Journeying home for an epic visit—from Transylvania’s Carpathian Mountains to the Blue Danube
Underestimated. Beautiful. Complicated history. Home. That’s Romania, the beautiful country where I was born and lived until coming to the U.S. mid-90s. For 18 years, I called Knoxville and the Smokies home, while returning to my true home, the Carpathian Mountains, almost every year.
This year’s trip offered bonus time: we had one month to visit Brasov, my hometown, and to travel to the country’s southern border, the Danube. Our trip was also family centric: we celebrated my dad’s 80th birthday, caught up with my brother and sister-in-law who live in Switzerland, and visited my late grandparents’ old house while reconnecting with extended family.
Brașov, Romania
The excitement increases with each mode of transportation that brings me closer to home. After landing in Bucharest, we catch a car service to Brașov, a two-and-a-half drive crossing the 45th parallel, then snaking through the mountains. As we pass through Prahova Valley, we take a detour by Nevermore Academy—a historical building known as Cantacuzino Castle, once home to Romanian nobility and recently the set for the movie Wednesday. Across the way is an ever more impressive site: Heroes’ Cross, a 98-foot steel structure commemorating WWI soldiers peers from the clouds atop the 7,821-foot Caraiman Peak.
Once in Brasov, we find our AirBnB inside a renovated historic building downtown. We are tired but giddy with excitement. Around the corner, Piața Sfatului (Council Square), the city’s main square, is an all-familiar and welcoming place. People gather around the large artesian fountain in the center, City Hall and clock tower nearby. Cafes with lively terraces surround the square. Just outside the square, the Black Church, an imposing Gothic style church, offers organ concerts. Tâmpa Mountain, adorned with a Hollywood-style Brașov sign, watches over it all.
We meet my brother and his friends for a traditional Romanian dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, La Ceaun (At The Cauldron). The feast includes traditional bread, vegetable spread, cheese, meats, and pickles to start. We get quiet as we savor hearty bean soup, sarmale cu mămăligă—stuffed cabbage rolls with polenta, and my favorite: mici—a unique blend of minced meat and spices, grilled and unforgettable. A glass of wine, a walk, and the nearby jazz festival are the perfect end to our first evening.
Brașov is a happening place. Every weekend, we take our pick of fun. We dance along with local groups performing in the square. We applaud amateur singers in the radio talent show. I watch one of my childhood favorite singers perform. We shop the pop-up crafts and flea markets and take long walks on cobblestone streets. On Republicii Street, the pedestrian way that leads to the main square, we bob in an out of shops, while the center of the street buzzes with café diners. We indulge in gelato and people watching, shop at fresh markets (vibrant with local produce), and fill up on pastries and potato bread. Many places seem unchanged; it feels like seeing old friends.
The 14th century defense wall and towers still hug the old city. Graft Creek runs behind one of the walls, and just inside the wall, we check out Juno Wine Garden, a contemporary café offering a comprehensive selection of Romanian wines. On the opposite side of the main square stands Tâmpa Mountain. Leading up to it from Schei Gate, the road curves past Olimpia Sports Complex, then opens into a paved alley along the base of the mountain, shaded by chestnut trees. Dogs frolic, kids ride bikes or play table tennis, people walk or rest on benches overlooking the city. I remember many winters ice skating at the local rink as a kid. The paved trail eventually morphs into a dirt path going up the mountain. On a clear day, I take the cable car up for panoramic views of downtown.
Another part of the old city is Cetățuia Brașov (Brașov Citadel). From downtown, walking across the central park—complete with fragrant roses, quiet benches, and people playing chess or checkers – a short but steep walk leads to the medieval fortress. Built in the 16th century for defense purposes, the citadel has served as a prison, quarantine, and barracks. Today, it hosts festivals and events and offers great city panoramas.
One drizzly morning, we get away from the city’s hustle and take refuge in nature. We take the bus to Pietrele lui Solomon (Solomon’s Rocks), a favorite childhood spot. There is a trail that leads to Poiana Brașov, the ski resort adjacent to my hometown. We don’t venture up this time due to increased bear activity. Instead, we walk up along a brook, breathing in the fresh mountain air, and the smell of grilled eggplant. Several families are preparing for the winter, taking advantage of the open-air grills set up at the trail base. Eggplant spread, the Romanian version of babaganoush, is one of my absolute favorites.
