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“I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship.” Louisa May Alcott
Ugh. The drama continues…
Today brought another unexpected surprise: I woke up feeling worse and needed to see a doctor.
Again.
At this point, I’m starting to think the Romanian medical community knows me by name.
The next town with a clinic was Sighișoara, approximately two and a half days’ worth of walking on the Via Transilvanica from where we were staying.
So, naturally, we took a taxi.
Again.
The owner of our accommodation, who speaks Italian because she lives part of the year in Sardinia, called a taxi for us this morning and told us (Massimo) exactly which clinic to visit.
Seriously, the people of Romania have some of the best hospitality I’ve encountered anywhere. Time and time again, complete strangers have gone out of their way to help us, point us in the right direction, make phone calls, arrange transportation, translate, or simply make a difficult situation a little easier.
I am incredibly grateful.
But I am also incredibly frustrated. Honestly, I’m feeling defeated by this damn UTI.
I’ve tried to stay strong, optimistic, and positive. I’ve followed the doctors’ instructions, taken the medications, used the creams, rested when I was supposed to rest, and tried to keep moving forward.
But emotionally, this is wearing me down.
I just want to feel better.
And I absolutely hate getting into that taxi. I would rather walk.
There is something particularly humbling about coming all the way to Romania to walk across the country, only to spend so much time sitting in the back seat of a taxi or in the waiting room of a medical facility.
We reserved a room at Teo’s Cellar, a pension right in the middle of Sighișoara’s old town. Paul, a Romanian who lives in Chicago whom we met earlier, recommended it. It’s known for its award-winning homemade wine, which sounds absolutely wonderful except for one tiny problem…I can’t drink it because I’m taking approximately every medication known to modern medicine.
Because apparently the universe has a sense of humor.
The pension has beautiful rooms, a lovely staff, and a great location.
After dropping our bags, we made the 12-minute walk to the gynecology clinic.
And since we’ve come this far together, I figure I might as well give you the rest of the story, even though parts of it are extremely embarrassing.
You’re welcome.
The building was a little frightening and woman at the front desk was clearly overwhelmed and frazzled by her job. When I walked in speaking a foreign language, I thought there was a very real possibility she might simply quit on the spot.
Through Google Translate, I explained my story of woe and asked whether they could help me or if I needed to go somewhere else.
Clearly frustrated by the situation, but thankfully not frustrated enough to abandon her post, she told me to sit in the waiting room and leave my passport with her.
The clinic was busy, with women coming and going through the revolving door.
And then there was Massimo.
The only man within several blocks of the place. He sat quietly in the corner, reading his book. He is such a saint.
After about 15 minutes, a doctor who spoke only Romanian came to get me and led me into the examination room.
I started typing my symptoms into Google Translate when a nurse walked in.
“I’m here to help,” she said, and offered to translate for us.
“Oh, thank God.”
Google Translate has been a loyal travel companion, but I really wasn’t looking forward to explaining my urinary tract infection through a series of increasingly questionable translations.
The nurse laughed and asked me to explain everything that had happened.
When I told them how long this had been going on, and how many different medications and creams I had already tried (I showed them all the medication boxes and medical forms I’ve saved), they were genuinely shocked that I still wasn’t better.
The doctor examined me, performed an ultrasound, and confirmed the same diagnosis as the previous doctor:
A really severe UTI.
Well. At least I’m consistent. I was actually wondering if it was something different than a UTI at this point.
She prescribed three new, very strong medications and told me I could continue the hike if I felt well enough. But if my body told me it needed a day of rest, I should take the day off.
So we took today off and relaxed.
I immediately started the new medication, ate lunch, and then slept for most of the afternoon.
And honestly? I needed it. My body needed it. My mind needed it.
To address the cost of everything so I don’t have to answer individual messages: once again, the visit to the doctor was free. I actually offered to pay, but they wouldn’t accept anything.
The total cost of all three medications? Less than $30. Amazing.
Which reminds me…
Did any of you see the story about the man in the United States (Idaho) who accidentally slipped on some rocks while hiking, impaled himself through the chest with his trekking pole, and then walked TEN MILES (16 km) to get help because he couldn’t afford the cost of an emergency rescue vehicle?
He is a nurse and reportedly knew his insurance wouldn’t cover the rescue and that the cost could potentially bankrupt him. His friends have started a GoFundMe to help pay for his surgeries.
Seriously, America. We have a problem.
I’m not going to turn this into a political rant, but when someone is seriously injured in the wilderness (or anywhere) and his/her first concern is whether s/he can afford to be taken care of, something has gone terribly wrong.
I am rarely sick and almost never take medication, so having this drag on for so long, while simultaneously trying to hike across Romania, has been a real disaster.
I had such big hopes for this trip.
I wanted to experience the Via Transilvanica. I wanted to explore Romania. I wanted to meet people, see beautiful places, collect memorable stories, and share all of it with all of you.
Instead, lately, I feel like I’m writing a travel blog called:
“The Wondering Wanderer: A Comprehensive Guide to Romanian Taxis, Medical Clinics and UTI’s.”
Not exactly the adventure I had in mind. And I worry that you’re all going to get tired of reading about taxis and doctors…because I know that I am definitely tired of writing about them.
But maybe that’s part of the deal, too.
Travel, especially the kind where you’re pushing yourself physically, isn’t always beautiful sunsets, mountain views and strolls through the forest.
Sometimes it’s Google Translate, a clinic, or sleeping all afternoon. Sometimes it’s admitting that you’re not okay and letting your body take the lead. And sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stop trying to prove how tough you are.
As the saying goes, “You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.”
I’m ready to be carefree again. I’m ready to feel like myself. And, most importantly, I’m ready to be back on my feet.
Despite my medical adventures, we did manage to enjoy a little bit of Sighișoara.
And what better place to recuperate than a medieval Romanian town with tourist traps and shops full of souvenirs.
Sighișoara dates back to medieval times and is famously associated with Vlad III, better known as Vlad the Impaler, the historical figure who helped inspire the legend of Dracula.
Apparently, Vlad was born here (the yellow house in the photo below). You can even visit the home and take a tour.
We did not.
We strolled through the old town like tourists, visited the grocery store to stock up on supplies, admired the interesting architecture, and eventually went out for pizza and pasta.
Yes.
After everything I’ve eaten, or not eaten, on this trip, sometimes you just need (more) carbs. Italian carbs are the best.
Tomorrow, we’ll see how I feel and make a decision about walking vs. riding. Either way, we have to keep moving forward…just like in life.
For now, I’m going to rest, take my medicine, and hope tomorrow brings fewer doctors and more trail walking.
And maybe, just maybe, a little less drama.
Much love & gratitude. Namaste 🙏
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There’s a beautiful clock tower that reminded me of the famous one in Prague, complete with little animated figures that move around in a circle.
Unfortunately, this one didn’t appear to be working tonight. Which, honestly, feels very on-brand for our trip. At this point, I’m not even surprised by anything anymore.
We also stumbled across some beautiful handmade pottery. The pottery and the artist’s hands are protected by UNESCO. I don’t even know that was possible.
There are two traditional patterns. One that represents the peacock and the other symbolizes wheat.
