Sighisoara is famous for being the birthplace of Vlad Tepes, and the house in which he grew up for his first four years still remains. A pretty butter yellow on the outside, inside it is now a pricey restaurant, but it is possible to access the upper landing where a bust of the man himself stands, and a dracula related frieze has been painted onto the wall.
The museum of Sighisoara is housed in the clock tower, but contains no information on the impaler. Instead it houses pottery and other objects from the history of the town, although its difficult to tell their importance as the descriptions are in Romanian. It does allow you access to the top of the tower however, and you can see the inner works of the clock, as the cogs go round, and the view from the outside is fantastic. You can see the green hills and valleys all around, as the river winds itself through and small red roofed houses encroach onto the lower slopes.
Interestingly, the bust of the man who concieved the idea of the museum shows him with exactly the same hairstyle as Gary Oldman's Dracula. Spooky!
There isn't really much else to see here, the town is quiet, and if you sit in one of the local's beer gardens you could began to believe that the last thirty years have never taken place. However, that is part of its charm and the charm of Romania as a whole. Although you can't understand what any of the museums are about, or that you have to wait twenty minutes to make a reservation on a train which is arriving in thirty minutes, I think I will miss it a little. Eventually it will catch up with the west I'm sure, but hopefully not too quickly, and not before I return either! I am now in Budapest again after taking a night train and had a compartment all to myself.
The closest thing to vampires I found out here are the bloodsucking insects, and the receptionist at the Sighisoara hostel, who on one drunken evening came on to four of us within five minutes. If she was young and good looking I don't think that we would've minded.
Dracula doesn't seem to be here after all, but maybe on reading this blog he has travelled to Whitby or London and will await me there, or maybe there is another twist.
I have discovered a poem which suggests that the origin of the ashes played for in Cricket by England and Australia may come from a different source to that of a burnt bail:

There once was a man called Vlad
Who in a cape would often be clad
When he began biting necks
The locals were vexed
But when Van Helsing turned up they were glad, were glad
When Van Helsing returned with the urn, the urn
When Van Helsing returned with the urn.

But then again, maybe some things are meant to be shrouded in the mists of myth and fiction. Here are three songs for this week.

Welcome to Paradise - Green Day
Nothing Ever Happens - Del Amitri
0345:No Sleep - The Cardigans