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With my sightseeing behind me, I was finally in Romania, having taken a small aircraft to the tiniest airport I’d ever seen. Now, I was crammed into the smallest car known to man and going down an uneven and bumpy road, excited about the prospect of what this new journey held for me.
I couldn’t even describe the feeling that churned in me as I was taken closer to the little Romanian town of Dobravina. I’d never been there before, would have never even known about its existence if I hadn’t decided to do this trip. But as I looked at the map, I swore something pulled me toward it, telling me that was where I’d finally find my peace.
I reached out and braced my hand on the handle of the door to steady myself, and had one foot pressed down hard on the floorboard in an attempt to not roll around the interior of the tiny tin-can-sized car.
Over the last fourteen days, I’d done the whole sightseeing thing through Europe. Eating exotic foods. Saw strange new lands. My camera was full of those experiences, memories that I’d be able to keep forever, even when I went back to my dull life—whenever that may be. As it was, this trip was open-ended, something that probably wasn’t realistic, given the fact that I only had a certain amount of money to my name, but a reality I was going to try to make work.
Because I needed it, not only for my health, but for my sanity as well.
The little cottage I’d managed to rent had been found through a rental company. After contacting the owner, they told me there was the option of staying long term, and that they could discuss it when I got there.
Maybe I should’ve been more afraid of this whole situation, where I may have lost my damned mind. But there was something inside me, this flicker of light, this moment of feeling alive—hope—that told me this might very well be the best thing to happen to me.
This very well could be the exact thing I needed to reboot what was dead inside me.
We only lived once, right?
We only had a certain amount of days, a certain number of hours. A preordained amount of memories before the light in us was extinguished and we moved on to the next thing.
Whatever that was.
And I supposed I was just living that to the extreme, to the fullest, to experience all I could in the short number of years I had in this world.
The road evened out, and I was able to relax against the worn leather seat, my muscles aching from tensing during this trip. The driver was an older man with white hair, an unequally white thick beard, and eyebrows that looked like they were trying to crawl off his face because they were so bushy. His hands were curled around the cracked steering wheel, the skin tanned and worn, wrinkled and showing he’d no doubt done hard labor throughout his life.
He only said but a few words to me, and I had to wonder if it was because he didn’t speak much English or if he just wasn’t sociable. Either way, that was fine with me. I’d never been much for socializing anyway.
I looked out the window and stared at the thick line of trees that were passing us by in a blur. The radio he had on played some type of folk music, the volume turned down low, so I couldn’t make out the words. Not that I could understand anyway.
I didn’t speak Romanian. Although I did brush up on a few key terms before my trip, wanting to be respectful, so I could say thank you, please, and ask where the bathroom was. Things like that, although I just shook my head and once again felt like a complete lunatic for what I was doing.
The rental host, Andrei, had arranged the car ride—thank God for that, ‘cause I’d for sure be up shit creek—and I realized I was putting a lot of trust in a complete stranger, but when in Rome, and all that.
The driver started to say something, his words broken but clear enough I knew what he meant.
We’d be there shortly.
He pointed to the forest, but I couldn’t understand most of what he said. But I feel like I got the gist of it, as if he were… warning me? Maybe he was talking about wolves? Bears? Otherwild animals that lurked in the dark, deep in the woods? A shiver wracked through me.
But I didn’t think too much about any of that. It wouldn't do me any good. Instead, I shifted into the center seat and stared out the front window. I had my hands braced on the seat on either side of me, this car so old that the lack of seatbelts should’ve been horrifying, but instead, it transported me back to another time when people said “fuck you” to safety regulations.
The little town of Dobravina, Romania, came into view, and I actually sucked in a breath at how gorgeous the village was. Definitely transported back in time.
Nestled between the thick jut of trees that sprouted from the ground, it seemed quaint but mystical. When I’d been searching for places to stay, I knew I wanted to be somewhere east in Europe. I didn’t know why I felt that pull, but it had been there, incessant, and there was no swaying my decision.
Maybe it was my curiosity and fascination with folklore, vampires and werewolves, demons and all those mythical things. And although I knew they were just stories, the very idea of being at the heart of where some of those tales originated seemed wildly interesting to me.
And here I was. In Dobravina, Romania.
The roads seemed to be made of cobblestone, and what was so strange was I already felt so... at ease. It was weird and exhilarating, and for the first time since I decided to take this life-altering trip, I really felt like this was the very best idea.
The little car bumped along, and I braced one hand on the door and another on the roof so I didn’t crash against the top of the vehicle. After a minute, the driver slowed to a snail’s crawl, and I relaxed once more, looking at the little shops that lined either side of me, staring at the people walking up and down the sidewalks, bags in their hands, older women wearing what I assumed was traditional-style clothing for this area. The younger generation was in typical jeans and T-shirts, the kids laughing and shouting at each other as they chased one another.
It was only another five minutes before the car pulled up beside the tiny cottage-like house. And when I said cottage, I meant just that. This house could’ve been a prototype for some fairy tale set in the middle of an enchanted forest.
Although small and clearly aged, it looked quaint and comfortable. The pictures online hadn’t done it justice. Off to the side, I could see a garden, the tiny homes all around it holding the same charm.
After I paid the driver and thanked him, although I probably butchered the hell out of my translation, I stood there with my backpack slung over my shoulder and my duffel in my hand. I looked around, not sure if I should call the number that had been listed for the rental, but before I could think about it too much, a young man and an elderly woman came out the front door from the home directly beside the one I rented.
