We got up early. Too early. It wasn’t an early night, though not a particularly late one, and I figured we could easily make the 8:30 train. We would have, too, after a refreshing jog through the metro station, but it transpired that the 8:30 train was 100 minutes late. This made the 10:00 train earlier, so we acquired our tickets and proceeded to kill 90 minutes over breakfast and wanderings about the train station.

First, I suppose, the characters; I met a group of holidaying Romanians while in a hostel in Veliko Tarnova, Bulgaria. They urged me to get in touch when I made it to Bucharest, and during the part of the evening when plans are still remembered, a lovely couple and I sketched out a hiking trip to the mountains. They’d done the trail a few times before, and certified my somewhat battered boots as ‘adequate.’ There’s a chalet at the top, but minimally equipped, so we packed and lugged much warm clothing, sleeping bags, and some food and water. Also a bottle of suika (plum liquor) which was well worth the extra kilo or so, even after six or seven hours, mostly uphill. Alex managed beer, and wine, but I was not so dedicated.
Anyway. The hike started off very slushy as we worked our way to the trailhead, but conditions improved rapidly. Because of the train delay, we ended up doing three hours in the dark (thanks, Duracell, for failing at just that moment), but it was entirely worth it when the moon finally broke through the clouds on the last leg. There is no quiet like a mountainside in winter, snow everywhere and not a breeze. Through some strange synesthesia, the moon-cast shadows make it even more silent, but not oppressive. Not even peaceful. Still. Totally still.
And then crunch crunch crunch and we can hear cheerful laughter and we’re in the bowl where the chalet huddles. Not a moment too soon for me. The last few kilometers are always the hardest. The chalet was warm and packed with happy hikers. They had cabbage rolls, and plenty of tea. Some determined person had lugged a guitar up the entire way, so the evening passed in a happy blur of suika and unidentifiable Romanian folks songs. Also literally the worst toilet/outhouse I have ever had the misfortune to approach. My deepest sympathies to the women.
The plan had been to get up early and do an additional couple hours to some lookout, but somehow that didn’t pan out. By the time we ate and geared up, it was hardly morning, but down goes much, much quicker. Sliding and running and giggling, we caught all the views we’d missed in the dark, as the sky had cleared and fog lifted. It was almost too warm for exercise, and I regretted two of my sweaters, but a silly thing to complain about. We passed a pleasant couple hours at the lower chalet after a small but grueling uphill climb. Alex made an abstract art snow sculpture which collapsed on him and the loping, wheezing old brown sheepdog that repeatedly urinated on it. We drank a lot of tea.
And then back on the train, wearing socks’n’sandals ‘cause I couldn’t wait to take off my sodden boots (whoever keeps saying that Gore-Tex is waterproof deserves to have rubber boots full of water strapped to their feet for a couple of days). It was a beautiful weekend.
And now back to the tiny village, which I am still quite charmed by. Work comes and goes. We’re framing two more rooms on Monday, but for now it’s the long weekend, and I think I’ll finally watch the Godfather. Also, if I ever have the opportunity, I will own ducks, because the sound of a group of slightly startled ducks is absolutely fantastic.