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“The road less traveled is usually less traveled for a reason.” Jerry Seinfeld
Two big things happened today.
First…. We passed 100 kilometers on the map!
Only 1,300 more to go. 🤦♀️
We never saw the 100 km marker – dammmmmit!
There was absolutely no chance I was hiking backward to find it, so we celebrated at the 101 km marker instead. Close enough.
Second big event – We got “lost.”
Well… “lost” might be a little dramatic. We simply missed a trail marker for the first time on this trek.
The problem was that we didn’t realize it until we had walked all the way down a very large hill. Then came the awful realization: we had to turn around and hike right back to the top.
Let’s just say… a colorful selection of curse words that began with the letters M and F escaped my mouth.
Fortunately, we spotted Bobe and Cordrina just in time to stop them from making the same mistake.
To be fair, the Via Transilvanica has been exceptionally well marked. But this particular sign? Come on.
If you aren’t staring directly at the app, it’s incredibly easy to miss.
I made a series of photos just so you can commiserate with me on this.
I apologize, but tonight’s post is going to be a shorter one. After hiking 16 miles (26 km) over nine hours, I’m completely wiped out and ready for bed.
So here is your memorable story from today.
After correcting our wrong turn, we started climbing the biggest mountain of the day. The trail happened to follow the same route as a ski chairlift.
We weren’t even five minutes into the climb when we heard the loud hum of machinery.
Everyone stopped, looked up, and watched as the chairlift slowly began carrying people toward the top of the mountain.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I laughed. “Is this some kind of sick joke from the Universe? You mean to tell me we could have ridden to the top of this damn mountain?”
At that point, I was still slightly annoyed about the extra hill we’d already hiked down…and back up.
Everyone burst out laughing.
So, on we trudged.
The climb was steep, the grass was tall, the air was refreshingly cool, and the sun was shining. Honestly, it was a beautiful hike. I really didn’t have much to complain about, other than the chairlift taunting us the entire way.
A few minutes later I looked back and noticed a man and woman slowly riding up on one of the chairs.
I pulled out my phone to record them.
Just as I did, the man smiled, motioned with his hand, and called out, “Come on!”
“I would love to!” I shouted back. “I see you’ve got snacks! I’ll give you $100 if you throw me a rope!”
They both laughed.
Sadly, no rope appeared.
So I kept hiking.
When we finally reached the top, it felt as though we’d somehow wandered into Disneyland.
Children’s music, something that reminded me of It’s a Small World, blared over the loudspeakers. Kids ran around a playground, others took pony rides, families ate donuts like pastries and some lemonade looking drink, and the chairlift continued circling round and round as if it was teasing us just for spite.
It was completely unexpected.
And completely bizarre.
The end.
Enjoy the photos. I’ll be back with more stories tomorrow.
This morning started with breakfast and saying goodbye to our wonderful host.
I visited my first Romanian supermarket.
We spent at least twenty minutes exploring the aisles and trying to figure out what everything was.
I’ve always loved grocery shopping while traveling abroad. It’s such a simple window into another culture. You quickly learn what people eat, what they value, and the little everyday things that make life feel familiar.
One of my favorite moments of the day came when a little boy floated overhead on the chairlift, enthusiastically waving and shouting, “Hello!” at me over and over.
He was so excited.
Just before reaching our accommodation for the evening, we met an interesting man who is also hiking the Via Transilvanica.
He’s half Spanish and half Romanian, and he’s documenting his entire journey with professional cameras, a drone, and even one of those microphones with the fuzzy wind covers.
The amount of camera gear he was carrying was absolutely mind-blowing. Suddenly my backpack didn’t seem so heavy.
Even more impressive was the number of languages he spoke.
Romanian.
Spanish.
Bulgarian.
Russian.
French.
And a tiny bit of English.
He and Massimo chatted away in French for nearly twenty minutes while I smiled politely and understood…absolutely nothing.
Moments like that always remind me how much of the world opens up when you speak another language.
I really need to become fluent in at least one before I die…
Much love & gratitude. Namaste 🙏
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