HITCHHIKING THROUGH VIDEO-GAME TERRITORY OF ROMANIA
The stuttering Irishman said this particular Romanian citadel was special, snuggled between gypsy camps in a small German town that you could only get to it by following a long, unmarked dirt road. In order to enter the citadel, which, like the town...
While wandering around the Carpathian Mountains on a recent trip through Romania, I spent a lot of time asking people for insight on facets of Transylvania more interesting than the Dracula tomfoolery. I was hoping that I would talk to a stranger who could tell me where I would find the gypsy camp where the best most exotic acrobats are manufactured, or something just as hypothetically awesome like a Romanian warship factory or a peasant curling league, but no one was really giving me answers. Then, as I was eating supper in what seemed like the Romanian equivalent to The Cracker Barrel, a dodgy looking Irish expat started talking to me about medieval citadels.
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At first I was unenthusiastic about what he had to say, and a little frightened by the man himself, but he caught my attention when he started talking about a place called Viscri. He said this particular citadel was special, snuggled between gypsy camps in a small German town that you could only get to it by following a long, unmarked dirt road. In order to enter the citadel, which, like the town, is nearly unchanged since the 12th century, you must find the one person who has the key.According the Irishman, this person is a very old woman who has been the key-bearer for several decades. This wasn't exactly the shady local industry that I was hoping to look at, but it sounded about as close as I was ever going to get to actually living inside Zelda. So, the next morning I hitchhiked in vaguely the right direction, and hoped I would find someone who spoke some English.
My first ride dropped me off in a small town halfway in the wrong direction, which was a good start considering I was alone in Romania and I didn't speak the language. I'd seen worse scenarios in the easiest of Zelda levels though, so it seemed hardly discouraging. Fortunately, my second attempt yielded better results as a pair of young punk rock chicks picked me up on their way through the Faragas Mountains.I told them where I was trying to go, and they decided that they would accompany me for the entire trip. I tried to make it clear that I didn't know where we were going or even if the place truly existed, but was immediately drowned out by Romanian ska music, which in the US would be unacceptable but here was totally OK by me.
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Romanian roads are miserable, a giant's asphalt acne scars, completely un-drivable. Had there been food in my stomach, I would have vomited all over my new friends' car. However, Natalia was clearly a level-nine wizard, because she managed the road effortlessly while simultaneously switching the music over to the native version of Millencolin.
As is the standard in Romania, in order to get from one city to the next, you must pass through several small towns that often look like they were beaten with a very large club. In reality, sadly, the towns were probably beaten with corrupt politics and communism-induced poverty.
We passed through one in particular that looked as close as I may ever see to the final result of a 14th-century Nordic pillaging. Everything in the entire town was burned to ashes except for some of the original wooden structural supports of the buildings. Literally the entire city was decimated. It very likely could've been the local government. Or else it was some of the finest works of evil of a black wizard witch.
We had to stop on more than one occasion to get directions. At this point, we still weren't entirely sure if this place existed or not. The only information that we had came from a stuttering Irishman in a dingy bar in Brasov, an obviously trustworthy source. Up to this point, the bulk of the work came from the two girls. Other than some small talk about skateboarding and mariachi music, I had contributed very little to the trip. I could've been the token naive supporting character who walks into his murder early in the story. I was waiting for the moment Natalia would take off her punk rock girl face mask, and reveal that she was actually a one-eyed Romanian Peasant who was leading me to Viscri to steal my money, passport, and soul.
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Just as we were about to pull the plug on the adventure, we saw a sign for Viscri. As if I hadn't already had enough proof with the Cinder village and the communist highways, I was immediately reminded that I was on a road trip in Romania when we were caught in traffic behind stray horses and wooden carts of agriculture. The looks on the village inhabitants' faces as they carried buckets of grain and water were a potent combo of confusion and disdain. I felt arrogant driving an automobile through their town as they loaded up their horses for a day of hard manual labor. Then again, I can sort of understand—we were in a 2001 KIA compact, a wild new form of transportation from the future.
We eventually saw the Citadel on the hill and started working our way towards the beacon. Natalia parallel parked between a tree stump and a stray dog, and we headed up the hill to get the key from the gatekeeper.
As we approached the door, we noticed that the old woman was asleep on a chair in front of the door, defending the entry far less scrupulously than I had imagined. The three of us looked at each other, wondering what might be the best method for waking this Cerberus. Before we could say anything, she, demon witch and defender of the citadel, got up, opened the door, and asked for a four Lei entry fee. Fucking shit. Entry fees were what I was trying to avoid in the first place. Touché, old witch.
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As we entered the tattered old building, I was eager to call the trip ineffectual. We hadn't been threatened by demons and all that was required to defeat the old witch was the power of capitalism. Needless to say, this was hardly the quest I was looking for. It was nothing more than a field trip with strangers. I followed the girls through the rubble.
The only proof that the citadel had actually been touched by modernity since it became a historic relic was a small orthodox sanctuary that you had to walk through to get to the steps of the tower. According to the old key witch, the people of the village still have church service in the base of the tower every Sunday, all in German, the language of the founders of the village in the 12th century.
In the back of my mind, I still held hope that once we reached the apex of the tower, we'd find a black wizard levitating, or maybe the oldest man on earth holding a ruby the size of my head, but there was only a really nice view of Romanian countryside and the peasant town below. As we walked across rotten planks of wood, some of which probably had broken on the weight of pigeons, I realized I had just hitchhiked five hours into a medieval Romanian village just so that I could walk around the remnants of an old watchtower.
The view from the citadel was worth it though. I could easily imagine Hungarian armies approaching over the hill.Three stray dogs and two dirty children followed us to our car. I wasn't convinced that the children wouldn't try to steal my shoes, so we hustled out of there. It was more of the same as the way in on the way out. As we veered away from another horse-guided wagon of corn and we pulled onto the broken highway, I asked my friends if they had ever actually played Zelda. Neither of them knew what I was talking about. They asked what it was, but I didn't feel like explaining. It didn't really matter at this point.I just looked out the window and savored my revelation. Just as I glanced out, I saw a sign for Viscri; one I had apparently failed to see when we were searching for the place earlier. Immediately beside it, two adults were wearing tattered capes and fighting with a sword and a staff in what looked like a poorly choreographed show at Medieval Times. "There are those two dudes again," Natalia said. "What nerds." Andreea responded. If this were the videogame I had been imagining, this would be the point where the console exploded.
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