Children of the Night - the Dracula 2000 tour
Please
allow me introduce myself, my name is Vlad Tepes of the Dracul family, Prince
of Walachia, and former ruler of what you now know to be Romania - although
once, my empire stretched far beyond the borders currently deployed around my
country. My reason for writing to you is twofold - firstly I wanted the opportunity
to dispel any myths conjured by a lonely Irishman a hundred or so years ago…
and secondly transcribe the events which took place during late May early June
2000, whereby I accompanied a group of young degenerates from London around
my beautiful homeland. Primarily to prevent further damage to the monuments
of my empire, but secondly to try to understand what drew these shadowy creatures
from their comfortable surroundings toward my home. Anyway, I digress, and should
return to my duty of telling the story. I have been much impressed by Mr. Harker's
tabulation of his experiences all those years ago, so I shall try to recreate
the form here, as I know it will allow the familiarity to you all, as well as
aid in the translation process…
Journal entry - May 24th, Wednesday - Tirgoviste, Walachia.
After a kindly magyar crated me for the journey to Heathrow on the first day
of this expedition, I was loaded into the cargo hold aboard flight RO392, bound
for the capital Bucheresti. A scary moment being transferred to the coach where
a friendly local sought payment for his luggage handling assistance, but luckily
was shooed away by the rather forbidding tour guide, Gabriel. [this scenario
seemed to be a common ritual practised ever more since I was last home] The
first overnight stop, for feeding and slumber for those who require such things,
was in the town of my Court, Tirgoviste. While my travelling companions dined
and amused themselves with the local customs, I searched out a suitable resident
willing to donate a few precious pints
Journal entry - May 25th, Thursday. - Poiana Brasov, Transylvania. Thursday
dawned bright and early, and it was time to reminisce again after all these
years. Memories came flooding back as we were taken around the old Church, the
elaborate wall paintings and murals a little faded now, but just as vivid as
when I watched them being put there by the artists hand. A nostalgic sniff at
hearing the history that was my life recounted by the caretaker in my native
tongue, matched only by the expressions of wonderment on the faces of the group
a few moments later as Gabriel translated into English. Sunset Tower (background),
beckoned in the now rather hot day, around which I remember punishing some of
the criminals who were brought before me. I don't mind the, how you say, nick-name
of "The Impaler," as I can't deny that this was a form of punishment I'd enjoy
watching. The only exception to this I remember now was that damned Florentine
who refused to remove his hat when he was presented to me one day. Still, I
taught that disrespectful scoundrel a lesson he'd not forget, when I nailed
the offensive and garish turban to his head. Hah… Rounded up after a brief exploration
of the now ruined palace we got back aboard that infernal coach and drove north,
into the Carpathians… Ahh, the air so sweet with the scents so familiar to my
beloved mountains. The peasant dwellings seem not to have changed over the centuries,
and have retained the distinctive but curious habit of low fences in Walachia,
(they always were an open people), and high sheltering constructions in Transylvania
for those extremely private citizens. The party took tea in Sinaia, (curious
that they make tea with beer nowadays, hmm), and then on towards Poiana Brasov,
where I was to enjoy the company of many like minded souls there to celebrate
and welcome me back… Some of the group attended with myself, in disguise of
course, and took part in what was at times lively debate. Others took advantage
of relaxing in the mountain air, swimming, and the bar. I heard that a local
reporter from Reuters interviewed some of my companions, thinking they were
TV Stars… such a misguided fool, if only he knew them as I do. Whilst I was
away feasting and reminiscing again that night, (the travelling was most tiring
and my constitution still needing much nourishment), a local club dubbed “Club
Violence” by members of the group was the site of that evenings entertainment…
I judge it was a popular place, and it seems this is where they picked up the
anthem which carried on through the remainder of the trip, that being "Vodka-Powerhorse".
Most intriguing...
Journal
entry - May 26th, Friday - Poiana Brasov, Transylvania. Ah, home for so
many years, Bran Castle is still an impressive sight rising out of the plains
atop the virtually impregnable natural fortress. The old rooms, the courtyard,
and even the well seem as though I had never left. Only the smells were different
in that there were no fires burning in the grates, nor dogs resting at my feet.
