Up and down mountains and home to the sun

Days 12 and 13
By Layla

Yesterday was cold and miserable. Another ‘free day’, our plans to potter by the pool and go for a picnic were clearly doomed. After consuming our whole melon and suchlike breakfast items, we huddled in our little bedroom and tried to work out a plan. Eventually we used the internet to identify that there seemed to be an ice rink in Sibiu. We had someone drive us there, despite their misgivings. On arrival at the address, there was nothing even vaguely resembling an ice rink. However on turning the corner we found a dry rink, with ice machines sitting silently, mockingly, at the side of a circle that lacked any ice at all. It was deserted. Boo! No ice skating for us, then! And no further belief in Sibiu’s tourist website! Instead we braved the grey sky and went for a walk in the park. As the sky grew darker, we turned around and walked into Sibiu centre for our final day in this lovely town.

We pottered along Sibiu’s main street, discussing my career, and then popped into a stationery shop to obtain a notebook so that we could create a three year plan for me over lunch at an outdoor restaurant. I felt like a massive nerd… with a very planned three years! From lunch to the Orient Express where we ate chocolate and pretzel sticks and read our books and lamented that this was our last visit. And then up to Café Wein for our last mohitos. To the square for our last lovely pizzas as we watched the world go by. And then to the ice cream stand for our last ice creams. We walked back along the main street and caught a taxi home, where we watched Once on DVD and started feeling sad about our imminent return to London…

Today we were up early as demanded, had our breakfast, and were ready for our last day in Romania. This was our last activity day and we had to join up with the new arrivals, four retired middle English people, raring to go. We drove up into the Fagaras Mountains, which is bear country and looks just as you might imagine a Romanian mountain to look: dark, misty, mysterious. We caught a cable car further up the mountain, which after a long trip, deposited us at the top, next to where there is an Ice Hotel in winter. Obviously not in summer, though there was some snow on the ground and the climate was decidedly chilly. Our heads were literally in the clouds as we embarked on what turned out to be a five hour walk back to the car, through a range of mountain scenery. The first half hour was steep uphill. Then we started to descend, with the clouds so thick we could barely see in front of us, and moisture in our hair. Further descending brought us to a more open valley and as the clouds moved, we caught glimpses of the pine forest ahead. We had lunch at the bottom of a valley, next to a river, and then moved on. It felt like Lord of the Rings country, and the suspense when we passed several flocks of sheep, horses, donkeys and pigs, guarded by reputedly very fierce attack sheepdogs, added to the feeling of us being on a quest fraught with danger. I placed myself between two men holding big sticks but luckily the dogs did little more than bark and vaguely move in our direction. Which, after being warned of their ferocious risk, nearly gave me a heart attack! Then it was into the forest, with the pine trees rising and an array of rivers trickling down the mountainside as we climbed along a ridge. By this time I was getting a tad exhausted. The four pensioners were not: they skipped along like mountain goats, without a wheeze between them. I was very ashamed and resolved to do some exercise when in London (maybe). Roz fared rather better. I struggled along as the least fit person and whimpered when the track started to slope up over yet another mountain. Though I must admit, the scenery was spectacular.

Finally, it was the last descent. We climbed down, down, and the car park came into sight. I thought this moment would never come. With a burst of energy I marched towards it. All that stood between me and a comfy car seat was a roaring torrent of a river. But apparently there was a bridge. Except there wasn’t. The torrential rain over the last fortnight had in fact washed it away and all that remained was a single intact log, and one rather rotten one. Oh dear. Jez started talking about retracing our steps, finding a place to walk across the river. I didn’t want to walk any more. And I didn’t want to get my feet wet. It was time for me to be intrepid. I mounted the log and, elegantly, I bumped along it on my bottom, using my arms to propel myself along. Roz thought I was doomed to plummet into the white water below. Fortunately I wasn’t, and they all followed my lead. Soon we were driving home and my sore knees sang in relief.

Due to all the guests, our usual dining for two experience was lost to a barbecue. Always tedious for the vegetarian, we accepted our three vegetable kebabs and looked on while everyone else gorged on various meat items. I yearned for the previous nights where our dinner conversation had been about financing public services; tonight’s was inane, punctuated by middle-English mildly offensive comments about race, and a massive, detailed discussion about the World Cup that excluded us entirely. They debated whether to support Spain or Holland in the final. My very favourite moment was when Roz, in an attempt to appear interested in the conversation, asked them if there were any other teams that one could support in the World Cup. Her utter lack of knowledge that these two teams were the ones playing in the final, and there could be no third team, caused so much consternation that we were able to soon make our escape.

A final walk around the village, a settling of our bar tab, and it was home to blog and book and bed. A mere few hours of sleep await before we’re up horribly early, deposited at the airport, and transported home. Unusually, to the sun. And to a church fete where we have tombola-running responsibilities.