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“The more, the merrier.” English proverb
Is it though?
Good, No Great, News!
I’m thrilled – and annoyed – to report that, through some deductive reasoning, a rigorous process of elimination, and an insightful conversation with my dear friend Linda, I think I may have finally cracked the case of my seven-week, two hospital visits, and three-rounds-of-antibiotics urinary tract infection.
Peach-colored. Fragrant. Toilet paper.
Yes. “EXPLETIVE” TOILET PAPER.
You’ve got to be kidding me. How stupid. I could have had a similar experience if I would have just wiped my va-jay-jay with a freaking poison ivy leaf. At least then I’d know exactly what was trying to kill me.
Apparently, some genius marketing executives looked at ordinary white, unscented toilet paper and thought:
You know what this needs? Perfume. Color. And maybe a little chemical warfare.
We’ll sell it to literally everyone and make millions!
And, annoyingly, they were right.
Approximately 96.7% – the official, completely unscientific percentage I calculated – of the places we’ve stayed use this TP, and I’m beginning to suspect I’m allergic to whatever delightful chemicals are being used to make it look – and smell – so fancy.
I have no idea if this theory is medically sound, but at this point I’ve taken enough antibiotics to kill off a small ecosystem, so I’m willing to investigate all possibilities.
Yes, this is what my life on the VT has become – toilet paper analyst.
After walking – sometimes with my legs crossed – seven painfully long weeks and more than a thousand kilometers across Romania, through mountains, forests, cow pastures, and mud, while carrying emergency supplies like a woman preparing for the apocalypse…or a weekend at Woodstock…I have finally identified the enemy.
Recycled wood dipped in perfume and colored with a chemical dye.
My solution?
I am now carrying my own roll of white, unscented toilet paper in my backpack.
I’m not taking any chances.
So far, three days of freedom from the fire. Let’s hope my curious case of burning pee is gone forever.
Two Days Off & A Thick Thigh
Massimo was so traumatized by his free Forrest Gump haircut that he needed a day off to evaluate his life choices.
He drank heavily and bought a copious amount of cheese at the supermarket to sooth his soul.
Honestly, there are worse forms of therapy.
We ended up taking two days off from hiking while I tired to solve The Great UTI Mystery, Sherlock Holmes-style.
The first day was spent in Reșița at the Communist-era, smoky apartment with brown water.
I’m glad those days are behind us.
And then came our next “no walking day.”
It started with a 7:30 am pickup by a park ranger named Cosmos, who arrived in a 4×4 SUV to drive us to a rustic cabin inside the national park.
The drive took approximately two hours, with one quick stop for gas and another to pick up one of his colleagues, who climbed into the backseat and sat down next to me.
Then we took off.
And when I say took off, I mean Cosmos apparently decided we were late for our own funerals.
He drove like a madman around tight curves and down narrow, grassy paths while tree limbs smacked the windshield and then scraped across the roof of the little engine that could.
All the while, he was showing Massimo photos of dead cow carcasses from a recent bear attack.
Gross…and terrifying.
Ummm…Sir? You have precious cargo in the backseat.
ME.
Please put down the bear crime-scene photos and focus on the road.
At one point, in the middle of the woods, Cosmos suddenly stopped the truck, got out to inspect the tires, jumped back in, slammed the 4×4 into gear and off we went.
Straight up.
Vertically.
Into the mountains.
It all happened so fast, I didn’t have time to prepare my eulogy – I have specific things I want mentioned at my memorial – or ask for my last rites…Dear God, it’s me, Emily…
There were no seatbelts in the back, and I was already bouncing around like a ball in a pinball machine. So when I looked through the windshield and realized we were officially off-roading and nearly sideways – about to roll down a mountain type of sideways – I panicked.
My body reacted before my brain could intervene. I grabbed the thigh of the strange man – name, age, and blood type unknown – sitting next to me and squeezed.
Hard.
It was purely instinctive. I couldn’t control myself.
My life flashed before my eyes.
As I clung to his thick, meaty thigh for dear life, I thought:
Emily, you have survived visiting 60 countries. You’ve been stranded, lost, dehydrated, heat-exhausted and occasionally one bad decision away from death.
You’ve hiked and hitchhiked thousands of miles – mostly alone. You’ve ridden on overcapacity buses along the edges of cliffs in the Philippines while holding a live chicken and a small child. You’ve swum with sharks while on your period. You survived food poisoning from a dirty spoon in Kashmir and a blizzard in a remote Norwegian cabin.
You’ve slept in questionable beds, eaten things you couldn’t identify, and ridden smelly overnight trains packed with bacteria and questionable bunkmates.
Hell, you even went toe-to-toe with the Sri Lankan mafia.
You have survived all of that.
And now, in country number 61, this is how it ends.
In a goddamn Romanian national park in the lap of a complete stranger.
How will my friends explain this to Oprah?
I looked up from under my hat, gave an embarrassed smiled, and apologized.
The man laughed and gave me a little wink.
I’m pretty sure he secretly enjoyed the experience.
When we finally reached the cabin, I could barely unclench my buttocks to exit the vehicle.
My new, non-English-speaking boyfriend – I’ll learn his name eventually – helped me with my bag and picked a few apples for me from the tree outback.
A proper mountain-man proposal.
We are getting married next spring.
He’s the tall, quiet, dark-haired one in the back who isn’t smiling – just like I like’em.
A Full House…Of Men
Massimo and I were the first to arrive – which was easy to do when you arrive by motor vehicle instead of actually walking for eight hours like everyone else.
For “rustic” the cabin is very comfortable. Take a look…
Massimo and I had the entire day to relax, enjoy nature and, most importantly, call dibs on the bedroom with the balcony.
Priorities.
Massimo cooked pasta for lunch while I took a nap on my poncho in the sun.
Add chef to his resume.
We played several competitive games of Machiavelli. I’m annoyed to say that he won five games to my three 🤬 bringing our tally to:
Massimo: 18 | Emily: 24
I blame my recent Nancy Drew investigation into the Peach TP for my lack of focus and mental clarity.
This toilet paper has ruined my trip in more ways than one.
We started our card tournament outside but a big gut of wind quickly ruined that idea as we (literally) played 52-card pickup on the front lawn.
Adrian was the next hiker to arrive, around 3 pm.
He’s a 60-year-old Romanian man, an avid hiker and marathon runner, who was making his way back in the opposite direction from us after hiking from Drobeta.
Then, around 6 pm, another hiker arrived.
Costin, a 43-year-old Romanian guy, showed up hungry and just in time for dinner.
The Via Transilvanica is his first-ever long-distance hike, and he says it’s the best experience of his life.
I’m starting to wonder if I’m the only person on this trail who occasionally thinks, What the hell am I doing?
Massimo made hamburgers on the little propane stove while wearing a headlamp – even though it was still light outside. He is always prepared.
We had bread, wine and three tomatoes to round out our gourmet feast.
The other guys contributed some salami and more bread.
For dessert, we had the apples my new fiancé picked for me. Nothing says a true farm to table dining experience like apples harvested by your Romanian mountain boyfriend.
After dinner, the guys decided we needed an outdoor activity, so they set off to find firewood to build a bonfire.
That’s when two more unexpected guys – cyclists – showed up at 8 pm.
What the hell is happening?
I was getting more and more confused as people continued arriving. All the hikers I’ve spoken with who’ve stayed here have either been alone or with one other person.
When we booked the cabin, Radu, the owner, told us it would be just the two of us.
Which made me nervous because, frankly, I would hate to have to sacrifice Massimo first if a bear or serial killer showed up.
But I’d be okay sacrificing a stranger. You have to have some standards.
In the morning, during our bucking-bronco ride with Cosmos, Radu texted us to tell us about Adrian.
Great.
One extra guy.
No big deal.
Then Costin showed up.
Okay.
Two extra guys.
I can handle that.
Then two cyclists.
Now we were getting into hostel territory.
Little did I know, they were a pack of five and three more guys came riding up the grassy lawn.
At this point, I stopped trying to understand what was happening.
I just stood there and counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
I was now the only woman in a remote Romanian national park surrounded by eight men.
Many questions flooded my brain.
Ummm…
Where is everyone sleeping?
I’ve kind of claimed the outhouse as female only territory. Are these guys going to use it, or will they poop in the woods like Massimo?
Do they drink coffee? Because Agnes – who stayed here the night before – only left us half of a tiny bag, and I need coffee in the morning.
These were all selfish, first-world, white-people questions, I know.
But also…
I was now the only woman in a remote cabin with seven strange men plus Massimo.
And I really wanted to know where the hell they were all planning to sleep and poop.
Eventually, the guys built the bonfire, and the whole situation became less “I may be the opening scene of a Romanian true-crime documentary” and more “I’ve accidentally joined a very wholesome hiking and cycling fraternity.”
There was something wonderfully surreal about sitting around a fire in the mountains with a group of complete strangers from Romania, listening to conversations I only partially understood and watching sparks disappear into the night.
I was relaxed…and also near a fire but not on fire.
I was so tired – I mean, all that riding in an SUV and a marriage proposal can really exhaust a woman – so I went to bed early.
But before I did, I took some quiet time to lie back and look up at the ceiling full of stars. So many stars.
It was magical.
After everything – the hiking, the heat, the rain, the lack of resources, the UTIs, the questionable toilet paper and the increasingly bizarre transportation arrangements – it felt peaceful.
For once, nothing was trying to kill me.
Not even the toilet paper.
Much love & gratitude. Namaste 🙏
If you enjoyed this post, I’d be grateful if you’d like and share it.
Luxury: a toilet seat!
We had a visitor. A little black dog had followed Costin to the cabin. I gave him water and pasta sans the sauce. The next morning, he followed Adrian back towards his home. Good dog. 🐾
Since Adrian is walking in the opposite direction, he met Agnes as well as Paul and Catalin.
No rustic experience is complete without a disco ball.🪩💃🕺
