The Detouring Doctor

Every time I apply for a visa they ask for my place of birth. It is Neresnica. My passport reflects that as does my birth certificate. It is almost like a mythical place in a mythical country what then was Yugoslavia, a country that no longer exists. All I have is a grainy black and white photograph of where I was born.

My birth place is now in modern day Serbia and long ago I determined that when I visit Serbia I will go to Neresnica.
My story begins in the Hungarian Revolution in 1956. For 12 days between 23 October and 4 November university students, one of whom was my dad, rose in defiance of the Soviet backed government. Russian tanks rolled in on 4 November and the brief sunlight of freedom was snuffed out. I was conceived at some time during the revolution and subsequent events forever altered the trajectory of my life.

After the Soviets suppressed the revolution there was a hiatus then an order to return to work. In that transition time many fled to Austria. My parents did not and actually returned to work. One day in December my parents returned home from work to be informed that the authorities had been around and had dug up the rifle used by dad in the revolution buried in the garden. With his arrest imminent they decided to flee. The easy Austrian option had closed so they decided to flee to Szeged, my father’s home with a view to crossing the border to Yugoslavia illegally risking imprisonment and execution.

The story of their escape from Hungary across the border into Yugoslavia is in itself a ripping yarn but beyond the scope of this post. Suffice it to say the end result was arrival at a refugee camp in Neresnica. My parents were moved from camp to camp during their time in Yugoslavia. Neresnica is a tiny hamlet south of Kucevo where the Yugoslavs sent Hungarian refugees and established a camp. It was a former gold mining settlement that had ceased operations on the River Pek in 1954.

Come July 1957 my mother was heavily pregnant with me. Other refugees had delivered at the local Kucevo hospital and the babies had come back with infections so she and dad decided to conceal her labour to have her delivering at the camp. In labour, aged 20 she concealed her pain to the point where she had progressed to the point where she was unable to be transported to hospital. This was achieved but not without delivering a tiny baby with respiratory distress whose survival was touch and go. I was conceived in revolution and born as a refugee.

Fast forward 66 years here I am in Neresnica and a round faced spritely 78 year old local guy arrives pedalling an ancient bike. Arriving in Neresnica the night before we have booked an apartment literally in the middle of nowhere. Google maps could not locate it. When booking this I figure that at least I will get a photo with the Neresnica sign.

My prearrival fantasy had me finding someone who in their old age would remember the refugee camp but with no Serbian language, the passage of time and the remotenes of Neresnica the most likely outcome was the picture with the sign, a few random requests around town and a whole lot of negativity.

Our accomodation host is a young woman who spoke good English. She has no knowledge of the history I relate but her uncle does. Her uncle and I shared no common language but I can see his eye light up when my story is translated. The next morning they take us into town and show us the house they think will best match with my photo. While our accommodation host shows us around the uncle disappears . He knows the man who would remember the refugee camp and amazingly he is happy to donate his time to us. When I show him the photo his 78 year old eyes light up and immediately takes us down to the buildings on the photo. The upper building was a kitchen/dining hall and the front building a medical area. I was born here!

Suppressing tears I am overwhelmed by the experience. This nice guy has brought to life my birth 66 years ago. He was a Yugoslav boy, 12 years old allowed to play football with the Hungarian refugees. He remembers a Hungarian refugee driver with 10 sons who was nice to him. He relates the story of a gypsy boy who in 4 months learnt enough Hungarian to act as translator between the Hungarians and the locals. He relays stories of Hungarian Football players who were there as refugees and a champion swimmer called Agnes.

The chances of this sort of experience are infinetissimely small and as I am standing here talking to a completely stranger who was there at the time of my unusual birth circumstances I struggle to fight back the tears. My parents’ time in Yugoslavia left them with a bad impression of the local people. Here I am with the owners of the apartment we are staying with and the random 78 year old who was 12 when I was born giving me 2 hours of their lives for no reward, to bring to life my birth experience. Suddenly I feel overwhelmed and while it is not a part of my heritage a small part of my heart belongs here now.

