.SOMETIMES RAW.

This year, we planned something slightly different for Halloween. Romania, with Transylvania as the main destination. We arrived in Timisoara and explored, headed to Brasov and Bran Castle, Poenari Fortress, and Transfagarasan road, and slept in a Bed & Breakfast in the middle of nowhere, which was probably more terrifying than anything else!

Transylvania is famous for its vampire legends and bloodthirsty Count Dracula, popularized by Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel, Dracula. But the Vlad Ţepeş that inspired the book was very real – referred to throughout history as “Vlad the Impaler” for his agonizing method of impaling his enemies and criminals on long spikes.

In fact, Vlad never lived at the clifftop Bran Castle. Where Dracula did live, though, was Poenari Castle, also known as Poenari Fortress, which was a principal residence. Poenari served as a strategic stronghold for Vlad during his reign.

So, after we discovered all those castles, we headed to the Transfagarasan road, which is mostly closed for the winter season already. Because of this, and since we got tired, we decided to stay at a Bed and Breakfast deep in the Carpathian woods. Let’s call the place The Garlic Not. The listing said “easily accessible by car,” but I only got there after being stuffed into a haunted rental car (was it even an official rental car?) by some Carpathian peasants surrounded by hundreds of stray dogs and had to drive through the deepest, darkest woods for hours.

We got to The Garlic Not, and the place was deserted. We were the only guests. This B&B was run by an 86-year-old mother and her son, and a cook which reminded me of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. We decided to sit in their restaurant to eat something, write a bit on my novel, take some notes, and talk to my son, when the old woman with the fewest teeth I’ve ever seen handed me a menu.

“For our guests – on the house,” she said, and passed us the menu and two goblets of something red to drink. We took a sip, and it was not bad. We ordered the paprika hendl (traditional and national dish) and decided not to ask her about the weird drink thing.

I looked around, and this place was spooky. Outside, some stray dogs howled, and the old lady told us that they would protect us from the bears. Bears that are still everywhere because they don’t hibernate yet. “They come really close to this bed and breakfast. If you guys go outside again, make sure to close the main gates and don’t go too far away. We have all kinds of guns here to protect you. These bears are no joke,” she added. I’ve only been in Transylvania for three days, and the omnipresent fog, eerie wind chimes, and sinking feeling that something horrible is about to happen started to feel normal.

I took a sip of my cocktail and wondered how I would continue the conversation with the old lady owner. I started nonchalantly and asked if there were hiking trails. She said a simple, “no,” and added that “her brother went missing three years ago. And his fiancée. And her dad. And his fiancée. And several other visitors -mostly Germans who thought they could run away from bears with Birkenstock sandals and ugly socks”. I sipped my cocktail slowly while my son kicked me under the table and whispered, “Mom, I told you not to come here! It is too spooky. And look at this weird guy sitting in this corner of the restaurant. Didn’t the old lady say we are the only customers?”

That’s when I saw him. His razor-sharp, marble-like cheekbones, his jet black eyes, and the fourteenth-century cape he wore. He sat in the back of the restaurant and also drank a big glass of something red. He stared at me until I picked up my weird drink and walked over to his table. “Mom, nooooo….!” my son screamed, but it was too late. We both walked over to meet the Count.

“Count Dracula is my name. Daniela and Joel (how did he know our names?), welcome. Sit!” he said, still glowering. We took a seat. We had no choice.

“Why are you guys here? So far out in the wild?” he asked.

“Oh, we are actually here on vacation, but I got tired driving, so we stopped here,” I replied.

It’s hard even to believe he’s here in front of me. Count Dracula opened his mouth again, and I saw those long, long, very pointy teeth, and I got that weird feeling in my chest again. My son whispered, “Mom, let’s go!”

“You know, I could help you with your novel if you want,” Dracula offered when he saw that my son wanted to leave and pulled me away.

“I think I am okay. It is awfully late and we are tired. We should go to bed now, “I replied.

“But I stay up all night,” he responded.

“Uh-huh. Doing what? Playing creepy organ songs?” I joked.

“I can play something for you guys,” he smiled, the first time he smiled.

Dracula reached out and touched my shoulder. His fingers were eight centimeters long, and just as pointy as his teeth. His touch was ice cold. My son screamed, and it broke his evil spell. I looked at my son, who yelled and tried to distract Dracula: “Mom, now, run!”

“My son is right. I should go,” I told him. I got up and ran for the door.

“Wait!” Dracula yelled across The Garlic Not in a very spooky voice.

Count Dracula ran (flew?) towards me.