A Trip to the South
While I yield from Transylvania, both my parents are from Oltenia, the southern part of the country. To get to my grandparents’ village or to my cousin’s town, Craiova, we must take a windy road through the mountains called Rucar-Bran corridor. Named after its two bookend towns, the road used to be my nightmare as a child with motion sickness, but it is now one of my favorite places. The views are quintessential Transylvanian landscapes: sleepy huts and content cows and sheep grazing in the soft sunlight, bells clinking, a shaggy Romanian sheepdog keeping vigil and hoping for a snack from softhearted tourists.
The route passes by Dracula’s Castle—known to us as Bran Castle. Incidentally, I find the story of the castle’s real occupants much more interesting than the fantasy. Completed in 1328, the castle was the summer home of beloved Queen Maria and King Ferdinand I in the 1920s. Their daughter, Princess Ileana, inherited the castle and ran a hospital there during World War II. Although “Dracula” stopped by the castle on his quest to fight the Ottomans, he didn’t live there. His hometown is a beautifully preserved medieval town of Sighishoara, about two hours’ drive northwest from Bran. For me, the village of Bran brings back memories of running through orchards with my high school friends, and tasting local honey and brânză de burduf, a sheep’s cheese specific to the area, usually wrapped in pine bark. I love to stop by the roadside booths where the locals set up shop.
We meet my cousins in Craiova and tour the town. We see my mom’s old school, then downtown, now famously home to one of Europe’s best Christmas Markets. We stroll through the Botanical Garden with my uncle, and toast with Romanian Ursus beer after visiting Nicolae Romanescu Park, a sprawling 19th century French-designed estate and gardens. The Museum of Art is itself a work of art. Housed in an elegant baroque-style castle, it displays the works of modernism pioneer Constantin Brâncuși, alongside Romanian painters like Nicolae Grigorescu and Theodor Aman.
We leave the lush gardens of the city and head to my grandparents’ village, Ostroveni. We turn off the main paved road onto a dirt road. The old two-room house with hay storage on the top is drooping sadly. The newer house across from it has been completely renovated by my cousins who now live there. The dirt floor summer kitchen where my grandmother used to bake fresh flat bread and the most amazing bean soup is no longer. The garden is thriving, but the animal pens are gone. It’s bittersweet. I remember things on a much larger scale, but now they seem minuscule. The place is no longer my grandparents’, but it is loved. Neighbors and cousins gather around a long wooden table as we share food and laughter.
My cousin and his neighbor love fishing in the nearby Jie River, a tributary of the Danube, so there is no shortage of long-tailed tales. The neighbor proudly shows off a rusty Dacia car that he rigged well enough to still make it to the river and back—most days. He and his wife show off their expansive garden: apricots, plums, carrots, herbs, cabbage, tomatoes, beans, peanuts. The homemade dehydration station for sundried tomatoes and prunes cracks me up—but, hey, it works. Of course, we taste the wine, preserves, vegetable spreads, and fruit liquor, tuica—the Romanian version of moonshine, usually made from plums. Their generosity is typical, and we leave with a bag full of goodies.
Our next stop is by the southwestern border, on the Danube. We pass the Iron Gates, an impressive gorge with steep cliffs jutting from clear water; a hydroelectric power plant connects Romania and Serbia, a joint project of the two countries completed in 1972. We follow the road adjacent to the river and pass through Orșova, a charming town featuring a waterside promenade and river cruises. We stop to admire a giant rock side carving of Decebalus, the last King of Dacia, our ancestral land.
Our destination is a friend’s vacation property in Dubova. The property sits on the Danube, perfect for fishing enthusiasts. An outdoor brick oven and grill adds to the rustic ambiance—and to our waistlines. We take an evening walk and join a village celebration with live traditional music.
Beyond a Place
My country is truly beautiful—and I’m not just biased. It’s not always easy to navigate, but it’s worth visiting. A Latin country surrounded by Slavic cultures, Romania held its own through centuries of foreign aggression. The result is a proud people and a rich culture— with amazing food! I am always thrilled to reconnect with my family and childhood stomping grounds, and to discover new facets of my country, both as a native and as a tourist.
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