Romania’s capitol is our last stop. It is a city of just under 2 million people with the traffic of a city double the size. Nonetheless we make it to our Air BnB uneventfully. This is a city very different from the classical medieval cities we have seen so far. This was not built by 12th century German immigrants and prior to the accession of King Carol the first was an uninspiring city of basic wooden buildings, apart from the more solidly built churches. Carol was ashamed of what he had inherited and moved quickly to construct a grand city with architecturally eclectic buildings from the late 19th century.

Under 100 years later and this city is transformed again by one of the nastiest Soviet dictators Nicolae Ceasescu. He lead one of the most authoritarian and megalomaniac regimes behind the Iron Curtain. Ruthless and driven, he wanted to transform Bucharest. He toured the great cities of the world, Paris, London, Vienna, Buadapest as well as cozying up to the North Korean leaders. Inspired by what he had seen he created tree lined boulevards, fountains, redirected a river to flow through the city. The Budapest parliament he recreated but as a massive 9 story high building with 9 floors underground beneath it complete with bomb shelters and escape tunnels. In all of this the land was arbitrarily acquired with whole neighborhoods being razed to the ground, residents evicted without any compensation. The result is an incongruous fusion of classic French and contemporary Pyongyang. Trust me I have been to both. It is somewhat reaffirming of my belief in karma that he was arrested and summarily executed in 1989.

Sadly the post Soviet era has supplanted evil Communist dictators with equally unsavoury dictators in the guise of free enterprise democracies heavily into corrupt rule for their oligarchs .

Drive drive, quick is the anxious call on my right. I am trying to take a photo from my driver’s seat and I look around to see Suzanne face to face with a juvenile brown bear paws holding down our windows, close enough to give Suzanne a big tongue kiss! I throw the car into first gear and the bear’s claws scrape off the side of the car with mama watching on from the other side.
It is 1968 and the Czechoslavakian revolution is quashed with Soviet tanks rolling into Prague much as they did 12 years earlier trampling on my parents’ life in Budapest after the Hungarian revolution of 1956. I remember the events as they unfolded as an adolescent. My parents shared their insights and the end results were never in doubt. Fascinatingly these events had reverberations in Ceausesceu’s Romania as this megalomaniac Iron curtain dictator suddenly developed paranoid delusions of Russian troops coming from Eastern Europe against Romania. He decided that he needed a way through the Carpathian Mountains for his forces to cross and repel any advances from Eastern Europe. The idea for the Transfagarasan was born. Started in 1970 and completed in 1974 and built with conscripted military, this is an amazing undertaking. Officially 40 workers died but it is suspected that hundreds actually died carving this track out of the raw mountains. At the top 2000 metres high there is a long tunnel 884 metre (Balea) blasted through the rock and down the northern slopes dizzying switchbacks make this one of the top drives in the world as described by Top Gear’s Jeremy Clarkson.
We have climbed the hairpin bends, seen the Balea Falls crested the summit and skirted the Balea lake when out to the right in the grass off the road I spot a brown bear. I drive my car into prime position and Suzanne does the rest with the camera. On an amazing high I remind her of my comments at the beginning of the drive that apart from the scenery all I need is a bear sighting for me to climax in my underwear!
A few minutes further on there are two bears on the side of the road, one sitting in the most gorgeous pose. We have prime position but it rapidly degenerates into a scene reminiscent of African game parks with vehicles crowding around a wild animal. We move on sated with our 3 bears and I crack a Goldilocks joke. Lo and behold we round another corner and it is mama bear to the let and 2 juvenile bears to the right. I am merrily photographing mama bear who initially looks aggressive when Suzanne has her intimate bear encounter.

We have one more bear encounter on my side of the car before arriving at the massive dam that encloses the Balea Lake.

We have climbed the hairpin bends, seen the Balea Falls crested the summit and skirted the Balea lake when out to the right in the grass off the road I spot a brown bear. I drive my car into prime position and Suzanne does the rest with the camera. On an amazing high I reminder her of my comments at the beginning of the drive that apart from the scenery all I need is a bear sighting for me to climax in my underwear!

