I finished watching "
The Seeker "and I was surprised while reading the credits to see names typical of home. As the credits rolled down, I realized some of it was indeed filmed at home. I was wondering where were those deep woods...
As you can imagine it did not fell very good with me, for the half joke half serious thoughts of "
Why don't they ever make a good film back home ? ". I wish someone would. I wish someone would show the other side of the coin, of the things that are not lost and the things that were and the ones that still reside.
We are not who we used to be anymore, any of our ancestors would be terribly ashamed and order more than half of us hanged and for good reason. What my country has turned into is a faint shadow of who we were and it was this the cause of me, when I was a child, learning more about English or Japanese history rather than my own country's, thinking what could we have ever done so great since we ended up the way we ended up ?
It took me a long time to see beyond all that, look back and analyze. It must have started when I stood on top of the hill, in the Rasnov stronghold, some 7 years ago.
We're small people you know...if you'd ask anyone where my country is, they never heard of it, only if you give them a keyword of a city that would only turn their thoughts towards Hollywood vampire movies, something that angers me very much. On the flipside, I could tell them about the Order of the Dragons, but they wouldn't care and they wouldn't understand, because is a stupid myth that means nothing to us and so much to them.
You do not know that, back then, it was one of the peaceful times we had throughout the land, no one stole, no one murdered, fear and raw examples of the law were needed, and our Prince did so. The Turks were scared hearing his name and he was known throughout the Ottoman Empire, and he was not the only ruler who used torture and cruelty in those times and it was not unusual, those
were the 1400's darlings, nothing like our times. The Turks were ruthless, it was time we were so too. Back home, Vlad is a hero for us, and your Hollywood blockbusters don't stir anything inside us.
Dracula means nothing to us, his real name was Draculea, which derives from the latin Draco, thus, in the old language it made it mean "
Dragon".
As far as thewhole love legend goes, actually, his wife threw herself in the river when the Turks attacked the castle. Why ? Because she said, in her own words, she would rather "
rot with the fishes in the river than be taken prisoner of the Turks."
No, I never thought much about my people until Rasnov.
I was standing on the exact place a sentinel must have stood some 600 years ago, overlooking back towards the forest, the small village beneath and all across the hills and fields, stretching towards the horizon, all the way into the sunrise, watching to call the alarm in case the turkish armies attacked. It was a warm day and I stood there, the wind brushing past me and the silence of those stones was so overwhelming I felt warm inside and for a second, almost light as air.
You can't understand. When you look at a country's landscape, walk through its lands, you understand its spirit better, how its people are like, at least that's what I'd like to believe. If you haven't seen the lands from where I stood some 7 years ago, on top of the stronghold, you can't understand the weight of our past. From the East, attacks from the Turks, from the West, the Hungarians from the North - East, the Polish.
Walk in autumn through those mountains, steep and breathtaking, sometimes you just have to stop to catch your breath because the ground, covered in thick layers of brown and yellow leaves, is harder to overcome than you'd think.
It takes over an hour to climb to the Howling cascade. When you do get there, and if you are as lucky as to be alone, you climb on that huge rock and stay there and listen to the small cascade, close your eyes and feel the coldness of the stones sorrounding, then go down the small river, jumping on the stones, or drink the water, which is the safest and cleanest you'd drink. It's cold, no matter how hot the weather is, the water there is always cold, it stings your tongue and puts you back on your feet, no matter how tired you are.
Water of the faeries, I'd whisper.
You can't understand, how small you feel when you go through the mountain passes at night, and you're thankful for the headlights of your car because you can't see a god damned thing, the stone walls of the mountain covering up everything and the dark clouds sucking up all the light.
You can't understand until you walk through those woods in the dead of the winter and you hear no sound at all. It's just the wind brushing through the evergreens, and the deeper you go through the woods, the darker they become, the thick branches covering up the sky.
VanHelsing knows
nothing of my lands.
I'd waste one of the magical three wishes to ask that those woods are never forgotten, to ask they won't be destroyed and be protected forever, as they are.




"
No matter how sophisticated you may be, a large granite mountain cannot be denied - it speaks in silence to the very core of your being. " - Ansel Adams
B.