Rasnov is a beautiful village. It has cobblestone streets, the Râșnov Citadel and best of all, few human beings. The town is quiet, nearly overwhelmingly so after the Bran Circus.
When I arrive, it is late afternoon and I wander around the city without a clear purpose. The woman at the hostel had said the Citadel is a must and, as I make my way to the village core, I immediately see it overlooking the city, accompanied by a sign nearly identical to Brasov’s.
I put on the album Shallow Grave by The Tallest Man On Earth and make my way around the city. There is construction everywhere and most places are closed. It is October 31st, and I am told, officially, the off-season.
The quiet allows me to focus on the water patterns that seem to mark many of the city’s walls. I notice what I believe is a skull and think maybe it’s a dark premonition or I’m simply trying to compensate for Bran’s lack of…everything…
I spend a half hour wandering around and figure it’s best I start making my way to the Citadel as I’m unsure of its opening hours. I take the tram up and it cost a few leu. The tram is shorter than expected but the view is nice as there’s a surprisingly large mountain-range that encircles the area
Once I get off the tram I walk by a few derelict walls and make my way around the main wall that encircles the Citadel. It’s a beautiful day and the views reek of sunset/sunrise potential.
Walking towards the Citadel there are various holes in the wall and they all offer a Bird’s eye views of the city. The cost of entrance isn’t much and once I enter the grounds I’m informed that the citadel is under construction as they’re about to start filming a relatively well known Romanian tv period piece. I catch small segments in one of the shops and I imagine it is in the same vein as the 90’s Hercules show.
I’m amazed by the quick assembly of random sheds and the stripped pieces of wood used to cover the handrails. This is done to make them appear older than they actually are and while they fool you at first, there’s no logical reason to build them the way they are wrapped as they’d provide no real structural stability.
There are various pay for play scenarios around the ruins, the most memorable one being this odd looking archery post but it’s unmanned and doesn’t seem to be available this late in the season.
I wander around the various small shops that haven’t yet collapsed and I am most captivated by the repurposed canons. They hold large garbage bags and larger quantities of tourist trash.
It makes me think of a story I was told in Bosnia this summer. I met someone roughly my age and we were discussing life altering childhood memories. He informed me that when he was a young boy, his uncle, a Bosnian soldier, brought him to a castle to see the canons being fired at the enemy. Having fired the canons, the uncle then invited the young boy to do the same. The young boy was given a Canon rope and the uncle gently closed his fingers over the knot. The uncle told him he simply had to pull the rope to fire a canon ball at the bad guys. The young boy hesitated and the uncle gently wrapped his hand over his and eased him into pulling the rope. We spent a long time talking about intent, self-awareness and accountability. I still think about this conversation weekly and I’m all the more surprised by how tame my memory was in comparison.
My own story was about a game my father, my brother and I used to play called Roar. Roar consisted of my brother and I would prancing around trying to find my father somewhere in the house. Once we’d find him, he’d snap the towel (He would hide with a wet towel held taunt) and chase us around the house. Once we’d run away, he’d hide again, usually in a different spot, and we’d try to find him, only to have the cycle repeat itself. This would continue until one of us got bored. One day, playing around, Dad got the perfect angle, dampness and distance to give me a welt, which my (clouded) memory remembers as being the size of a golf ball. My thoughts after the incident where, if this was what he could do while he was playing, imagine what he could do if he was mad. This seemingly random, innocent incident was to prove a stepping stone in proper social etiquette as every outing where I was told I needed to be calm and behave would bring back the memory of that wet towel… 
As I’m leaving the Castle I realize I haven’t had breakfast or lunch yet and start to look on my map for a restaurant and find a place called La Promenada and it has amazingly cheap beer, unpasterized beer and, what I would later find out to be the best vegetarian meal I have in Romania. It consists of fresh coriander, marinated mushrooms and polenta (Romanian Cornmeal, think Mash potatoes but grainier). I take my time eating and I’m impressed by the overworked waiter that, for at least an hour, brings out apps, main dishes and desserts in conveyor belt fashion. 
I walk back to the bus stop as the sun is setting and hope a bus arrives that is heading back to Brasov. There are no signs and as it gets darker I start to miss Sweden’s public transportation but eventually a bus arrives but it is full and I sit in the steps on my way back to the city, enjoying my new perspective in regards to the landscape.
describing space 