A bat flew by my head, and I lost my balance. Count Dracula caught me, and I stared into his translucent white face. He leaned in and kissed me. His mouth was hungry, impatient. But he wasn’t kissing me the usual way. He bit into my neck, and blood started spurting everywhere. Then I passed out and found myself the next day in my bed. Nicely tucked in, my son next to me. “Mom, I had the weirdest dream last night. I dreamed we met Dracula in the restaurant!” he said. “I had the same dream. Weird. Let’s go downstairs, have breakfast, and check out of here. What a weird place,” I replied.

When we pulled out of the driveway a couple of hours later, it was when I knew.

The weird thing is, I now have night vision and can levitate. I am also most active at night and sleep in a coffin during the day. It is just more comfortable this way. My son feels the same way. But overall, what a cool trip to Romania. The food was great, and from now on, everything we do is going to be all-vampire, all the time.

For the Bed & Breakfast review online: I gave two stars instead of one because the Count didn’t charge me for the extra day and provided free breakfast, but tbh if you’re looking for a place in Transylvania, you should probably just stay at the Holiday Inn in a big city instead of going so deep into the Carpathian woods, unless you want the full Dracula experience of course.

Days later, I checked if my review ever went online, but The Garlic Not does not exist.

A couple of days ago, I watched Ghost with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze, one of my all-time favorite movies. (Crying every.single.time) So, what happens when we die, Mom,” my son asked after the movie. “Is there such thing as heaven and hell?” Well, is there? It is at least a nice thought to think to be up there “in heaven” and meet all your family and friends again, right?

With fall approaching fast, and everything turns dark and grey, questions of death and dying are naturally creeping up.

After my son went to bed, I let my thoughts wander; and out of the blue, I remembered something a friends had once said: “I’m not scared of death because after death you can’t feel anything. You just aren’t there.” But that, to me, is the scary part. Where are you? Just nowhere? Just nothing? It’s over? Suddenly I felt like I was standing over a precipice. On a regular fall day, for no reason in particular, my mind had wrapped itself around death for the first time, and I momentarily felt weird.

Have you felt this way? I’ve recently realized, death will also happen to me. Maybe not today, maybe not next month, but it WILL happen. Before, I knew it would “happen to me,” like knew I would “die someday,” but not REALLY. Not actually.

In my thirties, there were so many things “in front” of death. Having my son, moving to Canada, to New York, to Vienna….Subconsciously, I figured, those things had to happen before I died. I wasn’t next up. I didn’t have to worry about it right now. It was so far away, surely.

But Nina Riggs’s memoir The Bright Hour, about her struggle with cancer, published posthumously, began to puncture my cool-headedness. I immediately related to her: her inner monologue felt so similar to mine; she was a writer and a worrier, too. It felt like I was reading a book about myself.

The fear of flying often kicks in around age 27, studies reveal, when people start to grapple with their own mortality. They don’t feel invincible, like they did as rowdy kids and hormonal teenagers. I totally get that, don’t you? “As life experiences build up, the reality of ​our own vulnerability as human beings can set in,” says New York-based therapist Nathan Feiles.

And what about your later years? They say you should listen to life advice from people in their 80s and 90s, because they’ve been staring death in the face for years. One thing my grandfather used to say that has always stuck with me. 

When I was in school, 14 and miserable, I was visiting my grandparents. Over coffee and cake, I mused, “I just have to get through the last three months of the schoolyear; I wish I could just wake up and it would be over.” Opa jerked back, as if I had hit him. “Never wish away your life,” he told me, quietly. I struggled to see what he meant — of COURSE anyone would want to skip days that were difficult or painful or heartbreaking. But, now that I’m older, I’m starting to grasp his point. Soak it all up, even the hard parts. You are alive.

So, how can we move forward without freaking out about death? A friend recommended Staring at the Sun by Irvin Yalom about dealing with death anxiety. “It helps,” she said.

Or what if we reframe things, so that we see life, instead of death, as the mind-bending part? Writes Barbara Ehrenreich in Natural Causes: “You can think of death bitterly or with resignation, as a tragic interruption of your life, and take every possible measure to postpone it. Or, more realistically, you can think of life as an interruption of an eternity of personal nonexistence, and see it as a brief opportunity to observe and interact with the living, ever-surprising world around us.”

Now and again, I’ll be looking at my child and it will cross my mind that we’re all going to die someday — and then I’ll think of things like earrings, and they seem so ridiculous. WHO CARES??? We are going to die, WHY ARE WE WEARING EARRINGS. But then maybe that’s the point of jewelry? And sports? And songs? And complicated soup recipes? To be distractingly wonderful and fill up the moments and let you just play with your child on the rug?

