Slept like a log so in fine shape for a wander around the glorious Sighisoara. By 
cobbled streets I climb back in time, each step further removed from the 21st century. Thick walls are buttressed with colossal stanchions, archways are wide but low, people walk bowed as they have done for hundreds of years, leaning into the steep slope. The roadway, long since impassable to all but the 
neatest moped, narrows and leads into a galleried passageway. The surface curves forming a central gutter with stepped pavements on each side. The form somehow draws the eye to the heavens and so the symbol of the city - the clock tower.
The painted roof tiles, the decorative clock face and the eagerly awaited hourly performance of the wooden figurines, make this a popular focus for cameras and excited children. I pay my one Euro entrance fee and start the twisting ascent to the balustrade of the seventh floor from which the views over the citadel and the river valley are excellent. Brass plaques note the distance and direction of cities as far apart as Sydney and Warsaw. Under the
eaves a metal sign directs one’s thoughts to both North and South Poles. The ubiquitous small black crows wheel screeching, their feet dislodging snow from the roof above, startling the small huddles of Serbian and Russian tourists who have huffed and puffed their way up the narrow wooden staircases.
Leaving the clock tower I wander in a wide loop around the citadel with its heavy walls and watchtowers, all of which are in remarkably good condition considering their vintage. The narrow streets and precariously angled houses remind me of Prague in the early 80’s
before it met the fate of so many cities appearing on Easyjet’s schedule – offering that cheap, no-guilt debauchery which has meant a real hangover for the city’s image. Stumbling into a small square, I make a mental note of the two or three boutique hotels which are very inviting. Pure chance would have delivered me here last night as I suspect it’s a maze getting into the citadel by car. I have heard that Germany is leading the way in making investment into renovation here and I am sure that this will be a major destination – Brasov, Sighisoara, Arges and some outdoor ‘action’ stuff. I can’t think of anywhere else in Europe with such well preserved raw antiquity.
A dark and slightly ominous covered stairway rises from the street and catches
my eye in this, the birthplace of Vlad Tepes. Getting a good photo is impossible as a mix of tourists (all Eastern European – I have heard but a solitary German voice today) are taking turns to snap one another before squeezing their portly frames into the stairway for the challenging ascent to the church at the top.
The structure reminds me a little of the cattle pens we used on the farm to sort animals for de-worming or on market days. The thought brings a smile to my face as a two legged bovine in tight pink trousers heaves and
puffs her way upwards, her husband’s porky fingers aiding propulsion at the small of her rather substantial back.
The summit comprises a graveyard, large church and some vestry buildings – all of which are shut. A little old lady is flogging apples at the stair head so I buy a couple and munch down again.
Sighisoara has plenty to recommend itself and will doubtless do well as a tourist destination in years to come though I’m not sure the staircases of the clock tower will last too long – the whole thing is a bit rickety and not up to 200lbs of touring Yank.
The valley is but a small square in the rearview within 10 minutes. Madam shows 50 minutes to Brasov and my last stop before returning to Bucharest tomorrow. From the quiet snowy hillsides, we drop down onto the plains in a set of rhythmic bends. Forests of beech are heavily laden with snow. Fresh sawdust on the tarmac and fallen trunks on the road edge suggest that some have collapsed under the weight of the wet snow. I’m glad I stayed in Sighisoara last night after all.
Once I reach the plains the sun makes its first full performance since I left Bucharest albeit already low in the sky.
Cooling air blends into mists which hug the ground; the dark outline of the distant Carpathians to the south of Brasov lend a certain menace to the scene.
Passing numerous small factories and warehouses the ‘soviet style’ residential outer ring, a feature of just about every town in Romania, is breached and the buildings garner elegance quickly. I am soon in the heart of the town and find the biggest hotel I can find – the Aro Palace.
An ugly structure of dirty concrete and new steel the ‘Aro’ boasts 4 stars and the foyer is impressive in its hideousness. Checking-in breaks my record at a truly heady €110 for the night! My room is standard fare only nothing seems to work – it’s all there but somehow the final installation thing has yet to be organized. Should I return in 3 years time I’d bet good money that it still won’t be working. Dumping the bags, I grab the camera to catch the last 
hour of light and head out for the famed ‘Black Church’. The landmark proves tricky to find, despite being very big and at the heart of the citadel. Not least as firstly it’s a huge cathedral rather than a church and it’s not even remotely black; a bit sooty around the belfry perhaps, but otherwise a light grey. And not that interesting as this part of the city was a Saxon enclave off-limits to the Romanians and architecturally a bit plainer as such. Wandering on, the streets are lined with some superb buildings all the same especially when ignoring the garish shop fronts. Much time is spent capturing the illuminated BRASOV sign on the hillside overlooking the city – very Hollywood.
