Farmhouse Fit for a Prince

As it turns out, just last week Prince Charles himself was mucking around the estate of Count K. in the Hungarian/Romanian village of Miclosoara, where we hung our hats last night. Ever since we arrived in Romania, the Bacchae have been looking hard for the kind of agritourism gigs that are easy to find in places like Italy and France (and more recently Greece): sustainable, more or less working "farms" where guests can experience traditional culture as it was (or as it still is) by living and eating with a host family. This kind of tourism, oddly enough, doesn't require huge amounts of money or fancy accoutrements to pull off--in fact, all that's needed is for a "local" to take a leap of faith and believe that wandering strangers might want a glimpse into their lives, as they live it, rather than the imitation, kitsch, over-priced comforts that pass for tourism almost everywhere. I'm willing to give up scalding hot water and satellite television for a stroll through a Transylvanian meadow any day. And so at last, that's what we found (even if the English royalty had discovered it before us): a very beautiful side of Romania that had seemed impossible to access. We were greeted with tiny cordials of palinca (plum brandy) infused with caraway, which made it rather exotic and soft upon the tongue (it is usually very much like fire-water), then shown our rooms, some of us in a guest house (once a stable, now decorated tastefully and comfortably) and some in the farmhouse proper. After the kids rolled up their pantlegs and ran around barefoot chasing the chickens for an hour or so (freed from the confines of the car at last!), we strolled down through town, across a few meandering streams, up to the top of one of the preternaturally green hillsides that streak past our speeding rental car all day. From there we posed for some "Sound of Music" family shots and admired the fecund corrugations of our Saxon Land environs. Parched from our little exercise, we retired for beverages upon rough hewn benches and tables back at the farm...even tossed down a few hands of sheepshead (the Bakken/Seibel family card game, which Kerry has now picked up) along with some smoked local cheese and slightly sparkling white wine. Dinner was served downstairs in the Count's gorgeous wine-cellar. The culinary offerings were not exactly overwhelming, but the atmosphere (with "Medieval" music piped in, candlelight, and a sweet musty dampness emanating from the old casks) made it delightful nonetheless. We stepped from that lovely dungeon only to find a full moon hovering over the orchard, wrapped in a skein of ominous clouds, leaving us all thankful that tidy bundles of garlic had been nailed over the entryways to our sleeping quarters...thankful too that Count Kalnoky was watching over us rather than the other famous Transylvanian Count...

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