The peasant market adopting its usual sprawling place at the foot of the hill,
gave the group their first of many opportunities for a highly cherished practise
of purchasing 'trinkets' and the like. This seemed more favoured by the females
than the males, the latter seeming more interested in weaponry. Then on to the
first of the Fortresses on our itinerary, at Prejmer. I remember hearing that
Michael the Brave once sacked and burnt the second one we stopped at that morning,
Haman, sometime in 1563. He wasn't that brave I seem to recall, more of a self-granted
title…
Journal entry - May 27th, Saturday - Poiana Brasov, Transylvania. Travelled
yet again, (constitution not used to this constant upheaval), this time back
to Sinaia to visit Peles Palace. 
Not
one of my properties unusually, as it was built between 1875 and 1914 by King
Carol. I did however enjoy the incredible decoration and design he lavished
upon it, spending the equivalent today, or so I'm told, of $200M. Personally,
my favourite room was the Armoury, where, amongst the 4000 piece collection
of everything from horse armour, to swords, pikes etc., was Gabriel Bathory's
sword [1608] in gold, red velvet, and rubies along scabbard, and the distinctive
Dragons Head pommel on hilt.I joined the group for evening meal, held at a fortified
house on the outskirts of Brasov. We were greeted by a trumpeter from the walls,
and treated inside to traditional Romanian music, dancing, and enjoyed excellent
food and wine whilst serenaded by the principal violinist from the Romanian
National Orchestra. I decided instead to take advantage of the hospitality of
the young dancers… who were most delightfully accommodating.
Journal entry - May 28th, Sunday - Tirgu Mures, Transylvania. Thankfully,
we moved further north today and deeper into Transylvania, pausing briefly to
re-acquaint myself with Fagaras fortress, somewhat changed and expanded in the
19th century by the Majlath, Bethlen and the Thomori families since I was last
on the banks of the Olt. Then onto the first Citadel at Rupea. Sighisoara, ,
my birthplace, has not changed essentially although I was only four when I left
in 1435. The cobbled streets, the main gate tower, the houses within the surrounding
walls, all intact, and, still occupied. I could have reminisced even more had
we been granted access to my old house. Unexpected refurbishment, so the mortals
had to find another location for dinner, and so we moved down from the hill,
casting several long and wistful glances behind me, and on to Bistrita. I have
included below an excerpt from a diary I happened to rifle through one evening,
which encapsulates the group visit to citadel there, as I remained in my coffin,
enraptured again with my childhood memories of Sighisoara. "This impressive
fortress built around a early 16th century church atop a hill, includes part
of the town buildings in the original lower fortifications. This citadel is
quite unique in Romania as it has three defensive walls protecting it, which,
according to the guide, ensured the church had
never fallen to besieging armies. The area covered within the walls also included
various odd buildings. The Pork Fat tower, where the villagers stored the traditional
smoked pig. The original Catholic worship tower, which was replaced by the Lutheran
(Protestant) church in the 1500s. A separate Bell & Clock tower also contains
the remains of some of the resident bishops who served the church there. Within
the church itself, the painted ceiling showing both faiths, represented by uncovered
sections as the country's politics changed, also houses two features which make
it unique in Transylvania. Firstly the triptych above the altar has the largest
collection of icon paintings in its structure; and a treasury door which is
protected by a 16 lever lock. This lock, it is written, must never be oiled
for fear of causing it to fail. The demonstration proved it was in good working
order, but nearly 500 yrs of squeak was audible from outside the church attested
to the superstition being adhered to. The final curious building we were shown
was used in time of marital discord. This simple stone building contained only
one set of everything typically found in a home. One set of cutlery, one bed,
one chair, and so on. The concept was that couples who had announced their intention
to divorce were placed inside for a period of one month, and when they emerged
were sufficiently learned in the ways of sharing and depending upon one another
again that they remained married. Our guide informed us that their success rate
had only been marred by one couple in the 300 years of being in force. The return
to the Dracula Motel (class!) allowed us to consume dinner, and then wend our
weary way to our hotel, The Continental, in Tirgu Mures, for more dinner…!"
Journal entry - May 29th, Monday - Hotel Castle Dracula, Transylvania.
