the big kahuna

As I prepare to write this, I'm expecting it to be the longest post on the blog. The limiting factor may be this wooden stool that I'm sitting on, as it tends to put my leg to sleep!

Where do I even begin to describe my time in northern Romania? The wild, windy mountain roads that look like they're straight out of Gran Turismo? The strange, unspoken animosity that I felt was directed my way from one of the guys? The bizzaro route we drove to get back to Cluj? The club that we went to in order to kill time before our 3am train out of Romania?

No. This story begins and ends with a single scene. It's not an action scene. It's not a love scene. It's a panoramic shot that would've made Peter Jackson proud.

On my birthday I woke up early, put on my boots, toque, gloves and a few layers of clothes before heading out for a walk through the contryside. We were staying in a guesthouse in a town called Ocna Sugatag, right in the heart of the Maramures region of Romania. I told the gang that if I wasn't back by 11am they could head out on their day trip without me. I hit the road and headed straight out of town. After the last house I spotted a thin trail heading into a huge hay field. I jumped the ditch and began my adventure.

The sun was climbing into a pure azure sky, casting long shadows across vibrant green grass that still sparkled with a fringe of frost. Beads of dew clung to the heavy grasses that parted for my muddy boots. The trail wound alongside an ancient fence made of woven branches before it veered off into the middle of the field. In the distance was a low ridge obscured by massive haystacks. Far off to my left was an a old man scything grass by hand, head down as he worked.

I wandered through the haystacks, taking a self-portrait of myself beside one of them for posterity. These stacks are really interesting: they're formed around small trees that have been topped and limbed, leaving a 15 or 20 foot post with 8" stub branches upon which the hay is piled and draped. In the end it forms large, rounded stacks of hay that sometimes have to be propped up with extra poles.

Nearing the ridge line I saw the trail disappear through a hole in a hedge that was made cattle-proof via a small wooden set of stairs. I had to duck to get through the hole in the hedge, and when I raised my head on the other side I was almost knocked backwards by the scene before me.

Stretched out as far as I could see in the early morning mist was a valley so green, so rich in detail, that I was left stunned. Within moments I had tears in my eyes. I stood there for a long time, contemplating my presence in this amazing place, thinking about what a unique birthday I was having. Words really can't describe the scene. Even the pictures that I have can't do it justice. The landscape wrapped around me like a fireside blanket on a cold night. The view to the east can't be appreciated without the hedge wall behind you. The view across the valley to the north isn't the same without the experience of having hiked a similar valley in order to see it.

After some time, perhaps ten minutes, a short, round Romanian woman of many years wandered up the path towards me. I gave her a big smile and said something about the beautiful weather and gorgeous scene that I knew she wouldn't understand. Evidently I had my arms lifted up with my palms facing the sky as I said it, because as she smiled back at me she returned my greeting by making the same gesture with a slightly confused look on her face. It was a classic moment.

After absorbing as much of the scene as I could, I began my descent into the valley. The trail wound alongside a pumpkin patch, a pasture, through a fallow field and down a horse cart path. I passed one of the famous wooden churches of Maramures on the way, stumbling upon the structure in the middle of an copse of trees. There was a small plaque on the wall that I couldn't read, but it placed the church's construction in the 1600's. Finding that church was a treat, as I was sure that it was not one that many tourists ever get to see.

From the church I followed a very rough rough that led down to the main asphalt strip that ran along the valley floor. I was intent on climbing up to the opposite ridge line, so I followed this road until I found a bridge across the picturesque little river and began the trip up the north side.

At first I followed another gravel road that quickly turned into a canyon of mud. The road wasn't a road in the way that we think of roads. This was a cart track that was so old, it had eroded down to the point where the fields on both sides were a good four feet higher than the path. Walking through it, trying to hop from stone to stone to avoid the knee-deep mud, I could put my arms out to brace myself against the dirt walls. The grass in the fields was almost at eye level at times.

Eventually the road forked and I took the less-travelled path. This petered out to a barely-discernable path through goat-cropped grass, surrounded on all sides by more haystacks, withered corn fields, seed cabbages and pumpkin patches. I was passing random people and exchanging big smiles and waves every once in a while. I kept moving on, lost in this land of wooden pitchforks and hand-scythed fields.

After a time I began to realize that I should have brought some food with me. I was getting hungry and there was clearly no chance of stopping at a shop for a bite. My cutoff time to hookup with the group was fast approaching, and I was unsure if I wanted to go back or to just push on by myself. Strangely, the decision was made for me by an irritated old man with a very sharp pitchfork.

I'd been walking up a grassy hillside when I heard a piercing whistle from down below. I turned and saw an old Romanian man standing in the field below. He waved me down, so I turned and walked down to meet him. I was surprised when he started in at me in Romanian. Not surprised because it was Romanian, of course, but because he was actually a bit angry. Maybe not angry, but irritated. I tried to sign that I was just out for a walk and didn't mean to cause trouble. He pointed at the way I was going and gave me the "nu, nu" shake of the head. Then he pointed at a hedge straight ahead and gestured that I should go that way. I tried a little more to figure out what was going on, but it was no use, so I started off in the direction he pointed.

I hadn't gone more than 30 feet before it became clear that there was no way through the hedge. I turned to him and pointed to the hedge, indicating that there was nowhere to go. He just pointed back and shrugged, as if to say "I don't care, just get off my property." Truly strange. Since there was no way through, however, I pointed back in the direction I had come and just said "Ocna Sugatag" and made a walking motion with my fingers ("I'll just go back then"). This seemed to satisfy him, so at that point I decided to head back and rejoin the gang.

As it turns out, they were just headed out when I stepped onto the main road. They literally drove past me and then slammed on the brakes as one of them recognized me at the side of the road. I jumped in and we took off for a full day of sightseeing and hiking high in the hills on the Ukranian border.

There are more stories from that one day, my birthday, than I could type here in a full week. This will do for now, because as I said at the beginning, that panoramic valley scene was the defining moment of my experience in Romania. I've now done my best to describe it for you all! (pictures to come later)

cheers,
Mike