether or not we had missed our connection. The station was empty. It brought to mind an abandoned public latrine. Fortunately, some invisible being had updated the arrival times. The train to Sighisoara was late. Who would have thought? I felt a sense of foolish relief as I walked back out to the platform. My wife had joined the group of placid faced, would be passengers. It suddenly struck me, how much time do people spend waiting on trains in Romania? Could such a figure even be quantified? The inefficiency, the waste of it all. Could the beauty and romance of Transylvania’s landscape somehow make up for it? Perhaps, I was just being too western, too business oriented, too selfish. After all, at least we were on vacation. What about the poor souls who actually needed to get somewhere. Everyone standing on the platforms looked either complacent or resigned.

After a while the train that would take us to Sighisoara arrived. I find it exceedingly ironic that as soon as a late arriving train shows up, everyone hurries to get on fearing that they might be left behind. This is for good reason. Late arriving trains never dawdle at the station more than a couple of minutes. Instead their modus operandi is to never wait on the tardy, but to only stop for prolonged periods in the middle of nowhere. At least we were back on the tracks. This kind of progress couldn’t last and it didn’t. Sure enough within half an hour we were stopped yet again. This time the situation turned desperate. We waited longer than it had taken us to first arrive at this point. We really were in the middle of nowhere, not a village in sight.

How Far Is it? How Far Is It Now?
This time we stopped right where the adjacent line was undergoing construction. Our train stood still on one set of tracks while we stared longingly at the tracks still under construction. They gleamed in the sunlight, brand spanking new. This was of little consolation. We even saw construction workers, kicking a soccer ball, having lunch or standing around. The problem was that no actual construction work seemed to be going on. Soon a stale heat permeated the train car. An older lady in front of us, smiled knowingly. I shook my head in resignation. She acknowledged my frustration with a knowing glance. She soon questioned the ticket checker, who seemed to be giving her a minutes-long description for the cause of delay.

After he left the lady began to talk with us. She could not speak English and we could not speak Romanian. Trying to communicate was rather amusing, but I felt a twinge of sorrow. We understood enough to ascertain that she was going to see a friend in Sighisoara who was sick. I wondered how many times she had dealt with this same thing. I wondered if she had ever been on a train that was ever on time. I wondered if we would ever be on a train that was on time. I tried to blame the whole thing on Ceaucescu, but he had been dead for almost twenty-five years. It was corruption, waste, graft and whatever else I could conjure up that might shoulder the blame. A generation had passed, would this ever change. I went and used the bathroom, if you could call it that. When a train is stopped passengers are not supposed to use the bathroom. If everyone followed that rule, there would be chronic bladder bursting all across Romania. Finally, the train started rolling along once again. Could this really be happening? Would we make it to Sighisoara just an hour late? That was too much to ask.

Finally at the point of arrival – Sighisoara Railway Station

Later Rather Than Sooner
We stopped again and again. The delays were not as lengthy, but nonetheless it was hard to believe we would ever get there. Finally we really started moving, perhaps as fast as 30 miles per hour. It was surreal. A few more twists and turns, then we were suddenly at Sighisoara. I could not believe it. The station was cute, tidy and trim. This was more like it. Only problem was that it had taken four and a half hours. We now only had two and a half hours to see the place. That worry paled in comparison to thoughts of the return trip. We could only hope that it would be less than two hours late. I shuttered at the thought of taking the same route. Perhaps by the late afternoon construction would have stopped. Then again, it had never started. Welcome to Romania!

Wooden Spoons, Not Wooden Stakes – Medieval Sighisoara & the Birthplace of Vlad Tepes

A search for the real life, historical Dracula usually begins in Sighisoara, Romania deep in the middle of Transylvania. After all Vlad Tepes – said to Bram Stoker’s inspiration for Count Dracula – was born there and committed several of his more notable, terrifying acts in Transylvania. To get a sense of the man, his life and times a tourist might consider starting in this small, charming city. If so, they will find something quite different than what they probably imagined.

