by According to the radio, Saturday was the feast of St Peter and St Paul. I had a simple coffee at Prigor, then went to Șopotu Nou to start a hike that would go to Lacul Dracului – the Lake of Hell. Just before Șopotu Nou there was a flimsy suspension bridge over a river. I’d be hot and tired after the trek, and if I crossed the bridge there’d be a nice place to sunbathe after a paddle in the water. The bridge did look very dodgy though; it made me think of old cartoons where the thing gives way slat by slat, domino-like.
It was a hike of 7 or 8 km from Șopotu Nou to the lake. The track was signposted surprisingly well for Romania, there wasn’t another soul around and the sun beat down on me. At 11am it was already 30 degrees in the shade. I thought about Michael Mosley, the journalist who died in the blistering heat of a Greek island while hiking alone in early June. Is this wise? I crossed a sturdier suspension bridge, passed another disused mill, and descended a steep slope to arrive at a spellbinding turquoise abyss surrounded by gnarly rocks. There marked the start of Cheile Nerei – the gorge of the Nera river. I met some actual people there. They were surprised that I did the trip alone – dangerous and boring, surely. After eating my lunch by the river, I headed back. Thankfully it had clouded over. Climbing the slope was easier than coming down; the return trip was speedier than the trek to the lake.
I did cross the flimsy bridge, very gingerly. I went for a dip, finding an eddy in the surprisingly fast-running river, but didn’t exactly sunbathe for long as there was no sun and thunder rumbled in the distance. A bit later, the thunder having passed, I stopped in the village of Dalboșeț for a coffee and an ice cream. (Villages often have one or more of what you’d call a dairy in New Zealand.) This piqued the interest of certain older locals (there aren’t many young ones) who asked me in their palatalised way whether I liked the village. I entered some other villages with the intention of taking photos, but there were eyes on me, often from several directions all at once, from the moment I stepped out of the car.
I had a shaorma at Prigor – this was much better than the pizza I’d had the night before – then went back to the guest house. By this time a troupe of ten-year-olds had arrived for their camp; they were staying in huts outside the main building where I was staying. I’d have liked to watch the football but the TV in my room (the only facility it had) didn’t seem to have the channel. Germany’s win over Denmark, in which a torrential storm stopped play for 25 minutes, would have been worth watching. Last night England came back from the brink to defeat Slovakia in extra time; I missed that match too.
In the morning it was time to check out. I was glad to after certain guests (or were they the owners – I couldn’t tell) were being far too loud far too early for a Sunday morning. I had my second coffee of the day at one of the betting shop cafés in Bozovici, just so I could use the loo there. Where it comes to loo availability, Romania is at the other end of the pipeline from where New Zealand sits.
On the way home I stopped at Cascada Bigăr, no longer the same after its collapse of three years ago, and then (by a happy accident) took a different route through Anina and the large town of Reșița. I’m already thinking about my next trip, which will likely be to Maramureș in a couple of weeks, and how I should prepare for my next solo hike.
It looks like I’ll have some work over the summer, through a firm that is struggling with demand for English speakers. I was apprehensive about this at first, but a phone conversation today has put me more at ease. More work is nearly always a good thing.
