Romanian Discovery - ‘Salt of the Earth’
South of Vlad the Impaler’s picturesque birth town of Sighisoara lies an underworld that is as unbelievable as the myth of Transylvanian vampires sleeping in subterranean coffins. Access to this unreal place is via a 700-metre, narrow walking tunnel, whose sides progressively morph from rock walls into a glistening ‘salt path’.
Deposited beneath a warm sea during a distant geological period, layers of salt crystals were later buried by rock and earth deposits. Shifting tectonic plates folded the whole assembly to create a stripy humbug appearance of white and black layers, now evident on the walls exposed by generations of miners toiling to extract this valuable commodity. The Romans began mining salt at Turda, prizing it for preserving and adding flavour to food. Ever since, Romanian salt has graced dining tables across Eastern Europe and beyond.
We were shown abandoned wood and rope machinery, once powered by pit ponies. Now entombed in a series of salt halls, it once craned men into - and salt out of - the mine workings deep below. Investment into modern equipment by neighbouring salt mines undercut the viability of this historic mine, creating the opportunity to develop it as a unique visitor attraction.
An old wooden staircase, with salt-encrusted bannisters, led down to a modern glass-walled lift that eerily dropped us 13 storeys into an enormous white cavern, seemingly more akin to a James Bond 007 villain’s lair, than a deserted industrial site. As we descended, a theatre, children’s playground, crazy golf course, amphitheatre and Ferris wheel all became evident on the floor of this saline cathedral.
Even more surreal was the adjacent bell-shaped cavernous void of yet another abandoned mining pit. Peering over the safety rails we saw - deeper by another 11 storeys - an ominous-looking lake. Rising out of the silky black water was an island, covered by weird wooden structures and walkways, all lit up like a circus fairground.
Another descent beckoned. Playing ‘sardines’ in the lift cage, we descended into the bowels of this salt cellar and, walking over a wooden bridge to the island, we found ourselves on a ‘quay’ being persuaded to hire a rowing boat!
A demonstration of my uncoordinated rowing ability then ensued. With three of us in a wobbly boat, we zig-zagged for two circumnavigations, all the time obediently following the boatman’s advice of - “don’t swap places, try to stand up ….. or row into the wall”.
Yes! – there we were - rowing on a lake, in a salt mine, deep in Transylvania. Bram Stoker’s imagination never scripted that in his Dracula novel!