On the whole this is a much ‘buzzier’ city than others I have passed through– the people seem to have a sense of purpose, everyone is well dressed and new model BMWs and Mercedes are in abundance. The shops are busy and well stocked and the more pioneering of the international brands are making their presence felt – Vodafone and Orange in particular. Cafes and restaurants are everywhere – one of the finest looking buildings is home to a Chinese restaurant.
cobbled streets I climb back in time, each step further removed from the 21st century. Thick walls are buttressed with colossal stanchions, archways are wide but low, people walk bowed as they have done for hundreds of years, leaning into the steep slope. The roadway, long since impassable to all but the 
neatest moped, narrows and leads into a galleried passageway. The surface curves forming a central gutter with stepped pavements on each side. The form somehow draws the eye to the heavens and so the symbol of the city - the clock tower.The painted roof tiles, the decorative clock face and the eagerly awaited hourly performance of the wooden figurines, make this a popular focus for cameras and excited children. I pay my one Euro entrance fee and start the twisting ascent to the balustrade of the seventh floor from which the views over the citadel and the river valley are excellent. Brass plaques note the distance and direction of cities as far apart as Sydney and Warsaw. Under the
eaves a metal sign directs one’s thoughts to both North and South Poles. The ubiquitous small black crows wheel screeching, their feet dislodging snow from the roof above, startling the small huddles of Serbian and Russian tourists who have huffed and puffed their way up the narrow wooden staircases.Leaving the clock tower I wander in a wide loop around the citadel with its heavy walls and watchtowers, all of which are in remarkably good condition considering their vintage. The narrow streets and precariously angled houses remind me of Prague in the early 80’s
before it met the fate of so many cities appearing on Easyjet’s schedule – offering that cheap, no-guilt debauchery which has meant a real hangover for the city’s image. Stumbling into a small square, I make a mental note of the two or three boutique hotels which are very inviting. Pure chance would have delivered me here last night as I suspect it’s a maze getting into the citadel by car. I have heard that Germany is leading the way in making investment into renovation here and I am sure that this will be a major destination – Brasov, Sighisoara, Arges and some outdoor ‘action’ stuff. I can’t think of anywhere else in Europe with such well preserved raw antiquity.A dark and slightly ominous covered stairway rises from the street and catches
my eye in this, the birthplace of Vlad Tepes. Getting a good photo is impossible as a mix of tourists (all Eastern European – I have heard but a solitary German voice today) are taking turns to snap one another before squeezing their portly frames into the stairway for the challenging ascent to the church at the top.The structure reminds me a little of the cattle pens we used on the farm to sort animals for de-worming or on market days. The thought brings a smile to my face as a two legged bovine in tight pink trousers heaves and
puffs her way upwards, her husband’s porky fingers aiding propulsion at the small of her rather substantial back.The summit comprises a graveyard, large church and some vestry buildings – all of which are shut. A little old lady is flogging apples at the stair head so I buy a couple and munch down again.
Sighisoara has plenty to recommend itself and will doubtless do well as a tourist destination in years to come though I’m not sure the staircases of the clock tower will last too long – the whole thing is a bit rickety and not up to 200lbs of touring Yank.
The valley is but a small square in the rearview within 10 minutes. Madam shows 50 minutes to Brasov and my last stop before returning to Bucharest tomorrow. From the quiet snowy hillsides, we drop down onto the plains in a set of rhythmic bends. Forests of beech are heavily laden with snow. Fresh sawdust on the tarmac and fallen trunks on the road edge suggest that some have collapsed under the weight of the wet snow. I’m glad I stayed in Sighisoara last night after all.Once I reach the plains the sun makes its first full performance since I left Bucharest albeit already low in the sky.
Cooling air blends into mists which hug the ground; the dark outline of the distant Carpathians to the south of Brasov lend a certain menace to the scene.Passing numerous small factories and warehouses the ‘soviet style’ residential outer ring, a feature of just about every town in Romania, is breached and the buildings garner elegance quickly. I am soon in the heart of the town and find the biggest hotel I can find – the Aro Palace.
An ugly structure of dirty concrete and new steel the ‘Aro’ boasts 4 stars and the foyer is impressive in its hideousness. Checking-in breaks my record at a truly heady €110 for the night! My room is standard fare only nothing seems to work – it’s all there but somehow the final installation thing has yet to be organized. Should I return in 3 years time I’d bet good money that it still won’t be working. Dumping the bags, I grab the camera to catch the last 
hour of light and head out for the famed ‘Black Church’. The landmark proves tricky to find, despite being very big and at the heart of the citadel. Not least as firstly it’s a huge cathedral rather than a church and it’s not even remotely black; a bit sooty around the belfry perhaps, but otherwise a light grey. And not that interesting as this part of the city was a Saxon enclave off-limits to the Romanians and architecturally a bit plainer as such. Wandering on, the streets are lined with some superb buildings all the same especially when ignoring the garish shop fronts. Much time is spent capturing the illuminated BRASOV sign on the hillside overlooking the city – very Hollywood.
On the whole this is a much ‘buzzier’ city than others I have passed through– the people seem to have a sense of purpose, everyone is well dressed and new model BMWs and Mercedes are in abundance. The shops are busy and well stocked and the more pioneering of the international brands are making their presence felt – Vodafone and Orange in particular. Cafes and restaurants are everywhere – one of the finest looking buildings is home to a Chinese restaurant. 
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