True to my usual form . . . Slave to my obsessive ways . . . I probably expend too much energy taking notes . . . instead of sitting back and enjoying the ride . . . smelling the forest.
I’m exhausted trying to understand the convoluted history of Romania, the oppression of its people since the Middle Ages at the hands of Turks, Hungarians and more recently Communism and Ceauşescu . . . not to mention trying to fathom the inter-marrying of Royalty.
And then there’s the story of the legendry Dracula, who never set foot in Bran Castle, a medieval fortress high up on a rocky ledge on the side of a mountain pass in the Carpathian mountains of Transylvania.
Perhaps if the local guide were not so good, I’d switch off after hearing the usual trivia. But, my Romanian guide, Andrea is a born storyteller and walking encyclopaedia . . . Won’t I ever learn? Greg in Portugal did the same in 2009. He also captured my imagination and exhausted me with his stories of Kings and Queens, Battles and Discoveries, and Apparitions . . . and in the end, I had lost the spontaneity needed for writing a light and breezy account.
I am . . . but only for what I produce for affirmation and accolade. . . . Why can’t I simply be? . . . And live the moment?
Can I ever change? Do I want to change? Or will I continue living in this life of self-imposed slavery?
And possibly at the expense of my immortal soul? God forbid!