Useless to say that Peles was not by far enough for this girl, whose face you'll actually be able to see later.... Full of beautiful memories she continued her epic journey to Sighisoara- a medieval little town, quite cozy and picturesque....
The houses are fully coloured and seem to invite you in for a glass of dark red wine...You were probably wondering why dar red wine...Well, this is apparently somehow related to Dracula, whom you have all heard of. I didn't go to schools or study any history so I don't know much but what I have seen in Hollywood movies- vampires, cruelty, Vlad the Impaler, blood, a myth, a legend, true facts....noone really knows for sure....
But the place is magnificent, though too much commercialized, losing somehow a part of what makes it unique in Europe... But try to imagine how it must have looked some 2 centuries ago, full of dramatism, grace, bravery, art and romanticism. Everything must have so gothically superb!














The guradian of the town bridge:




















Time now just like it was some two hundred years ago:















Dracula's father is said to have lived here.... it might be actually truth...but what I do know is that the place has a strange air about it....















someone from the past, maybe....?















Walking in the cemetry may sometimes seem refreshing, especially on a hot August day- quite a bless- shadow, freshness and silence, a lot of green and flowers. One wouldn't say that is a cemetry....















Just someone coming out for a walk, since we were in a cemetry, that's quite normal, I presume :)



















Feeling like we could use a lil' music?















It just makes me dream, dream of a time I was a lil' rock some centuries ago...oh, good old memories!















The road of the chevalry....














Finally a lil tranquility and freshness at the end of this beautiful day- the sky's purity promises a new beautiful day coming and puts its mark on the whole splendour of the place:

They say stones have no soul, hence the saying "your heart is like stone." But if they haven't been endowed with a soul, they have , at least, been gifted with the will to listen and pass over the stories of the humble or more noble people, as they are witnessed by the ever alike stones and cobbles covering most of life's roads. Shortly, they have been given the gift of storytelling.
Thus begins my story... As a matter of fact one day I woke up hanging at some girl's neck. And thus begins my journey. She's quite a traveler this one. Through time we have traveled together thousands of miles away from home, to places of unimaginable beauty, places which just like virgin maidens, have unveiled their beauties and mystery shyly at first. As we became more familiar and intimate with the place, it started revealing more and more of its beauties and significations, with such an amazing strength and depth!

My first stop was at a place called Peles- a gorgeous castle, the pride of Romania. Set in the midst of mountains, it unveils its beauty as one approaches Sinaia. It took us almost 6 hours to get there but it was all worthy - the effort, the money and the time spent on the road. Being quite a generous stone, here are some pictures to show you all the splendours we have seen there:

players?

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players....
(William Shakespeare- As You Like It)

we all think of ourselves the best...every time we move, every tiny thing we do, we take a look around to see how people around us are impressed, we long to see admiration and approval in their eyes. And when this fails to happen, we just delude ourselves, indulging in the illusion that it is the other's fault.
but in the end we are all fools, we fail to realise we are just players playing some predefined roles...Who or what predefines them? society most of all, the fear you cannot find yourself in the well traced strata of society, the fear you might be different and then rejected. so you comply yourself to all sorts of rules more or less self imposed by which you eliminate the danger of getting lost. And you are proud - you are like others or maybe even better. And then another deadly fear comes- that of being vulnerable, of showing you also can have feelings, the fear of letting the guard down. And then, though you were already wearing a mask, you put on another one, a mask so masterly forged that it hides your self from you. In the end not even you succeed in knowing you, you end up being the role you have been playing for so long.
We fail to be true to ourselves and those around and all the strifes and pains and struggles, and smiles and lines are nothing but a reproduction, a presetting....
Shakespeare was a genius, there's no doubt about it....

The end- by The Doors....

what triggers change in people, what can make someone tread on someone else's feelings so easily and quickly as though treading on the fallen withered leaves of trees in parks?.... what can transform a beautiful friendship based on mutual trust and understanding into a crawling relationship, into something tedious, tiring, based on lies, disrespect, mistrust? You end up wondering if this all hasn't been your fault. You always tend to think it's you that did something wrong, that did something to hurt the other one. and then you're trying to fix things but nothing seems to work, nothing succeeds in bringing back what it used to be. Even worse it's like a drowning person fighting to submerge at the surface, almost knowing it's the end but still struggling to catch something, to continue living. in the end the more one struggle the longer the pain is, the outcome is the same- the end of friendship, death, you name it. The only difference there is , is the long almost endless pain you go through quite willingly or cowardly, just hoping that maybe one moment things will be again the same they used to...and your days go by devided into these 2 states and moods: on one hand you still hope for the better and try handling things like one would do with a china, always careful about the other's feelings and words and life, and then on the other hand seeing the dead end of the road you are walking on, seeing that the more you try the deeper you get into your despair, and the farther you get yourself driven away from that friend....
And by the end of the day it's still the same questions that haunt you: what went wrong? where is the sincerity that was supposed to found our friendship? and isn't this friendship worth while saving? but the questions remain empty, echoes in your tormented head, no more than that...