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“A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent upon arriving.” Lao Tzu
New day, new problem…or, to be politically correct, a new challenge.
No available accommodations at the end of, not one, but two consecutive stages.
No need to panic.
We are problem-solvers. Or as they say in corporate America, solutions-oriented.
Don’t you just love buzz words.
At this point in the hike, we’ve become quite skilled at taking what looks like a logistical disaster and pretending it’s actually an exciting opportunity for personal growth. Plus, it adds a little humor to the blog from time to time.
It’s really a flip of the coin. Depending on whether you’re a glass-half-full or glass-half-empty kind of person, this could either be a fortunate or unfortunate turn of events.
I choose fortunate.
Because the alternative involves walking 42 kilometers. I am suddenly a very optimistic person.
We – and by we, I mean Massimo because in addition to the laundry and sandwich making, he does all the research on our accommodations while I do the very important work of writing this little blog for all of you – discovered this little hiccup last night while trying to book a place to stay.
Everywhere was full.
Not that there are exactly an abundance of options in these tiny Romanian villages.
Still…
Is there a convention in town? Are all 14 people who live here having overnight guests? Did the entire village suddenly decide to take a staycation?
Massimo studied the map and came up with a plan.
The first stage ended after 24 kilometers, and there was no accommodation. The following stage was another 18 kilometers.
That would mean 42 kilometers in one day.
Approximately 26 miles. A marathon.
At that point, I would no longer be hiking. I would be curled up in a ball in a random field waiting for the bears to find me.
Massimo proposed asking the owner of our guesthouse to drive us the first 24 kilometers. Then we would walk the remaining 18 kilometers to the accommodation he had found.
Sounds good to me, Boss.
I’m always happy to ride in a car for 24 kilometers and advance two spaces on the board. Pass Go, Collect $200. 🎲
The owner agreed to drive us for 50 lei – about $11 – which was actually half of what it normally costs for that distance.
Things were working in our favor.
Kind of.
Off we went.
Again…
In a car. Beep beep. 🚗💨💨💨
The walk was quite peaceful, fairly shaded, full of free fruit, and extremely flat – all wonderful things – but also highly uneventful.
No drama.
The only interesting, or maybe funny is a better word, thing that happened was meeting four other hikers.
We were just coming out of a little patch of forest when a couple suddenly appeared from a parking lot in front of a pension.
They didn’t have backpacks, but they did have hiking sticks, and they were staring at us.
Intensely.
As we got closer, the staring continued.
It was becoming awkward enough that I finally said hello.
They said hello.
There was still a weird feeling as they started walking with us.
Then the woman asked us if we are hiking the Via Transilvanica.
“Yes,” we responded.
Like rapid fire, “Where are you from?”
“Italy and the United States.”
“Ahh, you’re friends with Paul.”
We laughed.
Because apparently, this is our life now.
For the last two or three weeks, almost every time we meet another hiker, and sometimes even the owners of our accommodations, they say some variation
of: “Oh! You’re Paul’s friends!”
This must be what it’s like to have children.
You spend your entire life developing an identity, building a career, establishing yourself as an independent human being…
…and then one day everyone knows you as someone’s friend.
We are no longer Emily and Massimo.
We are Paul’s Friends.
Paul is a Romanian guy who lives in Chicago. We hiked with him for two days about three weeks ago, and apparently, he has been spreading the gospel of Massimo ever since.
During those two days, Massimo talked such a convincing game about hiking in sandals that Paul actually ordered himself a pair online.
To be delivered to him on the trail.
I’m not kidding.
He had them shipped to an address along the Via Transilvanica.
And ever since his new sandals arrived, he has apparently been telling everyone he meets about them – and, by extension, about Massimo.
Paul and I have stayed in touch on WhatsApp, and he even sent me a photo of his new wheels when they arrived.
The Legend continues…
At this point, I think Massimo needs a sponsorship deal.