Our close relationships ground us, too, of course. After years of living with stage IV cancer, Kate Bowler wrote in the New York Times: “A friend knits me socks and another drops off cookies, and still another writes a funny email or takes me to a concert. These seemingly small efforts are anchors that hold me to the present, that keep me from floating away on thoughts of an unknown future. They say to me, like my sister Maria did on one very bad day: ‘Yes, the world is changed, dear heart, but do not be afraid. You are loved, you are loved. You will not disappear. I am here.’”

Because at the end of the day: “We are all just walking each other home.” — Ram Dass

How do you think about death? Do you think about it? What do you believe happens after death? Are you religious? What are your views on the afterlife? I’m so, so curious to hear.

So, I ran the half-marathon last week, and now people who are crazy into health and sports want to teach me everything they know about nutrition, supplements, and healthy life choices. One topic was whether I consume enough protein. While I gave my best to listen, he took out his pill box stuffed with supplements for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Wtf, I thought while he drowned the first handful of shiny pink and blue pills with some green smoothie out of a plastic shaker. Then he began to tell me what kind of imbecile I am, a know-nothing about nutrition. Here he goes, as good as I remember it.

Hey, you ran the half-marathon, huh?! But are you taking all your supplements? Do you eat enough protein in a day? Don’t even bother answering, because I know the answer is no. But don’t worry, I’m kind of a protein guy. I can give you all the guidance you need so you can stop being such a weak little bitch. I eat three hundred times my recommended daily allowance of protein. So as you can imagine, my life is perfect. I can crush a stainless-steel trash can with my thighs. I could lift your sofa above my head and throw it so far you’ll never see it again. And that’s what I’ll do if you don’t start eating enough protein. So you’d better listen up.

Let’s start with the basics. According to my nutritionist, a guy named the Beef Man, you should be getting at least 30,000 grams of protein at each meal. You’re probably clocking in at a cool fifteen grams or less, which, quite frankly, makes me want to punch a wall. How many chicken breasts have you even eaten so far today? Four? Five? Don’t make me laugh.

By the way, you could be slamming legumes right now while I’m telling you this. Every second of the day is an opportunity for protein, and you’re wasting it. What’s that sound? All I hear is the sound of you not eating a bucket of eggs. That eggless silence is the worst sound in the world. I listen to a recording of myself eating a bucket of eggs to help me fall asleep at night. It brings me peace you’ll never understand.

But don’t think I have no sympathy for sad little failures. I know reaching your daily protein goals can be a challenge. Sometimes you have to get creative. Do you drink coffee in the morning? Try swapping it out for ground turkey. (Do not talk to me until I’ve had my ground turkey.) If you’re still brushing your teeth with toothpaste (zero protein), you’re a stupid idiot. Start brushing with Greek yoghurt. Do you take medicine? Of course you do, because you’re a sick freak who doesn’t get enough protein. Try cottage cheese instead.

I can tell you’re still a little sceptical. Why do you even need all that protein anyway? I’ll tell you why, you piece of shit. You need protein for muscle growth. You’re probably saying, “I don’t care about muscle growth. I like being an adult with the body of a little baby.” And of course, that’s your choice. But you also need protein for maintaining blood, skin, and bones. Ever heard of them? You think you’re too good for bones, buddy? If you don’t eat enough protein, you’re basically saying you’re cool with being a disgusting pile of shit. Ever seen a pile of shit before? It ain’t pretty.

And look, I get it. Eating a nutritious diet is about balance. Of course, you can still eat other things you enjoy, like fruits, pasta, and even brownies. As long as those fruits, pasta, and brownies are made from a slurry of broken-down animal parts and molded into the shapes of those respective foods. I am aware not everyone enjoys animal slurry. As a vegetarian alternative, put a bunch of chickpeas in a blender and sculpt that goop into the shape of any food you’d normally enjoy. Pretend you’re Demi Moore in Ghost while you’re doing it.

At the end of the day, I’m tired of your excuses. You can’t spend all day cooking lentils? Fine. Don’t tell me you don’t have thirty seconds on your morning commute to snack on some unseasoned ground beef. I don’t leave the house without my five-pound canister of chocolate banana cinnamon roll whey protein powder that I snort when there’s a lull in conversations. I can already hear you whining, “The protein powder burns when I snort it.” Okay, well, nothing is stopping you from administering it rectally, except for your bad attitude.

Ultimately, I can’t force you to eat the correct amount of protein for your body weight. But the next time you try to crush a stainless-steel trash can with your thighs, don’t come crying to me when you look like a fool because you only dented it a little bit.