It’s early, dawn hasn’t broken yet. The night sky blankets this little town. We’re standing at the train station as I profusely yawn from lack of sleep. It’s a little chilly, I can see my breath. With no benches inside the station, Daniel and I decide to venture the town. Immediately as we leave the station we’re greeted by a cemetery. It’s a very odd place to have one, we thought. There weren’t many epitaphs laying in the ground. But it was all centered and it looked like fresh flowers had been laid on the graves. Maybe they were important people?. We venture further. The streets are small, and although the shops are closed they don’t appear to be anything fancy. At night this place was the quintessential version of a small town that you see in movies with tumbleweeds running the streets as a breeze blows by. We walk a little further and we start to see kids, everywhere. School must be starting, but it’s only 6:30 in the morning. Daniel gets the curious glances as we walk by, nothing malicious just curiosity, almost every kid would stare then as he would pass them their heads would snap back to continue. He felt as though he was a celebrity, he loved the looks and asked one kid if he wanted his picture and autograph. The sky is getting lighter and we have found ourselves at what they call the iron bridge. The view was actually quite beautiful. There are flowers everywhere. As we sit for a second we hear the cackles of birds, lots of them. There were so many that part of the sky was blanketed and you could only catch glimpses of light through their wings. They were all perched on buildings across the bridge and begin flying in flocks only to land on the same building they had been at previously. We decide to have our breakfast, our typical meat and jelly sandwiches buffet as we take the view in. As we cross the bridge we see women sweeping the bridge with what looks like a bunch of small dark brown branches. It honestly resembled a witches broom. I’m not sure why but Daniel and I found it to be quite funny. As we cross the bridge we’re greeted by more children and churches. We decide to enter one of the churches. After a while you begin to think you’ve seen a few churches you’ve seen them all. But no. We were stunned. This little town held a church that was stunning. Honestly, more beautiful than the Sistine chapel. The artwork, the detail, the gold lacing the brown wood. It really was a beautiful church. I only we wish we took pictures. As we stood there with our backpacks we’re pushed aside as children come in to pray before school. I never thought I would see this. They were praying before school on their own asking for the lords blessing as they start their day, it seemed as though this was their daily routine. They looked liked they were in middle school. We left the church and came across a small park with character, we took a few pictures in the hopes that it will jog my mothers memory.
My mom was born in Lugoj Romania, and she left when she was small. But she tells us of stories of gypsy caravans selling rooster whistles and chintzed covered tasseled ottomans. Where fires were started to keep warm as the gypsies would sit in circles and read locals palms. She told us of getting from place to place with horse and carriage, where there were no roads yet. She described her fondness for sweets at an early age, where she would beg her mother for some of the best pastries. She told us of the very cold winters and how one winter she was playing in the snow and as she was called in she looked at a snowman and the snowman smiled at her. Her memories of Romania were magical as a little girl. I only hope that if she decides to one day return that she find this small flowery town filled with children just as magical as she remembers.