He has successfully converted many hikers (at least three that I know of on this trail) from boots to sandals, and I’m not even immune to his sales pitch.
I’m a convert too.
His primary selling point?
“I even walked over the Swiss Alps in them.”
Apparently, this is all the evidence anyone needs.
Forget product testing. Forget reviews. Forget scientific research.
If Massimo walked across the Swiss Alps in them…then they are good enough for me.
Sold.
Later, just before reaching our hotel, we met a mother-and-son duo as we were walking out of a bar.
We stopped for a lemonade and to wait for the 2 pm check-in.
I had barely said hello when the mother looked at me and said:
“You’re friends with Paul. I’ve seen your photo.”
Of course she had.
Because apparently Paul has created a Via Transilvanica press kit featuring us.
I guess that’s our new trail name: Paul’s Friends.
I suppose there are worse things to be known for.
Much love & gratitude. Namaste 🙏
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There is a town in Romania called 23 August.
When I saw it, it reminded me of a town in Egypt called 6th of October City. What funny names for cities/towns/villages.
I wonder how many other places have dates for names of the cities.
I did a complete double-take when a man pulling a trailer with a bicycle inside stopped to have a chat with us along the road.
He was wearing tennis shoes, an undershirt…
…and Spider-Man boxer briefs.
That’s it. No pants. No visible car.
Just a bicycle, a trailer, an undershirt, tennis shoes, and enough confidence to stop two strangers on the side of the road and strike up a conversation.
I wanted to say:
“Excuse me, sir, I think you’ve forgotten your pants and your car at home.”
Instead, I smiled, nodded, and tried not to stare.
At one point, the trail followed the road through a tiny, one-street village. And by “one street,” I mean the highway.
There wasn’t really anywhere to stop and rest, so we spotted a couple of chairs sitting in someone’s driveway.
Naturally, we sat down.
On a stranger’s property.
Because after walking hundreds of kilometers through Romania, apparently our manners have deteriorated to the point where we now just “borrow” people’s outdoor furniture.
The little dog behind the gate barked and barked and then finally gave up because it had made zero impact on us.
We ate some cookies, drank some water, and rested for about fifteen minutes.
Just as we put our backpacks back on and were preparing to leave, an elderly woman came outside.
For a moment, I thought we were about to get caught trespassing.
Instead, she offered us a place to sit.
We smiled and laughed a little – embarrassed by what we had done. Through Google Translate, we explained that we had been sitting there for a while and thanked her for not being upset with us.
She just smiled and wished us a good walk.
It wasn’t lost on me that this type of interaction and happy ending doesn’t happen everywhere.
Romania is really full of kind, genuine, and gentle people. They will give you the shirt off their back if it will help you.
Massimo started laughing hysterically out of nowhere. When I asked him what was so funny he said, the pronunciation of the name of this river in Italian means…to fart. 💨 Scoreggiare.
In Romanian it means: leakage.
I don’t know which is worse.
The kilometer markers no longer have numbers on them – the trail is still a work in progress.
This is disappointing because it was one of the little things that consistently brought us joy as we walk.
Watching the numbers increase with each step felt like victory!
It was an instant gratification experience that made the walk feel a little less daunting.
On a more exciting note, we have made our way across most of the country.
Depending on how we divide these next few sections, we will be finished in twenty days or less.
Hallelujah.
I’m tired and my whole body hurts.
The heart with the purple circle is our final destination – Drobeta-Turnu Severin at the Serbian border.
We can see the finish line now!
Massimo, because he is “Italian,” also chooses the restaurants – basically I do nothing to contribute – and tonight he found a place called Casa Blanca.
Get it?
Massimo should’ve have quit while he was ahead. Last night’s pasta was so delicious he devoured it in minutes.
Tonight, his sensitive little palate was highly disappointed when it tasted extremely hot pasta that had been reheated in a microwave.
“They must have started cooking this pasta last year.”
