Dawn Berkoski

The sky was blue. The sun was warm. It was a beautiful day in Bucharest. After discovering some amazing street art, and eating breakfast at the Grand Cafe Van Gogh, I was on top of the world. If only I could find some vampires.

The summer palace of Vlad Tepes was somewhere nearby, next to a church. So, I hit the cobblestone streets of Old Town, searching for The Old Princely Court, and life beyond the grave.

Seeing the gorgeous facade of Stavropoleos Church, I thought I had finally found Curtea Veche, until I read the sign. This was no palace, but a monastery built in the 1700’s, years after Vlad the Impaler’s death. Still, I was excited. The courtyard was peaceful and lovely to walk through. And, according to my research, the church housed ancient theological manuscripts and texts! Unfortunately, it appeared to be closed.

Until a woman in a head scarf came through the black gates and opened one of the massive carved doors by the entrance. I swiftly followed her inside, hoping for a peek.

A mass was in progress. I only caught a glimpse of my surroundings as the light from the door spilled in. A small, dark interior. The searching face of a nun who shut the door immediately, trapping me in the dark. Chants and crowded bodies. Prayers I couldn’t understand. I wanted to be outside again, in the sunshine, in the garden, amongst sunflowers and starlight. I tried to focus, listen, and let my eyes adjust. But it was hot, too claustrophobic, like I was wedged inside a coffin. My heart started to race as anxiety set in. I had to get out.

So, I bowed my head, made the sign of the cross, and tried to leave, conscious of the heavy weight of the door, the echoing creak of old wood, and how the people inside seemed to shift away from the rays of light, filing the empty space in my wake.

This holy place is not associated with vampires, or the blood of Dracul. The last direct descendent of Vlad Tepes, Alexandru, was deposed in the early 1600’s. After his death, some came forward, seeking power by claiming relations. But the line of the Dragon was no longer. And Stavropoleos Church reflects the Greek influence that rose to power.

But I could picture a vampire walking here, in the courtyard near the tombstones, perhaps reading an ancient manuscript. I wanted to linger, to decipher what was written on those doors. I wanted to understand more. But my time was limited, growing shorter by the hour. So, I was off once more. To search for answers. To search for Vlad.

Dawn B~