Dracula Lives 6: Boian, Rendezvous with Death

Our limousine.

The people live in poor conditions in the middle of this picturesque landscape. There is no industry here, no tourism, nothing that brings in money. Children in worn-out clothes play in the streets. They give us a friendly wave and we wave back from our 2-horsepower carriage. We are worlds apart. Every now and then a car overtakes us. Two young teenagers give chase with a one-horse team and drive their horse. They overtake us, visibly proud. Our destination is the village of Boian. The place used to be called Bonnesdorf, first mentioned in a document in 1309. The place is dying out. In 1910 it still had 2,028 residents, 317 of whom were German. In 2021 there are still 1360 and maybe 6 more Germans. I notice how simple these houses are. I would stay here for a few days. An impossible idea that fails due to the lack of language skills.

Kirchenburg Bonnesdorf

Hopeless.

We are probably the highlight of the day here. Children and adults keep waving at us. Lucia explains the lack and poverty to us: "The young people are moving away from here. There are no prospects, no work, no infrastructure. You can't feed a family here. I'll illustrate this to you using a church! The last renovation was in 1976 , since then everything has fallen into disrepair!"

This dilapidated house of worship touches me in an inexplicable way. Church services haven't been held here for a long time. The facade is crumbling. Moisture penetrates the masonry. Musty smell. Windows are in disrepair, stone stairs to the gallery, like an irregular set of teeth, are impassable. The massive wooden benches are rotting away. An old poster pays homage to the one who hangs abandoned on the cross: "He is true... and gave himself for them." is written on it in German.

Lucia says a sentence that couldn't be more appropriate for this area: "Tourists are like arteries. Wherever they are, money flows, historical buildings are maintained, continually renovated and cared for. Without tourists, towns die, buildings wither away, history is forgotten ."

Desolate.

The altar atrophies. How many bridal couples have exchanged wedding vows here over the centuries? How many baptisms and funeral masses tell of the beginning and the end here? And how many Christmas services have filled people's hearts with light here? A carpet from 1883 tells a touching confession of a wife's love for her late husband: "...in memory of her husband Andreas Weber. 1883."

If I were a filmmaker, this would be the beginning of my script, back to the people, back to Ms. Weber and her life. There are countless untold stories in this place. I leave the church - admittedly, a little melancholy - and go through the heavy oak door, out into the dull autumn light, past the out-of-place yellow benches. And as I leave the premises, I hear the Christ left behind, still nailed to the cross, crying out in desperation, "Why have you forsaken me?

Maybe we should finally, after more than 2,000 years, take Jesus Christ down from the cross, remove the sad relics from the churches, process the church's legacy and dispose of it. Alternatively, his many brilliant parables and messages could enlighten our hearts. That would be a good new beginning, I would almost like to say, a rebirth in today and in the now.

Calm down.