Day 6 – Tuesday 13th October

Rimetea to Sighișoara via at Jidvei wineries and a gypsy town (literally!)

After breakfast we trekked to the ruins of the nearby 13^th C Trascau Fortress. A pleasant walk to the top, and quite spectacular views from the top as the various guide books state. Perhaps the highlight though was the interaction with the goat herd, who were both friendly and curious.

Then we found our way to Jidvie Wines for what turned out to be a wine tasting, a meal, and yet another communist era history lesson. The wines were lovely. Not necessarily all to my normal liking, but nothing wrong with them. The sommelier who led the tasting – Valentin – was both knowledgeable and entertaining. The actual wines aside, what interested me most was the scale of the operation and the history – both ancient and recent – behind it. Jidvie is apparently the largest single owner winery in Europe. It has some 2,500 hectares of vines (500 ha on Sauvingon Blanc in a single plot). The 400-year-old Castle Bethlen-Haller which I think serves as cellar door, restaurant and function centre, is magnificent. Allowed to run down during the communist days it was purchased by the current owner in 1999. He’s obviously spent a huge sum on bringing it back to what must have been its former glory.

After lunch Victor and Valentin talked about the soviet times, pre-revolution, Victor from experience and Valentin from research. Victor spoke of his memories as a 6 year old always having to line up to get food or other forms of welfare because the communist system was so broken. This sort of story has been my greatest insight during this trip – I recall reading/sort of knowing about these things, but hearing them from people who lived through them is something altogether different. And people in Australia have the effrontery to complain about our government/systems!

On our way to our overnight destination I had my first gypsy encounter. I am advised as follows: the gypsies first came to Europe from northern India some centuries ago; they were outcasts from the “untouchables” caste of that country; their name come from the belief, centuries ago, that they were Egyptians (since some arrived via Egypt); they are a closed society which operates outside the standard social norms and laws; “crime” as we would know it is a way of life to them; they tend not to work, relying instead on welfare (and crime); they have a disciplined leadership structure which dispenses "justice", sometimes in conjunction with the formal legal system (i.e. the police); they run organised crime structures (drugs, prostitution) elsewhere in Europe; for many the horse and cart are their principal means of transport.  Some generalisations there obviously, the truth of which I cannot be certain of, but for the moment I can only go on what I am told.

Victor drove us through a gypsy town late this afternoon. Generally speaking the people we saw were short of stature, dark skinned, dressed quite similarly and exotically – the woman in what I would call “colourful Quaker dresses” and the men with dark clothing, very wide brimmed hats and long beards. Many standing around in groups, many sitting in front of their houses in ones and twos. But it was the houses which stood out the most.

At one point I asked Victor if I could take some photos, and if I could get out of the car.  Yes and yes to those, with the instruction “don’t go far”. This turned out to mean “don’t go more than 2 metres from the car”, which I had not understood. I walked maybe 20 metres down the road (“not far”) and took some photos. I was approached by two men, who did look a bit dodgy. One of them spoke and I pretended not to understand (which in truth I didn’t, but I had taken the message to mean “why are you taking photos?”), and I replied somewhat inanely “nice house, I’m from Australia”. Then the car started to reverse and the horn started to beep a bit frantically. I took that as my cue to leave. Victor wasn’t happy with me – “I TOLD you not to go far”. I didn’t attempt to defend myself – he had concluded that I was about to be robbed of my phone (or worse). I hadn’t felt particularly threatened; no real harm was done, and I did get some photos, so it all worked out. What I find particularly interesting is how such a sub-set of society can seemingly exist with the full knowledge of everyone.

Below are two shots of incredibly ornate (garish?) gypsy homes. The question I have, still not fully answered, is how can they afford such structures. Well, that's just one of a number of questions ...

The other history lesson for the day came from a discussion about the houses in the towns and villages we drove through. Most were apparently build in the 50s and 60s, in the Russian era, and during the Ceaușescu times 2/3/4 families would be added to the house, and then post-revolution the original owners tried to reclaim their house from both the state and the adopted occupants. Apparently this resulted in tens of thousands of cases before the courts as occupants argued as to who actually had right of ownership. Many thousands are still unresolved (35 years later). This mess (my word) goes a long way to explain why so many properties are in a state of disrepair; none of the competing ownership claimants were/are going to spend any money on restoration if they run the risk of losing the property.

We arrived after dark in the citadel town of Sighișoara. First order of business in the morning is to go exploring.