A few minutes further on there are two bears on the side of the road, one sitting in the most gorgeous pose. We have prime position but it rapidly degenerates into a scene reminiscent of African game parks with vehicles crowding around a wild animal. We move on sated with our 3 bears and I crack a Goldilocks joke. Lo and behold we round another corner and it is mama bear to the left and 2 juvenile bears to the right. I am merrily photographing mama bear who initially looks aggressive when Suzanne has her intimate bear encounter.

We have one more bear encounter on my side of the car before arriving at the massive dam that encloses the Balea Lake.

The second city of Romania, Brasov  with a population of only 400,000 is the most visited by tourists to this country. Obviously it is the stepping stone to Bran and Peles Castles but the old city and city square is as pretty as any I have seen. As throughout Transylvania it was established in the 12th century by  relocating Saxons. It sits at a strategic pass through the Carpathian mountains and rapidly became both a strategic military base and a market town for caravans plying their trade from east to west.

A walking tour in the morning sets the scene for further exploration in the afternoon. A lovely al fresco lunch in the sun soaked main square completes a perfect day.

British author Bram Stoker never actually visited what is now Romania. He loosely modelled the character of Dracula on Vlad Tepes and after reading a description of Bran castle decided to set the novel there. It is unknown if Vlad Tepes ever visited the castle. He certainly never lived there. Now it is undoubtedly the premier tourist attraction here attracting 800,000 visitors per year.

The drive from Sighisoara takes us on a winding mountain road over the gentle slopes of the Carpathian mountains. Heavily forested, the golden autumnal hues are vying with the green tones of spring. We drive through quiet bucolic villages, competing for road space with peasants on horse drawn carts and shepherds moving their flocks.

Bran Castle is perched on a high rocky outcrop set in a deep, forested valley. Its battlements and turrets partially obscured by the massive trees around it. The entrance alleyway is lined with tourist shops which in the peak season would be a veritable zoo. For us in early October the walk in and ticket purchase is a breeze. The views from the castle are beautiful and the torture chamber is fascinating. The rest of the interior is somewhat pedestrian.

Continuing the palace theme the afternoon is dedicated to visiting the Peles palace. Constructed in 1873 by King Carol 1 this is a romantic, fairytale structure both inside and out. The best artisans from all over Europe were employed to create a work of artistic beauty.

Evocatively named Sighisoara sits in a picturesque wooded valley in Transylvania. Like Sibiu its history starts with 12th century Saxon migration. The old town sits behind a fortified wall high above the new city. Walking up the cobblestone trail through the walls is again stepping back in time to the middle ages. Brightly coloured Germanic buildings line the streets and the main square.

The massive clock tower dominates the landscape and the city walls were fortified by a succession of turrets built by the various artisanal guilds who financed and built them.

The quirky covered staircase built in 1642 covers 174 steps that take one to the top of the hill. Affording pretty views over the city and surrounding countryside it is also home to the Church on the Hill built in 1345, a school and Rope Makers’ Tower.

No visit to Sighisoara is complete without taking in the story of its most famous citizen. Born Vlad Dracul which translates to Vlad the Dragon in 1431 his penchant for killing his enemies by impaling them and subjecting them to agonising death skewered high above the parapet has history calling him Vlad Tepes, Vlad the Impaler. History actually portrays him as an innovative man of action and courageous and sucessful warrior against the Ottoman Empire. Bram Stoker’s work of fiction Dracula is said to be modeled on him and generations of Hollywood films have him captured in the popular imagination as a blood sucking vampire. Vlad was born here and the house he was born in sports a souvenir shop downstairs and a risible Count Dracula room of horrors upstairs. No matter how kitsch it seems that no visit here is complete without the Dracula experience.

The morning started with an icy 0 degrees temperature but beautiful bright sunshine. A 1 hour drive has us at Alba Iulia. Brilliant sunshine and single digit temperature has us donning jackets. The Citadel of Alba Carolina is the centrepiece of this town. The cathedral dates from 1009 AD built by King (Saint) Stephen of Hungary atop an ancient Roman camp. The modern day fortress is a massive stellate walled city measuring 7 miles and built in the 16th century AD. Successive generations built churches and buildings which were originally military but have now been repurposed as museums. We have the place to ourselves.

