Sighisoara, Transylvania, RomaniaFurtive footsteps reverb around a woodland glade.
Somewhere to the right, the heavy, monotonous thud of an axe was heard.
The friends ran through the wood, tripping and slipping on the undergrowth. The sound of the axe stopped, suddenly. A harsh shriek and cackle reverberated around the wood. Birds left their perches at the sound, frantically trying to escape the dense woodland. The 5 friends stopped running. Silence. The only sound was the collective thudding of hearts against chests.
Without needing to say a word to one another, they started running again. Jono, leading the group, let out an exclamation. Ahead, the wood opened up, and the group caught a glimpse of a well-tended garden. They quickened pace, and raced out, blinking in the sunlight. They were safe.
What began as a gentle stroll out from the Sighisoara (apparently the birth-place of Dracula, in Transylvania) had turned into a sprint for survival. This began after Greg, who it would be fair to say was the most naturally suspicious of the group, became increasingly worried as we left the relative civilisation (you could buy milkshakes, but not pizzas) of Sighisoara.
A couple of Romany gypsy children asking us for money on the edge of the wood did nothing for Greg's anxiety, and he began to suggest to the rest of us that we turn back. As we turned to do so we saw a man and his dog approaching in the distance. Greg was wary, and now counselled that we continue forwards. Doing so brought us to the edge of the wood. Greg urged us in.
We began to amble through the wood, but then we heard the sound of the axe. By sheer persistence, Greg had managed to make the rest of us jumpy, but by now he was on the verge of a breakdown. As we heard the sound of laughter accompanying the thud of the axe he emitted a shriek, and began a human stampede; five grown men sprinting as swiftly as flipflops would allow.
Upon escaping the wood we realised we had been on the edge of civilisation the whole time. Feeling not a little foolish, but relieved nonetheless, we happened upon a shack at the side of the road. As we feasted on a meal of bourbon biscuits and premium strength lager, two young boys, aged around 10, exited the trees and walked past us, carrying wood. One of them bore a small axe.
We sat and reflected, not for the first time on the trip, that we had a lot to learn.
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