The legend of Dracula is alive and well in the farmlands and villages of Transylvania – and tourism-savvy locals are taking advantage, writes AMY MACPHERSON
As any good horror director knows, lighting is everything. The archetypal vampire movie, 1922’s Nosferatu, just wouldn’t be the same without that long-fingered, loping shadow that signalled the arrival of the fanged one, an effect blatantly ripped off by Francis Ford Coppola in Bram Stoker’s Dracula. In scary movies, clever lighting is practically a character in itself.
It’s highly appropriate, then, as our bus leaves the rolling plains of Transylvanian farmland behind and begins its climb through the foothills of the Carpathians, that a sunset the colour of blood oranges is oozing across the sky like something out of Cinematography 101. The whole scene is suffused with a spooky haze. Rather than dry ice, it’s caused by dozens of small clearance fires that farmers have lit across the plains, each sending a narrow plume of smoke up into the gathering dark.
There’s probably nowhere more atmospheric on the night of Halloween than Transylvania, a land so inextricably linked with the story of Dracula that many people are surprised it actually exists. One of Europe’s lesser-explored corners, dotted with medieval fortifications, still densely forested in parts and home to a fair whack of the continent’s wild bears and wolves, it’s a suitably wild and dramatic setting for one of the most enduring horror stories of all time.
It was Bram Stoker, an Anglo-Irish writer with a canny understanding of the 19th century appetite for the macabre, who first linked this mysterious region of modern-day Romania with the myth of Dracula.
Stoker cherry-picked an assortment of facts and fictions to flesh out his tale of the bloodsucking count. It’s widely believed that Stoker’s real-life inspiration for Dracula was Vlad the Impaler, a medieval prince whose favoured method of dispatching his enemies – impaling them on stakes, then hoisting them aloft to die an agonising death – guaranteed him the kind of notoriety that lasts centuries.
Actually, the only thing Vlad shares with the fictional count is his name. Vlad’s full name was Vlad Dracul (Dracul meaning ‘dragon’ in Romanian) after a military order bestowed on his father. As for the setting of Transylvania, it’s possible that Stoker just liked the sound of it. Vlad was actually a prince of Wallachia, a region to the south of Transylvania, though he was born in the Transylvanian town of Sighisoara.
Intriguingly, despite inspiring countless spin-offs from Nosferatu to Count Duckula, the Dracula story was almost unheard of in Transylvania itself until the fall of communism in 1989 opened the country up to the rest of the world. Suddenly, the bemused Romanians realised they had a monster tourism draw on their hands. As a result, you’ll find the inevitable vampire souvenirs and themed bars and restaurants at places associated with the real-life Vlad Dracul. But these well-preserved remnants of medieval Romania are fascinating in their own right.
Take Bran Castle. Set imposingly on a hill overlooking the town of Bran, it’s the picture-perfect gothic haunt. Built by the Saxons of nearby Brasov as a defensive outpost and to oversee trade with nearby Wallachia, its turrets and ramparts tower impressively over the town.
Most visitors are disappointed to learn that, despite being widely known as Dracula’s Castle, Bran actually had little to do with the real-life Vlad. It’s variously reported that he either visited or conquered the castle or was briefly held prisoner there, but beyond that the trail runs cold. It would be a shame to dismiss Bran on these grounds, though, because the castle is both visually stunning and full of intriguing details. There’s even an original secret staircase, used by the soldiers who were the first residents of the castle. It leads from what was once a fireplace on the first floor to emerge, in a perfect narrative flourish, from a door in a third floor bookcase.
We’re shown the staircase and other points of interest by Alex, a local guide whose smile reveals a pair of unusually well-developed incisors. These are why I got the job,” he jokes. Putting the Dracula myth in context, Alex explains that Transylvanians don’t really have much of a tradition of vampire stories. Werewolves, though, are another matter. With one of Europe’s largest populations of wolves, it’s not surprising that local people developed myths about them. Consider what a terrifying prospect a rabid wolf would have been to a rural villager with no understanding of the disease. A wild, slavering beast whose bite transfers similar symptoms to its victim … sounds like a werewolf, doesn’t it
Alex explains that local people also had a tradition of hanging garlic to keep away evil spirits, another superstition that somehow found its way into Dracula myths. The classic method of killing a vampire – a wooden stake through the heart – isn’t too far removed from old Vlad’s habit of impaling, either. I’m pondering werewolves as we climb off the bus at our Halloween night destination, a chalet deep in the forest- covered Carpathians. With typically Romanian good humour and dramatic flair, our hosts greet us with flaming torches and melodramatic warnings to stick together. The darkness beyond the reaches of torchlight is full of spooky possibility. Luckily, we’re soon tucking into fiery Romanian brandy to settle the nerves.
Amy Macpherson traveled to Transylvania with Eastern Trekker (0845-257 8345). The seven-day Halloween Party Tour departs from Budapest and starts at £359 including transport, guided tour of Bran castle, accommodation, and Halloween party with drinks, food, and bonfire.”