Wooden Spoons – Not Wooden Stakes
The birthplace of Vlad still exists here or so it is believed. At the corner of a cobblestone street, in the quaint, medieval citadel district stands a three story house with a striking mustard yellow exterior. A small plaque attached to the outside states: “The Vlad Dracul House Built in the 14^th-15^th century. Between 1431 and 1436 residence of Vlad Dracu, member of Dragon Order. Vlad Tepes Draculea was born here in 1431.” It is hard to believe that the so called Prince of Darkness was born in a place that now features such a sunny exterior. Inside the surprises continue. Part of the house contains a souvenir shop specializing in hand crafted wooden spoons. These are not kitschy trinkets. Instead they are beautiful pieces of refined handiwork. That being said, it is something of a disappointment to find Vlad the Impaler’s birthplace trading in wooden spoons rather than wooden stakes. Another part of the house contains a bar and restaurant. There is no history exhibit within the walls nor anything that might give a hint of what the house and its surroundings might have looked like in 1431, the year of Vlad’s birth.

The house in Sighisoara that is claimed as Vlad Tepes birthplace

The Way it Has to Be, Not the Way it Was – Sighisoara’s Citadel District
Then again, the unknown is perhaps the way it has to be. After all, hardly any information is available on the specifics of Sighisoara during the 1430’s. Vlad’s father, Vlad Dracul, was headquartered in Sighisoara as commander of a frontier guard, between Transylvania and the region of Wallachia further to the south. He presumably lived with his family in the house that today stands at Piata Muzeului 6. If it was not this exact house, than it was surely in some part of Sighisoara’s citadel district. Saying that Vlad was born somewhere in Sighisoara does not have quite the cachet of a specific place that is designated as such. The tourist industry needs certainty for promotion’s sake. What they do not need is scrutiny. The historical record is much more mysterious and obscure than modern tourism can ever allow.

Tourism is Sighisoara’s economic bread and butter. It claims, with much truth to have one of the best preserved medieval old towns in Europe. Nonetheless, this small city which gave birth to such a fascinating and horrifying historical character is the antithesis of what life must have been like during its most famous son’s earliest days. The cobble stoned streets, with house after house painted sky blue, apricot, peach, and every other pastel that could possibly be ever imagined, is bright and clean. It is the very definition of pleasant.

One cannot but help sense the beauty and optimism that permeates these narrow streets. Paradoxically, such a cheerful aura is the not what a historian would define as medieval. Sighisoara is a lovely place, but precisely the opposite of its medieval historical antecedents. It would be hard for anyone to really believe that the Saxon burghers houses of Sighisoara were this bright and cheerful in the early 15^th century. It is difficult if not impossible to imagine that the residences and structures within the citadel district as they look today are even a rough approximation of what the town was like during the Middle Ages, let alone at the time of Vlad Tepes birth. The old town has a veneer of refinement that stands in stark contrast to the foreboding and ominous Clock Tower which looms over the area.

The Clock Tower stands as a foreboding sentinel in Sighisoara’s Old Town

Ghost of a Past – Vlad Tepes Earliest Days
The real historical apparitions in medieval Sighisoara come courtesy of the Clock Tower, citadel walls and a series of formidable towers that once made the town an impenetrable fortress. Of these structures, the Clock Tower with its spires stabbing skyward, offers the most darkly foreboding presence. It casts a looming shadow on the immediate surroundings. Hardly surprising since it is the largest and tallest structure in the citadel. Its eerie aesthetic is enough to convince the skeptical that Vlad Tepes could actually have been born here. It is also the first impression visitors get of the medieval old town. This ominous symbol gives little hint of the cheerful scene hidden within the citadel walls. It seems that medieval Sighisoara is full of unexpected surprises.

As for Vlad Tepes in Sighisoara, the mystery of his early existence is unlikely to ever become clear. He grew from infant to toddler here in four years, a time of which nothing is really known. We do not even know who his mother was. The mystery of his earliest years will forever stay that way. Some things are better left unknown, all that remains is a mystery to further encourage speculation. The imagination can conjure up any number of suppositions. In this case, the old cliché about truth being stranger than fiction has been turned on its head. What’s really stranger is the fiction of a cheerful medievalism, a bright and cheerful prosperity that obscures the truth about the place and the world into which Vlad Tepes was born.