April 16, 2011
Original post can be found here.
I’m in Sighisoara, Romania (will be leaving in about forty minutes for Cluj-Napoca), which is Vlad the Impaler’s birthplace. I went into the restaurant they’ve set up in the house he was born in to see if it would be worthwhile, but decided it was too pricey. I made my way down two flights of stairs and only had about four steps left before I brained myself on the top of the door frame, then fell down those last four steps (smacking my lower back in the process. I’m going to be black and blue there).
I just sat there for a while with my hands on my head and my eyes squeezed shut, kind of praying that no one would ask if I was all right but at the same time praying someone would. Then after ten or fifteen seconds I opened my eyes and spotted an old, old woman with a brown headkerchief staring at me with pretty open sympathy.
I fled. Didn’t know what else to do.
Spent the whole walk to find food rubbing my back and wondering if I’d hit myself hard enough for another concussion. There’s no blood, and I’m not dizzy, so probably not.
But goddamn, it hurt. I feel like Vlad would have approved of the parting gesture his stupid house handed me.
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