We set aside the afternoon to visit the Evangelical Cathedral with its tall spire and unique tiled roof. Construction was begun in 1371 on the site of a Romanesque church, and was finally completed in 1520. It was originally Roman Catholic but like many churches we visited, converted to Evangelical after the Reformation.
For 300 years the church was the burial place for local VIPs. The practice was halted in the 18th century, the existing tombstones removed and embedded in the wall, making an unusual gallery of the dead. A QR code leads to details of each person.
The church houses two pipe organs, and we were fortunate that they were both being tuned and played while we were there.
Hats off to Father Xavier Dressler, record-holding organist. Forty-seven years is admirable.
There was a lot to see in the cathedral but Jack kept eyeing the tower steps.
Longtime readers know I suffer from what I consider a completely rational fear of heights. Nevertheless I almost always follow Jack on his missions to get to the top of wherever we are. In this case, I’ve got no problem with enclosed spiral staircases. You can’t see up and, more importantly, you can’t see down.
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s go.” I didn’t give it a second thought. Spoiler alert: I should have.
After what seemed like we should have been at least halfway, the spiral steps ended and we crossed a scaffold bridge into the upper tower.
And this is where my palms started sweating. Looking up, I gasped at how much further we had to go. And looking down, well let’s just say I tried not to.
This is where my fear of heights becomes irrational. Intellectually I know this is perfectly safe, yet I had to talk myself up step by step.
I arrived at a small platform at the level of the bells where I took a breather along with a couple of young men who were also finding this climb a little more challenging than expected. We all hoped the bells wouldn’t chime just then.
Past the bells and up one more flight of narrow open steps and we were finally at the tippy top. And yes, the view was worth it. But my palms are sweating even now with the memory of looking down.
We were so fortunate to have a beautiful sunny blue-sky day and we spent a long time admiring the views from every side.
And then it was time to go down. Down is harder because, well, you have to look down. And that’s the part that scares me.
Going down those open stairways was the most frightened I’ve ever felt. The fear shocked me because I’m normally not a fearful person.
I was comforted knowing I wasn’t the only one who took a long breather between flights. And there were others who had to be talked up or down inch by inch. I instead had a personal photographer who documented my experience.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I got past those flights of open stairs and scampered down the spiral steps to the bottom.
As we left the tower it sounded like the organ tuner was putting the pipes through their paces. We found a seat in the vestibule and listened until my palms dried and my heart rate returned to normal.
I wrote before that we don’t know exactly where in Transylvania Jack’s grandmother was born. But as we listened I imagined that she may have sat in this church and heard this organ over a century ago.
