Women Solo Travelling to Transylvania, a Mioritic Land- On a Foot of Grass, On a Mouth of Heaven

As I crossed into the heart of Romania, through winding roads and mist-shrouded valleys, the landscape transformed before my eyes. Towering forests gave way to rolling hills, dotted with rustic wooden churches, fortified castles and villages where time seemed to stand still. I had arrived in Transylvania, a mioritic land, on a foot of grass, on a mouth of heaven.

If you ever travelled to the heart of Romania, you already know that this is a region steeped in history, myth and a deep sense of spirituality that feels as ancient as the Carpathian Mountains that cradle it.

Transylvania, which translates to “the land beyond the forest,” has long been a crossroad of cultures. Its history is a tapestry woven with the threads of Dacian tribes, Roman legions, mediaeval Saxons and Romanian kingdoms. In mediaeval times, it was a land of fortified churches, a frontier region where the civilizations of Central Europe met the untamed wilderness.

A Brief History: A Mioritic Land

Beyond the mediaeval castles and towns like Sibiu and Brașov, known for their architectural beauty and rich history, Transylvania is perhaps most famous for its more fascinating reputation. This is the land of Vlad the Impaler, whose blood-soaked legacy inspired the legend of Dracula, casting a shadow of fear and fascination over the region.

Vlad ‘s reign brought a profound sense of order and security to the land, where crime was virtually nonexistent. In every village, public fountains had golden mugs, left unguarded for travellers to drink freely, symbolising the era’s trust, justice, and unwavering discipline under his rule.

King Charles III made known his heritage connection to Vlad the Impaler and always shown his love for this mioritic land.

King Charles III’s connection to Transylvania can be traced back to his royal ancestry, through a genealogical line that links him to Vlad III, known as Vlad the Impaler, the 15th-century ruler of Wallachia. Vlad was notorious for his brutal methods of dealing with enemies, often impaling them on stakes, earning him a fearsome reputation throughout Europe. However, within Romania, he is regarded as a national hero who defended his people from the Ottoman Empire.

Through the lineage of his great-grandmother, Queen Mary, who was born a princess of Romania and later married into the British royal family, Charles is said to be a direct descendant of Vlad the Impaler. This historical connection is more than just a distant genealogical curiosity for the British monarch; it has become a unique point of pride, one that he has publicly acknowledged with humor and grace. In fact, King Charles III once quipped during a television interview “Transylvania is in my blood.”

But for all its historic and literary narrative, Transylvania’s true spirit lies deeper than these gothic tales, in a profound relationship with nature and a spirituality that feels elemental, as if rooted in the very earth itself.

There is a concept in Romanian culture called the “Mioritic Space,” named after the pastoral ballad “Miorița,” one of the country’s most treasured folk poems. The Mioritic Land represents a unwavering bond between man and nature, an eternal cycle where human life, death and the forces of the natural world are interwoven in a delicate balance.

In this vision, life is not a linear path but a continuous flow, shaped by the rhythms of the earth—the rising and setting of the sun, the seasons and the ever-present mountains. As I travelled deeper into the rural heart of Transylvania, it was easy to see this lifestyle philosophy again but with a fresh pair of eyes.

Shepherds still wander with their flocks through open meadows, in a timeless relationship with the land that has endured for centuries.

The mountains, which appear almost sentient, add an unique richness in both a literal and spiritual sense, giving the region a unique aura of stillness and majestic beauty.

There is an unspoken understanding here, a sense that life is lived in harmony with the forces of nature, not in opposition to them. In every village, in every person I met, there was a palpable respect for the land—the belief that the soil beneath their feet holds memory, wisdom, and a connection to the ancestors who came before. Here man and nature are inseparable.

The ballad of “Miorița” encapsulates this deep connection between humanity and the natural world. It tells the story of a shepherd who, betrayed by his fellow herders and aware of his impending death, chooses not to resist his fate.

Instead, he calmly asks his beloved sheep—a symbol of innocence and purity—to tell his mother that he did not die in despair but that he married the mountains, the forests and the skies.

In this ballad, death is not feared; it is a return to nature, a reunion with the elements. It reflects a cosmic view where man is but a transient guest in the grander scheme of things. Nature, in “Miorița,” is not just a backdrop for human action—it is an active, sentient presence, one that accompanies man on his spiritual journey.

I felt this unity as a child, as a mother and as a grandmother. I hiked again this summer, travelling solo, through the Bucegi Mountains, the mist swirling around me like ancient spirits guarding the paths. There is a sacredness to the land that you cannot help but feel—a sense that the earth here is alive and watching, with stories untold but palpable in the air.

Spirituality in Every Step You Take in the Mioritic Land

Transylvania is more than just Dracula’s castle or medieval fortresses; it is a spiritual landscape, where the lines between the physical and the metaphysical blur. The Orthodox monasteries, tucked away in forests and on hilltops, offer a quiet reminder of Romania’s deep spiritual roots, but even outside of organized religion, there is a sense of the sacred in everyday life. From the way people talk about the land to their rituals of harvesting or animal tending, spirituality is woven into the fabric of existence.

As I made my way back to the village where I was staying, the sun set behind the mountains, casting long shadows over the fields. The sky turned a deep purple and the air filled with the sound of distant bells, the soft murmurs of livestock and the occasional crackle of a hearth fire from a nearby home. It was a scene as old as time itself, one that seemed to whisper the ancient truth of natural beauty.

Travelling solo, as a woman, I felt at home and I understand now more than ever that the magic of Transylvania is not just in its legends or its history, but in the way it invites you to be still, to listen and to understand that we are, and always have been, a part of the same great cycle as the mountains, the rivers and the forests. Travelling to Transylvania is not about stepping into another destination but into another way of being—a place where nature and man are inseparable, bound by the quiet, enduring spirituality of the Mioritic Land– “On a foot of grass, On a mouth of heaven”

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