During the morning the group visited a 12th 
century
fortified church and went on a walk around the city; whilst I relaxed after
an early morning feed which left me feeling plump and content, effectively banishing
the homesick feelings from yesterday. [well, temporarily at least…] Then, retracing
one of my old enemies footsteps, the coach headed north again back to Bistrita
where we dined at the restaurant dedicated to my nemesis, and husband to my
beloved Mina. After which we continued, following his route up the Borgo Pass
to the eventual destination, my castle, now occupied by Hotel Castle Dracula.Not
quite how I remembered my former home, in fact, altogether quite different…
However, the mortals seemed to enjoy its surroundings, facilities and general
ambiance, revelling and plotting as to how to acquire the much sought after
branded towels, table napkins, ashtrays and vases. The evening's entertainment
consisted of a split group - the hardened drinkers staying in the warmth, (eminently
sensible), whilst those slightly less stable ventured out to start on the group
project that had been germinating since the second night, that of the Beer Witch
Project.
Journal entry - May 30th, Tuesday - Hotel Castle Dracula, Transylvania.
Slept most of today, reserving energy and nourishment for the Masked Ball that
forthcoming evening, at which I was to be honoured yet again by Nicolai and
the Transylvanian Society of Dracula. Our group outshone all those there, with
the exception of the guest of honour. A certain actress who starred alongside
Mr Lee, (himself quite a good portrayer of my exploits), Ms Ingrid Pitt. The
purifying fire ritual outside the castle, after an initiation ceremony for two
new members of the TSD, brought to a close the day for those in the group. For
me, I had a little unfinished business…
Journal entry - May 31st, Wednesday - Sibiu, Moldavia. The day started
after the group were released without further examination concerning missing
room items, (historic ritual apparently), for the coach trip to Jidvei, firstly
via Bistrita then Tirgu Mures. The vineyard and chateau at Jidvei was where
the group imbibed some of Romania's finest wines. While they sampled some eight
different wines, champagnes and fortified wines, I took the opportunity to prowl
the vineyards in search of my own liquid refreshment. The final destination
that evening, after a tearful departure, was the town of Sibiu. The 2 hr drive
there yielded some incredible good fortune. The coach stopped to pick up some
stranded Huns whose own vehicle had broken down. Luckily no-one counted them
onto the coach, hence no-one noticed one missing upon disembarkation at the
hotel…
Journal entry - 1st June, Thursday - Sibiu, Moldavia. A short journey
to Deva in the early afternoon, which featured a fortress atop a natural hill
stronghold some 600 metres high, further protected by woodland, impenetrable
walls and vipers… Not quite as well protected in my day, yet remaining impressive
even after its destruction by those damnable Turks in 1849, who ignited the
powder store. Hunedoara , later that afternoon showed the group a more architecturally
impressive citadel to protect the village, located in what was then an open
plain stretching some miles, but now residing amongst an industrial area… the
price my country has had to pay for progress. Then onto Sibiel, for an evening
of local hospitality within a farmers household. Amid stories about local ghosts
and witches, the evening was successful for both the group and myself. They
were fed 'til bursting point, purchased some of Christina's wine, and made friends
with the farm puppy. I on the other hand, made friends with some of the local
residents, to create some more after dinner stories for
their children and guests... Then, after midnight, contented and filled with
wonderful memories of this town, (hmm), Sibiu again our overnight destination.
Journal entry - 2nd June, Friday - Hotel Campana, nr. Pamånteni, Walachia.
Much excitement today amongst the group and myself, for we were to visit my
favourite residence in Romania. A full day's drive through the western Carpathians
back into Walachia and on through to Poenari, (background), arriving in the
early evening. The slow hour long climb up the 1100 or steps, not taxing for
immortals but proving a challenge for those of a non-ethereal persuasion, to
again behold my home proved breath-taking. Fantastic, incredible, foreboding,
regal, yet subtly blending into the surrounding peaks with a majesty reminiscent
of its former occupancy. Exploring the ruins and painfully remembering again
where Elizabeta threw herself into the valley below, when, by trick of the Turks
she thought me dead, committing to memory the layout of this special place,
mostly done in awed silence. Photo opportunities and samples of the 'sacred
earth' were taken by them, treasured images by me. Finally, the slowly fading
light heralded the gasps of appreciation as the distant mountains to the west
stole from us the last vestige of the fiery glow. The descent back to the coach
took less than 30 mins, and we were on our way by 21:30… We picked up the boat
to Campana, our lakeside hotel, around 22:00 after negotiating the treacherous
route from the road to the lake. A chilly but very lovely trip on top of the
boat afforded those poetic types amongst the group reflection and inspiration
to emerge, in parallel with the stars. The hotel itself is in the most picturesque
position, located at the head of the lake, quietly nestled beneath heavily wooded
mountains, only 200 yards from the waters edge. The facilities within these
Swiss-styled buildings were sadly lacking in even the basics. The group had
experienced dodgy room contents before - lack of sink/bath plugs, postage stamp
sized towels, three or four tone baths, and crisp yet over-rough bed linen -
however I quickly realised that this particular establishment managed to offer
a larger selection of idiosyncrasies, in each room, than we've accumulated in
various other hotels to date. Anyway, their food was reasonable, certainly better
than in earlier places the group had eaten, anxieties diminishing as Gabriel's
understanding and valiant attempts at educating the indigenous population to
an unfamiliar but growing menu of "NO Fish, NO Flesh, NO Fowl." A late dinner,
(23:30) followed by a BBQ and bonfire bravely attended to by the staff, softened
attitudes and final reservations, as well as dispelling the remains of unease
earlier when the belligerent locals experienced 'wafty-goths at their most pissed
off and needing to get to the bar after finding out how crap the hotel was…'
Finally, after a couple of bottles of wine and an interesting desert, the group
retired to the rude crib beckoning them towards unconsciousness.
