Run to the Hills.

Braşov's brutalist train station, opened in 1962.

Braşov, Romania – As we pull out of Bucharest, the sun shimmers over bright yellow fields.

Blocks of canola carry on for miles. It’s a crop mandated by the European Union, replacing what had traditionally been potato farms.

The train glides effortlessly past small villages with rusted roofs and passes under a bridge spray painted with a blue swastika. 

It's particularly unsettling as these rails, and this train company, actively contributed to the Holocaust.

In what seems like an instant, green hills shrug from the ground, producing two-tone forests stippled with evergreens and beech. Shortly thereafter, the train winces as we begin our climb into the Carpathian Mountains.

Dark, craggy peaks cut into the skyline. Thin cloud settles into crevices as though someone has exhaled a cigarette. Rains are coming.

Despite the country's reputation for rail delays, we pull into Braşov exactly on time. Bells announce our arrival with the chime of a few notes of the operetta, Crai Nou.

And the rains hold off just long enough for me to make the 45-minute walk to the old town.