We left Germany bright and early, starting our 12 hour roadtrip for the day as soon as possible. We drove through Austria and Hungary, passing Vienna and Budapest as we went. As soon as we drove over the border, you could tell we were someplace different. Though it was the evening by the time we arrived, the city appeared somewhat deserted. Quiet. Eerie. Almost forgotten. And I suppose in the minds of some, Romania is somewhat a forgotten state. Not long after crossing the border, we arrived at an Inn for the night. Everything was dark. But not for long.
As if in a tornado of movement, the lights flickered on, and as we walked up the steps to the front door, it swung open as if to greet us. A woman ushered us inside, yelling something unrecognizable to the man to her left. He seemed to disapear into a kitchen and my only thought was that hopefully we were going to be able to get something for dinner. The woman took us up the odd shaped stairs, ducking as we went, and showed us to our rooms for the night. Back down in the dining room we were given Romanian beer. The story on the beer mugs telling the story of the Prince who built the brewery in 1718, the first of its kind on Romanian soil. We had delicious chicken soup, followed by a salad, fries and schnitzel, and to finish off our dinner we were given a strong liqueur, Tuica, it’s tradition, and would certainly not be the last of it’s kind.
The night was dark and cold. The small heater in my room not able to withstand the room’s volume, and the noise it made making it harder and harder to sleep. Not to mention the overhead light, the only light in the room. Which barely worked when on, and maintained an odd glow above my bed when turned off. The next morning I woke up to find that the large spider living in the corner near the toilet had disappeared while I slept, and that the wall of windows on the opposite side of the room did not look out to the garden as I had originally assumed. But rather another room filled with comfy chairs, a living room of sorts. Well I hope whoever was on the other side of those sheer curtains enjoyed watching me sleep.
On the road again. We passed town after town on our way towards the mountains. It was quite normal for the towns to be built only along the one road, all the houses pressed up against one another, and the road. The gardens and fields, out the back. The towns and cities we drove through look exactly like what you would expect them to. Rather dirty and decrepit. Older architecture mixed in with new, but none that was well taken care of. The shapes of the traditional houses standing out amongst the boring lines of the rest.
The road through the mountains is not for the weak of stomach. I can tell you that much. Switchback after switchback, tight bend after tight bend. A mountain on one side, a drop-off to the abis below on the other. But it was beautiful. The piles of snow on the roadside grew higher and higher as we climbed the mountains. Eventually we passed the Vartop ski area. The glass of the resort’s windows glistening with the sun’s reflection, the lifts gliding farther up the mountainside. As we descended the pass on the other side of this particular peak, residential houses began popping up.
The road now followed a beautiful blue river. Many of the homes existing on the opposite side, with small foot bridges across at every plot. Some consisting of only a log laid across, over the rushing water below. The fields were filled with hut-like piles of straw, adding texture to the overall snow covered landscape. A woman walks from the small store with her bags hanging off a stick she has rested over her shoulder. I open my window to allow the fresh, crisp air to relieve some of my nausea, snowflakes cooling my warm cheeks.
There was one particular view that took my breath away. It was absolutely picture perfect. As we passed the town of Garda de Sus, I noticed a bright blue church surrounded by a cemetary in the middle of town. As I looked back at the town from the car window, the blue church stood proudly in front of another even larger white church, one I hadn’t even noticed before. The river wound in front fo these beautiful buildings, the frozen trees sparkling in the sunlight, and the snow slowly falling from the sky above. The whole scene like something out of a dream.
We turned off the main pavement road and onto a gravel road covered in packed snow. It was time to put on the chains. After some difficulty we were ascending again. We followed what seemed like a logging road back up into the mountains, occasionally passing a homestead. The snow coming down harder now. The driver moitions up ahead, “there is Valentine’s house. We go there.” We pull our car in behind a row of other vehicles whose vitality are questionable at best. Three adorable fluffy little pups come running out of the large gates towards up. And just behind them follows a small, but sturdy Romanian woman wearing a scarf around her head.
This woman hustles through the gates, calling greetings. She comes right up to me, grabs my face, and gives me a hard kiss on either cheek. She leads us to a small little building next to the house and we’re ushered inside. In Romania it is quite normal to spend the day in a small kitchen house, separate from the main house. Historically the families would often live and sleep in these smaller houses and the main, and often nicer, house was used just for guests. I use “house” very lightly here. This small building was essentially just one room with a small kitchen, a table and a couple chairs, and a day bed. On the walls were large tapestries of the Virgin Mary, and clothes hung above the stove, drying. The woman, Baba Maria she said to be called, made coffee for us in a small pot on the stove. While her son-in-law Valentine explained that he would drive us the rest of the way up the mountain in one of those vehicles out front.
Before leaving the cozy little kitchen room, we once again were treated with a shot of Tuica. “It’s tradition!” That’s what they always say. After our shots, we piled back out, and went to grab our packs from the car. We had originally planned on hiking the next two hours in, so the ride was definitely welcomed. So there we were, 4x4ing our way through the Romanian mountains, the snow coming down all around us, seeping in through the crack in the sunroof above my head. After about thirty minutes or so we arrived at a little green cabin on the edge of the mountainside. We thanked Valentine for the lift, and climbed up the snow covered steps. The cabin is absolutely adorable, painted in a traditional Romanian way, the kitchen being in the center of the small house. Happy to be here, it was also incredibly cold. I could no longer feel my feet. Thank goodness we didn’t hike in! My Blundstones have done me well thus far, but they’re not exactly the right kind of shoe for that trek.
We huddled in the kitchen, still in our warm winter jackets for a while yet. We had a lovely lunch of German weiners we had picked up from the butcher a couple days ago, and some buns from the bakery. More shots of Tuica to go around. We explored outside for a bit in the afternoon, getting caught in a little snow storm on our way back. Thankfully, after about five hours, the intricate Terra cotta stove was finally warming the place up. We could take off our outer layer at least. The pipes were all frozen, so a bucket of water from the well would have to do. For the kitchen and the washroom alike. We’re essentially camping but with real beds and a roof over our heads. Works for me. There is something special about just spending your day moving from one simple task to the next. Make a fire. Heat water. Eat. Drink. Clean up. Go for a walk. Shovel snow. Play a game. Sit by the fire. Read.
Now I sit in my favourite chair, right next to the Terra cotta stove, warming my feet. Enjoying this peaceful moment, and trying to memorise the sounds, the smells, and the feelings, so that I can remain in this place forever.
Just A Small Town Girl 