Journal entry - 3rd June, Saturday - Hotel Lebada, Bucheresti, Walachia.
A relaxed start to the morning and with the group luggage being taken back to
the coach by an enterprising 'man with a blue van', for which the group willingly
coughed up 50,000 Lei each, (£2.50), to save a repeat of the previous evening's
lumbering. Allegedly it was a beautiful day, bright sunshine reflecting off
the lake, only a few scudding clouds, and a peaceful and leisurely cruise back
to the coach. [The inside of my travelling coffin prevented this awful spectacle
to reach me thankfully] Once aboard the coach, a short drive to the monastery
at Curtea De Arges (background); definitely the most spectacular and lavishly
decorated church witnessed so far. This is the building about which is told
the story of Manole and his wife Ana, recounted emotionally by the group's guide,
his passionate words recorded by one in their own journal below : The Bishop
of Curtea 
wanted
built the best church in the whole of Romania, and called together the most
skilled craftsmen in the country in order to do this. Manole, the best stonemason,
was instructed to carry out the cleric's wishes and lead this project to completion.
Unfortunately, the construction was cursed from the very start, and no matter
how far they got each day, by the following morning anything they had built
had fallen into rubble. This went on for a while until Manole, as foreman, took
the advice of his fellow workers and decided that drastic action was needed
to finish the job. Now it happened that every day the wives of the men working
on the church brought lunch to the site, and in fulfilling their duties retired
to their homes until the men returned. Manole agreed with the other workers
that whomever of the wives should arrive first the following day, that she should
be sacrificed in order to lift the curse. It was also agreed that the men should
not speak of this arrangement that night in order to remain fair to all. However,
only Manole was true to his word, and so when he saw only his wife in the distance
the following day, he cried to God for justice and help. Well, a fierce storm
blew up, the wind whipping poor Ana mercilessly, the rain lashing her with its
fury, but she did not give up, and bravely brought her man his food. Manole
wept and begged God for her salvation, but the arrangement had been made, and
no matter how plaintively Ana cried and begged her husband not to do this, he
resolutely bricked her up in one of the walls until her cries could be heard
no longer. The building, then released from its curse, was able to be completed
by Manole and his team. As sad as this story is, there is more. The Bishop,
when visiting the site near its completion, asked Manole whether he and his
team could reproduce this fabulous monument to God at another site in his jurisdiction,
but better? Manole replied he could, and 
in
doing so sealed their fate. The Bishop, hearing that this wasn't the best as
he'd asked, instructed that the ladders allowing the workers up to the roof
to be taken away, thus preventing them to descend in order that they would not
build a better one than this. For a time the workers contemplated ways in which
to escape, but no reasonable options could be tried. Finally, Manole, with nothing
left to lose, threw himself from the roof to allegedly land at the site now
occupied by a well. The place where Ana is supposed to remain incarcerated is
marked on the outside of the building. Our eventual destination that evening
was the capital, Bucheresti, and our hotel, the Lebada. The mortals participated
in the Romania 2000 Quiz, expertly organised and compared by Goldfish & Helen,
hastily relocated to the 'lounge behind the stairs' from the 'terrace of bitey
things', and enthusiastically entered into by all. An air of friendly rivalry
and healthy competition saw the 'Disco Violetta's' thwart a valiant 'Angelic
Ana's Alcoholics' by a mere 1 point to take the prestigious winners Flying Bat
title. (top'tastic) 'The Virgin Impalers' took the wooden spoon, and somewhere-in-between
came 'The No Hopers', 'The Patouli's' and 'Curmudgeonly Mick.'