On the way out I spy a food truck selling langos. This classic Hungarian snack food comprises a fluffy fried pastry a bit like a savoury flat doughnut topped with sour cream and a grated salty cheese. This is an obsession for Suzanne and we fortify ourselves with a langos brunch for the day ahead. One of the two of us is in seventh heaven.

The afternoon sees us at the village of Turda at a unique and quirky attraction, Salina Turda. Salt was first mined here in the 13th century. In 1990 the now inactive mine was opened to tourists. The main chamber is 112 metres underground. It is a massive conical cave 90 metres high and 90 metres in diameter. The entrance shaft plunges underground. The walls are white with encrusted salt.

The descent progresses through ever smaller and confined stairs to a lake at the very bottom of the shaft. Bizarrely it is set up with row boats and we enjoy a paddle.

We catch a lift to the next level which is set up as an amusement park with table tennis, billiards, bowls and the piece de resistance is a ferris wheel. A truly surreal experience.

Approaching the border we overtake a 5km conga line of massive trucks awaiting processing. Quite an eye opener for my life partner who has not done many land border crossings.. Our wait is a civilised 15 minutes by comparison and I am let loose on the Romanian motorway network. Driving here is dreamy! Traffic is light, the roads are great and the speed limit is 130km. My car glides gracefully between lanes although even at 130km I am by no means the fastest vehicle out there.

Driving through towns is very different. Narrow roads and chaotic traffic is de rigeur and parking at a premium. Nonetheless we find our Airbnb in our first stay at Sibiu reasonably efficiently. Arriving just on dusk it is dark when we step out. The apartment is literally a dozen steps from the medieval square which is lit up as in a fairytale. Town hall, bell tower, churches and centuries old houses encircle open air dining restaurants and we wander around enchanted before finding a dinner spot and indulging in hearty flavoursome Romanian food and pleasant local wine.

Sibiu dates from the 12th century AD when Saxons were pushed out of Germany and forced to settle here. The buildings and culture reflect a strong German influence but with a mix of Hungarian as Transylvania was the eastern flank of their empire for centuries. Sibiu is also known as the town with eyes as the roofs have windows that look like eyes. This a beautiful medieval village with multiple interconnecting squares that are perfect for idle wandering and exploration.

I love the freedom of independent travel. Buy an airfare with a minimum of anything else prebooked. This time the “add on” was the use of a rented car. Crossing a number of countries in Europe, it gives us maximal freedom but it is not without added layers of complexity. So much so that less than 24 hours into our European vacation I am wondering why I haven’t booked a mindless organised trip!

The starting point is Budapest airport and we have a 2 hour drive to Szeged on the border with Romania. In my haste to get going in the dark I accidentally have my phone GPS set to silent and forget to press start. The resultant delayed access to maps is 40 minutes wasted regaining the motorway on the outskirts of Budapest.

I awake to a message from Optus that I am being charged $5 per day for data roaming despite having turned it off before leaving Australia. 40 minutes of ongoing dispute with Optus has us solving the situation by turning off the Optus SIM card altogether.

The next morning bright and sunny has us wandering around the picturesque old city of Szeged. My father was born near here and grew up in this city. His ashes are scattered in the Tisza river here

Before leaving for Romania I had to purchase a vignette on line. This is like our e Tag allowing travel along the freeways without incurring fines for non payment of tolls. A supposedly simple process except they require the car engine number, I have no idea why. There is no manual in the glove box and the rental documents did not have that detail. I believed that it is somewhere on the engine and all I have to do is open the bonnet. I feel around in all the usual places for bonnet release and there is no lever nor button release anywhere. Finally we consult Google to discover that the release is a lever found between the door and the body of the car. Elated I open the bonnet only to find no engine number. 40 minutes in we consult Google again to discover that the number is etched in tiny characters into the windshield on the driver’s side! Finally mission accomplished but it has been a day of ordeals.

The one positive is  the gradual reawakening of my linguistic skills. As a child I was fluent in Hungarian. Fifty years of disuse had me struggling with any of the language.As I wander around the streets the signage has words tumbling out of my subconscious. Suddenly I get what is being said to me and I can even respond appropriately. I begin to string words together in a rudimentary fashion. Shame we are only her for less than 24 hours but I do have 3 days at the end of the trip to consolidate.