I’ve been carrying a heavy mix of emotions lately. Back home, in the streets where I grew up, innocent and hardworking Mexican immigrants are being taken into big unmarked trucks — disappeared under the cover of night. Families are left wondering where their loved one is and if they will ever see them again. Dreams are erased. People who have built lives among people they thought were friends are treated like they don’t belong anymore. Watching those videos makes something in

Thanksgiving used to be one of the most intentional days of my year. Not because of patriotism or tradition—actually the opposite. For a decade, I opened my home to anyone who wanted a place to land. My table wasn’t about turkey or spectacle; it was an annual practice in truth-telling and community. I cooked Indigenous foods, played PBS’s We Shall Remain , and held space for conversation about the real history of the holiday. It was part education, part ritual, and part quiet

There are cities that decorate for Christmas, and then there is Brașov — a place that seems to exhale winter enchantment from its medieval soul. As December settles over the Carpathians, the old town begins its transformation. Lights unfurl across rooftops, garlands drape between centuries-old walls, and the entire landscape takes on the soft glow of a fairytale. Romanians put serious, loving effort into creating a festive world, and you can feel that intention in every illum

Romania stands at a cultural crossroads — modern in law, traditional in spirit, and still deciding which part of itself will define the future. The Contradiction at the Heart of Modern Romania At first glance, Romania seems firmly part of the European modern project. It is a member of the European Union, bound by human-rights conventions, and home to a young generation that travels, studies, and works across a continent that increasingly values equality. Yet beneath that Euro

When autumn arrives in Transylvania, the air grows sharp and metallic, and the forests shed their color until only the stone of the mountains seems alive. Smoke rises from the first hearth fires, curling above tiled roofs and lingering with its sweet scent in the cold. In the West, this is the season of Halloween I am familiar with - a celebration of ghosts, costumes, and death. In Romania, the same chill carries something older. There are no pumpkin lanterns or suburban tric

Before the word “vampire” ever reached Western Europe and long before Bram Stoker turned Transylvania into a gothic legend, Romanians were already telling stories about the strigoi — spirits that slipped between the worlds of the living and the dead. These were not imagined monsters from distant castles but familiar faces: neighbors, relatives, and townspeople whose souls could not find rest. In traditional belief, a strigoi was not born from evil so much as imbalance. It was

The Keeper of the Flame In every culture, there are keepers of the flame—those who carry the memory of a people across generations, adapting it to new languages, new screens, and new worlds. In Romania, one of those keepers is Corneliu Țepeluș, a filmmaker, storyteller, and cultural ambassador whose life has been shaped by the timeless human pursuit of immortality—not the kind that denies death, but the kind that ensures meaning endures. His work bridges the mystical and the

In the heart of Brașov’s old town, framed by the Carpathian foothills, stands a monument that has watched over centuries of change: wars, fires, reformations, and rebirth. Locals call it Biserica Neagră — The Black Church. Its stone walls rise like memory itself, weathered and immovable, carrying the spirit of a people who refused to vanish. A Church Born of the Saxons Construction of the Black Church began around 1380, when Brașov, known then as Kronstadt, was one of the mos

Walk through any Transylvanian town and you’ll find echoes of another world such as fortified churches, cobbled squares, pastel guild houses, Latin inscriptions, and names like Kronstadt, Hermannstadt, and Schäßburg. These are traces of the Transylvanian Saxons, the German settlers who came nearly nine centuries ago and shaped the cultural heart of the region. Arrival of the Saxons The story begins in the 12th century, when the Hungarian kings invited German colonists to sett

In the shadow of medieval churches and fortified towers, one might least expect Bavarian-style beer tents, oompah bands, and lederhosen—but in Romania, especially in Transylvania, Oktoberfest has found a new home. What began as a festive export has become part of how German heritage communities, cities, and event planners articulate cultural identity, hospitality, and connection to Europe. From Munich to Everywhere: The Original Oktoberfest The first Oktoberfest was held on O

Perched above the Târnava Mare River, the citadel of Sighișoara has never been only a Saxon fortress. Its towers, stairways, and houses carry stories that linger as strongly as the scent of woodsmoke in winter. Beyond the pastel facades and watchtowers, folklore has shaped the way this medieval town is remembered. Vlad Dracul and the Birthplace of Vlad Țepeș One of the most enduring legends is tied to the yellow house on Citadel Square, known as the Vlad Dracul House. Traditi

Autumn in Transylvania is breathtaking — golden forests draped across the Carpathians, mist curling through medieval towers, markets spilling over with apples, chestnuts, and mushrooms. It is the kind of beauty that feels ancient, rooted, and solemn. And yet, as the air cools and the leaves begin to fall, I find myself aching for another kind of autumn — the one lingering on the streets of New Castle, Pennsylvania, US. I miss the small rituals of my American fall. The way gro