Journal
entry - June 4th, Sunday - Hotel Lebada, Bucheresti, Walachia. Unfortunately,
it was polling day for the national elections, so all was shut… Disastrous news
for the mortals belonging to the 'Trinkets Anonymous Club…’ so, the group visited
Ceausescu's Palace, and a tour around the ground floor level. Incredible to
think only 2% of the building is open to the public, as the other seven stories
below, and six above are closed. Also disturbing to recall that fourteen square
blocks of residential districts were cleared in almost 24 hrs in order to make
way for this legacy of an era which brought the country to the brink of poverty
and economic disaster. However, after leaving this mausoleum to the country
the group made their way to another… mine. The island of Snagov with its monastery
only reachable by boat, contains the unmarked spot where the altar once stood
over the burial chamber within which my mortal remains rest. The building is
presently undergoing major restoration, so the details the distinctive brickwork
exterior and lavishly painted interior were somewhat hidden from the group by
scaffolding and tarpaulins… however, in the words again observed in one of the
group members journal : So, to the reason we were there… The anticipation had
been building whilst aboard the boat which took us from the landing stage to
the island upon which the monastery stands. After brief but delicate negotiations
with the caretaker nun, those sporting bare shoulders were allowed in, and we
eagerly shuffled forward. Inside, everything from above head height was covered
in either scaffolding or tarpaulins - but the bits we could see were quite spectacular.
The paintings and murals on the walls and ceiling areas had been done in the
19th century, but the graves located around the walls with headstones laid into
the floor, dated much further back. Several pictures, photographed documents
and a short commentary on the history read aloud by Melanie, and finally the
tomb was in front of us. A solitary picture in a simple golden frame resting
upon a piece of concrete shows where the altar would normally reside, and beneath
which allegedly rests Vlad's remains. Ah well, it was enough to underline the
dream and place a full stop at the end of our journey of discovery. After brief
photo sessions we returned by boat to the restaurant at the waters edge for
a quick lunch, then onto an indoor market called "Prisma." 'Trinkets,' presents,
and a pair of welding goggles, (Goldfish, who else?), were purchased, then we
returned to the hotel to prepare for the final evening's festivities. The 'damn
fine looking set' were transported to "Dracula's Bar" in downtown Bucheresti,
where we enjoyed an exquisite meal, entertaining music from various vampire
films, and a visit to the themed crypt..! Awesome. Animal skulls suspended from
the ceiling hooks, dry ice, an atmospherically lit subterranean gothic nirvana.
Blood spatters on the walls, manacles, gothic iron furniture and a balcony from
which appeared a convincing imitation of 'the man himself,' accompanied by music
and sound-bites from the De Laurentis film with extracts of spoken sections
by Anthony Hopkins, Gary Oldman and Winona Rider. Not too cheesy a performance
either, despite the TSD influence, as he was a professional actor. (luvvie)
Following dinner we headed back to the hotel after a brief stop at a 'beer tardis'
for essential supplies. Thirty minutes of hurried packing, then, party on the
terrace as a final farewell to our holiday. [I'm filling up] The usual traditions
were observed to the cries of "No sleep 'til Heathrow…" and final preparations
to pack and leave were made.
Journal entry - June 5th, Monday - Western Carpathians... A pre-arranged
06:00 alarm call was heard by those few actually in bed, (or coffins), and there
were plenty who weren't, then off to the airport around 07:45. They bade fond
farewells to Gabriel (guide), and Christian (driver), then swiftly through passport
control, check-in, and after a last minute 'Trinket' and Duty-Free frenzy, boarded
the plane bound for England. I myself stayed behind, choosing instead to have
one last night in my homeland without the distraction of those visitors, albeit
an endearing lot with their funny ways and ideas about me and my fellow countrymen
- but time was needed to savour again the sweet air, the aroma of virginal blood,
and the taste of a supple and lithe body gently stiffening in my arms as I fill
myself again with youth and vigour.
