It's crazy how the appearance of one country changes from one region to another. I knew Transylvania was supposed to be better, but not that much. These were my thoughts when I first crossed the mountains which separated a land of order and cleanliness from one where houses were barely keeping themselves up from collapsing. Besides the spoken language still being Romanian, at least officially, because German was popping out on every street name, road sign, opening and closing times timetable, everything was changed. It was a bit of cultural shock.
                        Sibiu itself was amazing. The large paved roads and old houses with little windows in the attic  made me think I somehow time traveled. But then you look down and see all the hustle, people going up and down the street and the little shops at the ground floor of every house. It was December back then and like in every city the Christmas market was in the central square and it smelled stunning. The scent of mulled wine and gingerbread made me think I was in a German fairytale and so did my accommodation, which  reminded me of old traditional houses with narrow spiral stairs and a Singer sewing machine resting near the entrance. The furniture was all handmade and made me think of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’ little house. The TV was the only thing which spoiled the fantasy.
                        Even the people had something different in them. Everyone was calm and so polite and somehow they never seemed to be angry or upset. No matter if the old lady, which lived near our apartment, spoke two words in German and one in Romanian, she still wanted to tell us all the stories about Sibiu and that building ending with her own family and life story. It was startling.
                         Hermanstadt, the German name of the city, made a lasting impression on me. It made me realise how much of an impact history makes on a certain place and how different two cities can be within the same border.