Arrived in Bucharest - city mentioned for the first name with this name in a document dated 20th Sept. 1459 and signed by the Prince Vlad Tepes, better known as Count Dracula.

Found an excellent red wine at a little tavern near the Otopeni airport. Was told the wine would "refresh my blood." curious local welcome?

In the town once known as the Little Paris of the East, called by some Bucaresti, I find myself enraptured by the sights, with Byzantine Bisericas (churches) side by side with the modern ministries of such politicians as Ceaucescu and the old remains of Prince Vlad Tepes' Bucharest Palace. Even as recently as 1989, the tunnels of his dungeons were used by Ceaucescu and his minions. I was told they run underneath and through all of the old city.

The inn I am staying at is nice, though the windows and walls are not quite sturdy enough to keep out the whistling of the night winds.

Sightseeing in Curtea de Arges, former capital during the reigns of the Wallachian Princes. Saw a breathtaking sight, the Monastery of Arges, raised in the 15th century during the reign of the grand grandfather of Vlad The Impaler Dracula. The legend says that in order for the walls to stand up the constructor had to brick in his wife.

Day 3 - Oct. 26th, Thursday

Saw the historical Dracula fortress Poienari yesterday, climbed all 1450 steps, was very winded. Thought the exertion would make me sleep well, but had disturbing dreams of standing in a dark clearing, cold dark autumn wind whipping my cape off my shoulders. I felt as if I were being watched, but the eyes were those of the night, silent and mysterious. Loud noises of the hotel maid woke me in the morning, groggy and tired. Think I'll spend today at the gypsy dances.

Transylvania does exist, you know...

To reach the historic domains you have to cross a buffer zone of unmistakable Draconian quality. Had strange dreams last night again, of following in the footsteps of Jonathan Harker, that innocent English solicitor whose diary disclosed the ways of the Count. Frivolous nonsense to be sure, but awesome to think that one hundred years ago, in the pages of Bram Stoker's "Dracula", Harker landed at the "Golden Crone" hotel in Bistrita as I did today. I marked that passage point to the worlds beyond, was offered a special menu and drank a special wine. The locals seemed quite insistent. "To obey the rules of the right approach to the Castle is a matter of sheer survival," they said.

Was awed by the beauty of the majestic Borgo Pass. The farmhouses here are so rare, that each has its own, private cemetery, the living and dead within whispering distance.

Day 5 - Oct. 28th, Saturday

Brasov is lovely, with its charming medieval halls and the highest cultural centers here at what was in the middle ages the junction of three Romanian countries.

Could not leave bed today, was so tired I rested until late afternoon. The other travelers in the tour made pointed remarks about lazy Americans but perhaps it is as simple as cultural indigestion. I find I cannot stomach even the simplest fare of this hotel. A simple glass of wine calmed my nerves and sent me back to slumber and to those odd dreams that have followed me since I first touched the soil of Bucaresti.

Woke late in the evening hungry and nauseous all at once. Made plans to return to Bucharest. Comforting though it somehow feels, I must leave this place and return to where I first dreamt of the night eyes. Reading my prior entries it almost seems surreal to me, but I do not feel I can continue with these loud tourists and their constant chatter. I need the quiet and solace of traveling alone. I am not sure what drives me or what I seek, but I know I shall find it again in Bucharest.

Day 7 - Oct. 30th, Monday

All is well. I left my bags back in Brasov, traveling light. I wore my red outfit. It somehow seemed appropriate, welcoming and warm where all my other clothes looked insipid. I knew it fit me well, stylish and snug. I felt alive but aloof, ignoring the handsome young men on the train, though I knew they watched me, smiled at me.

It will be long past midnight when I arrive but I write this with the light of the moon, full and ripe in the sky as it shines in the window. My driver was reluctant to take me this far from the city proper, but sufficient American cash convinced him.

I do not know how I knew of the clearing in the woods, but as I described it, the driver knew where I meant and soon I will arrive, in time to welcome the night on All Hallow's Eve. I am not tired anymore, in fact each minute brings me closer and I feel invigorated, I know not with what. I know my face is paler than usual and my eyes are bright and glowing. I can see them reflected in the window, but I look past them to the dark trees, and to the greenery rushing past as I come ever closer to my destiny.