Romania Part 5: Hiking in the mountains

 

We spent two full weeks driving and hiking in a wide circle (1,000 km) of the Carpathian Mountains. This was our 'Green Mountains' organised tour. 

 

Although the tour company supplied hiking maps, we found these maps to be commonly misleading, ambiguous or wrong. Not being able to trust these maps significantly detracted from our enjoyment of hiking experiences at times. 

Nonetheless, we thoroughly enjoyed the mountains, rocky peaks, magnificent views, canyons, caves, pastoral scenes of shepherds and their flocks. We met and ‘spoke with’ shepherds and other local people, and found them to all be helpful and forgiving of our zero Romanian. In fact, we’ve become quite adept at asking the way, and making purchases in situations where there is no common verbal language!

 

We had glorious weather on all of our walks so enjoyed wide-ranging views.

 

 

Meeting and chatting with a shepherd whose face was worn and weather-beaten, but who was outgoing, warm and friendly was a highlight for us. Shepherds were tending sheep, cows and horses in these high mountain areas
 

 

Part of the walks were also through pine or beech forest, where one's steps made no sound at all on the padded ground. In a few weeks the beech trees will turn to their autumn colours, no doubt the subject of many more photos to add to our collection.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are numerous caves scattered throughout Romania. One of the more famous is known as the ice cave, where the ice at the bottom is reputed to be 3,000 years old.  We entered by going down steps (with one of us hanging tightly to the rails). 

 

Chunks of ice (above) and stalagmites and stalactites (below)

 

Meeting Gypsies in the wood

The various photos above illustrate the general scenes we’ve been part of, but one experience we were too nervous to adequately capture on camera was a chance meeting with a group of Gypsies while finding our way (that’s shorthand for being ‘lost’) on a memorable hike. Our maps and description had proved quite unhelpful in getting us headed off in the right direction. After some time discussing between ourselves what the written directions might actually mean, we flagged down a log truck driver. He was happy to help us and, with the help of his wife by mobile phone, had got us started on ‘the track’. But this track soon petered out and we were left to our own navigation. We did this by leaving one of us carefully waiting at the last known point from which we could, if necessary, retrace our steps, while the other explored for a few hundred metres around, seeking another way-marker (for instance a painted dot on a tree-trunk).

 

Which way would you have gone, We so often puzzled over the directions (below) and on all but one occasion got it right in the end.

 

 

On one such 'lost' occasion, we could hear voices some distance ahead, and were keen to meet whoever it was, so that together we could plot either onward travel or retrace our steps. Suddenly, a hundred metres ahead, there was a dozen classic Gypsies – women in colourful dresses, men in ‘ragged’ clothes. Should we run away before they saw us? Or approach them seeking help? With Anne in the background (sadly, too nervous to operate the camera correctly), Bob approached them amiably and sought help. They were actually picking wild berries – cranberries on this occasion, using a kind of broad wooden harvesting comb we’d seen elsewhere - see pic. They were taken aback to find us way out there in this inhospitable place, but were friendly enough. Again, very little common language, but the message was clear: don’t try to go any further in this direction – it becomes a marshy soft peat-bog. Return to the car!

Cranberries collected by the gypsies. We'd have loved close up photos of them, but they do not like to be photographed. There are various cultural rankings amongst the gypsies, with the forest gypsies, the untouchables, at the bottom of the hierarchy

Upon returning to the car, we again puzzled over our directions. What if ‘north’ was actually in the opposite direction? Would the text description then make sense? What if by turn ‘left’, they actually meant turn ‘right’? What if we turned the map around the other way round (reminiscent of Mr Bean's xrays at the dentist)?

Anyway, in the middle of that, another guy (Bela) who was driving by stopped for a chat. He strongly cautioned us about the dangers of hiking in those parts – it's impossible to navigate properly, there are wolves, bears, over-zealous shepherd’s dogs, and Gypsies (!). Before long, he invited us to his village a couple km away. We were delighted to accept – until we discovered the road to be of the seriously cobble-stoned and pot-holed variety. When we got to the village, the road became even worse, but we persisted. Bela first took us to a kind of health spa, which is the town’s claim to fame. One of its therapeutic values lies in toxic carbon dioxide fumes that seep up from the bubbling mud below. There is a low, open kind of cabin, and if you go into it and sit on the benches, you can feel the heavy gas warming and stifling your legs and curing you of any and every ailment. We soon had enough of that, and tried drinking some therapeutic water that they tap from another section of the spa area. A half a teaspoon taste of this sulphurous water was sufficient. We found out later that this area has been used for mining mercury and uranium. I really don't anything more to say about that!

 

Emerging from the hut where we sat above the bubbling mud

 

At his home, Bela's wife had prepared some local (Hungarian) food and drink for us. We really appreciated his friendship.

 

A gypsy camp where we passed by with windows kept locked