Old Targului Street Sibiu Day-Night Walk Photos and a Medieval Story

As we wandered on the thousand years old Targului Street in Sibiu and snapped both eerie and cheerful photos I imagined how life must have been like for the Saxons who built the first wooden houses here during Medieval Era and wrote a story.

Sibiu started, as did our journey on my blog, on a small piece of land: Huet Square, Goldsmiths’ Square, and Targului Street.

With this blog post I join the beautiful & world-wide Thursday Doors weekly challenge hosted by Dan Antion, do have a look. Dan also read one of my poetry books about dogs, and I am grateful to him for sharing his candid thoughts.

Târgului Street (The Fair Street) Sibiu, Night Photos

If you listen to the shadows you can almost hear the rattle of wooden wagons. The first settlers have arrived after a month’s trek from west Europe, perhaps following Roman roads, and stirring no dust but leaving deep grooves in the ground covered only by pine needles.

Day and bright photos from Targului Street to follow after the story.
Setting: one of the first waves of settlers, known later as Saxons, arrived and settled along Cibin River during the 12th century, invited by King Geza II of Hungary. The village they formed is known today as Sibiu.

A Medieval Story, part 1

I’ve counted as many sunrises as my fingers since we ended our trekking. Twice as many as our Pastor promised we’ll need to feel at home. And they’ve all been lacking the fair sky of our Flanders and the balmy breeze that swept the sweet scent of bluebells indoors. Here, the sun seems to have forgotten about us while the clouds hang as heavy as the harsh rigors of a new life. Only the tall pine trees that hug this valley hold the sky from dropping onto the earth. Towering forests whose sharp scent overpowers everything, and whose voice moans in a foreign language. When it doesn’t howl.

A strange life we live now and not ours, no matter how much Mother tries. For Father’s sake, I know.

In Flanders, Father was the Master of the Goldsmiths’ Guild. Here, in this foreign land at the end of the world, the world I’ve only known, my Flanders, here Father acts as if he alone should raise his guild anew. Rebuild it the same it once was, but he forgets that our roots are green now, and we barely have any. We’re as frail as a daffodil in the breeze. As insecure as a hatchling. Yet Father insists that ‘tis the guilds who support and feed the community; they’re its foundation, the priests are its columns, while the knights are its roof on which the princes rely, like precious archways. Together, we are the cathedral built in the name of our Lord.

Yet archways hold pillars too. I’ve seen it when we paused by the great Cathedral of Mainz, to pray for our endeavors and the unknown that lies ahead. And for Mother to see, and hug, my brother who does his apprenticeship there. There, I’ve heard the master builders talk. Curved the right way, archways hold the columns together as much as they rest on them. Where is our prince, then? Where is this King Geza who demanded us here? We’ve arrived at his call, yet we’re to fend for ourselves.

As long as we all work hard, a good life will follow, and everyone around me agrees. I keep my thoughts to myself, even if they buzz inside my head like a beehive in spring. The dust of woodworking has replaced the dust of the road and last night we slept under a solid roof, at last. On a bed that doesn’t swing, or bounce. We all slept as snugly as a bug in a rug. Even my bones, as young as they might be, are smiling.

Today the sun smiles too, like the Blessed Virgin did in our Flanders church and I steal myself from my chores and let my feet take me uphill and into the woods. Since we arrived, this woodland had me feel as shy as a crocus, and today I want to tame it.

I grab a basket. Let them think I’m going to forage for food. I cross the spring like a goat, jumping from one stone to the next, and approach the woods head-on. Let it see I’m not scared. Let it see I’m not shy. But I stifle a shiver after the first steps in. It’s so much colder here, and the dew still hangs around. My feet are cushioned by a carpet of pine needles, my steps silenced and, wherever I look, the light is the color of emeralds. Even behind me.

Copyright © Patricia Furstenberg. All Rights Reserved.

Colorful Targului Street, Daylight Photography

Stone houses built during the XIV – XV centuries, and reconditioned. But it was on this street where the first wooden homes were erected, at the beginning of the 12th century.

A modern door in what would have once been a gate.

Look closer:

I hope you enjoyed walking along Tragului Street during night and day and I hope that you gave my story a chance.

I found that life has a different pace since both my children are in University (classes start here in January). Blogging has been hectic, but I am blessed with great blogger friends – talented writer and baker Roberta Cheadle pulled me out of my non-routine life and interviewed me for Treasuring Poetry – where we chatted about favorite poems, about being a flâneuse, and about dogs!

We’re not quite done with Targului Street, and there’s so much more to see and learn about Sibiu. I suggest you sign up to my newsletter and never miss a blog post!

If you are fascinated or curious about Transylvania have a look at my latest book, DREAMLAND: