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“It’s not an adventure until something goes wrong.” Anonymous
At this point, I’m beginning to think the Via Transilvanica isn’t actually a hiking trail.
It’s a traveling circus, and somehow Massimo and I have been cast as the clowns.
The circus continued last night…
At midnight, I suddenly realized I had left my bag hanging on the chair at dinner.
My everything bag.
Cash. Bank cards. Passport. Medicine. Basically, every single item that would make my life exponentially more complicated if it disappeared.
And yet, oddly enough, I wasn’t panicked.
Normally, losing your passport in a foreign country at midnight would be considered a five-alarm emergency. But after everything that has happened on this trip, my reaction was more along the lines of:
Of course I did.
It was just one more ridiculous thing to add to the growing list…
I wasn’t even particularly worried that someone had stolen it and was currently living their best life with my money. Romanians don’t give off that vibe nor have we ever felt unsafe here. I was mostly annoyed by the thought of having to replace everything.
So I called the owner of the restaurant, woke him up, and told him I had left my bag and just for peace of mind, did his staff find it.
He wasn’t sure so he came downstairs in his underwear to help us look for it. Because this is the level of service we are receiving in rural Romania.
Since he was basically naked, I went back to the room while he and Massimo began the search.
Like two detectives working a major crime scene, they checked the security camera footage and discovered that his mother had picked up my bag when she cleaned our table.
Then the two of them proceeded to ransack the restaurant looking for it.
And where did they eventually find it? Tucked in the back of the knife drawer in the restaurant kitchen.
Mafia style.
Mama knows what she’s doing.
Meanwhile, while all of this was happening, I suddenly remembered that I had one of the little Apple GPS trackers in the bag, the one my aunt gave me for Christmas a couple of years ago. This handy little device also saved me another time and located my luggage that was left behind in the Buenos Aires airport and Pablo my Knight in Shining Armor delivered it to me on his horse…kidding…motorcycle in the middle of the night. Yeah, that GPS tracker.
I opened the app and discovered that the bag was still on the property.
Which was reassuring…and annoying for everyone that I didn’t make this the first step of solving the mystery.
It also made me realize that GPS trackers are considerably less useful if you completely forget you have one.
Oopsie.
The owner was incredibly nice about the whole ordeal when I saw him at breakfast this morning, although he looked absolutely exhausted. Sorry! 😬
Then he told me that he had also found his watch in the same drawer. Apparently, he had left it on one of the tables and his mother had found that too.
So there we were: two idiots, one knife drawer, two missing belongings, and one very hardworking mother. She also prepared this amazing breakfast.
Happy ending for everyone.
Today we actually walked. Well, part of the route.
I’m still not feeling great, so I told Massimo I would walk with him to the second village and then take a taxi from there.
He was about 90% certain he would continue walking without me and we would meet at the accommodation later.
Which, as you have probably learned by now, means there was absolutely no chance this plan was going to happen.
About an hour into our walk, it started to rain. Not a downpour. Just a steady drizzle. And honestly, it was lovely. Cool, refreshing and peaceful.
For a little while, everything actually felt normal.
Naturally, that couldn’t last.
When we reached the second village, the skies opened and it started absolutely pouring.
We quickly discovered that the village consisted of approximately twenty houses, one church, and absolutely no taxis.
Excellent. Just as we planned. Not.
We noticed several men standing outside one of the houses, so I approached them with Google Translate ready to go.
We are officially in Hungarian-speaking territory now, so choosing the correct language has become an important part of our survival strategy.
Before I could even begin my carefully constructed Google Translate sentence, one of the men looked at me and said, in perfect English:
“You’ll never get a taxi here.”
“Oh! Fantastic! You speak English!”
“Yes, but you won’t get a taxi.”
Pause.
“But I can take you.”
And just like that, Philip stopped whatever he was doing, helped us load our gear into the back of his van, and off we went.
I told him we could wait if he was busy, but I could tell immediately that this was probably the most exciting thing that had happened to him all week.
This wasn’t a taxi ride.
This was an adventure.
For all of us.
Philip couldn’t have been nicer. He told me he is Hungarian by heritage but born in Romania. He speaks four languages, Hungarian, Romanian, German, and English.
He learned English at a special language school but his childhood neighbor taught him German.
He was an only child and hated it – it was so lonely he said. So he is married with six children, ages 23 to 4.
For almost the entire ride I thought he owned an extermination company because of his shirt. Turns out he is the local priest of the Reform Church (Protestant in the US) and is a farmer.
He couldn’t have been nicer. When I tried to give him money, he said no, but I figured he could donate but to his church. He eventually accepted it.
When we arrived at what we thought was our accommodation, we texted the owners to let them know we had arrived.
Turns out, we were sitting on the porch of someone’s home and they were on vacation! Like out of town…gone. Seriously, we are idiots…and trespassers. The gate was open so we just let ourselves in, made ourselves comfortable, and plopped our stuff down at a table on the porch.
Good lord…Embarrassing!
Oh the confusion.
Massimo was in charge of booking the accommodation for the night – we take turns. Since there was only one place listed to stay in this town, he texted them via WhatsApp. They told him they were on vacation but to call another number and said the woman on the other end would take care of everything. We assumed that we were still staying at their place but a neighbor or someone would be handling the onsite stuff.
Wrong.
The woman on the other end of the text responded and sent us a two addresses – which only added to the confusion – so we started walking towards the first address. We would at least have a 50/50 chance of ending up at the correct location.
We were about a quarter of the way there when a car driving towards us, stopped, and a woman got out of the passenger seat. It appeared her husband was the driver. She went around to the back, opened the trunk, and pointed for us to put our stuff inside.
In our home countries, we are always taught about “Stranger Danger!” Never get in the car with someone you don’t know. But hell, throw me in another country where I don’t speak the language and I’ll be happy to jump in the backseat of any car with four good tires that stops and offers us a lift. I mean, we can’t both be serial killers. Right?
Completely bonkers.
It’s like we are clowns in the traveling circus climbing in and out of random strangers automobiles.
Cue the circus music. 🎶 🤡
They drove us to what appeared to be the second address provided. And per my Google Maps, we are at the edge of town…and this is their personal home.
I swear to you, we still do not know who these people are, what their names are, or
how the hell we even ended up here but they couldn’t be a nicer couple.
We had introduced ourselves in the car, but their names were difficult for us to pronounce and, frankly, at this point my brain cannot process anything new information.
They showed us the room where we would stay. They showed us where we could shower. They had even written down the Wi-Fi password for us before we arrived.
Then they made us hot tea and sat with us on the porch while we used Google Translate to try to figure out exactly what the hell was happening.
We still don’t know. Heck, we don’t even know how much this is going to cost.
But honestly?
At this point, who cares?
We have a dry room, hot water, Wi-Fi and tea.
These people are kind and generous.
That is enough.
At this point, we just need to go with it.
After our showers, a long nap, and a couple of games of Machiavelli, it was time for dinner.
This was a delicious home-cooked meal made almost entirely from their farm except the rice…chicken, pig, potatoes, and fresh berries. It was delicious.
After dinner her husband – still don’t know his name – took us on a tour of the property to see his prized cows and all the hay he has been putting up. He is a hard worker.
Massimo is now a cow whisperer too. His list of unexpected skills gets longer by the day. Moo
So the hike continues to be less of a hike and more of a mosaic of walking, riding, getting lost, accepting rides from strangers, and somehow ending up exactly where we need to be.
It may not be the journey we planned. But it certainly is the journey we’re getting.
And honestly, I’m starting to think that might be the point.
I’m sure tomorrow will bring another wild story. At this point, I wouldn’t expect anything less.
Current Machiavelli Standings: Still holding the lead so something is going right…
Massimo: 9 | Emily: 12
Much love & gratitude. Namaste 🙏
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As we passed through the first village we noticed many local women walking with shopping bags towards a truck…turns out it’s the mobile grocery store! Step aside Schwan’s Man…this is the original and it’s still in business!
