by I got back from the mountain late yesterday afternoon. It was beautiful up there, but I could never relax because of what was going on a mile or so below us. My student picked me up at 7am on Saturday, after I’d slept maybe three or four hours. Soon after, he told me that the authorities had closed the hut a few days ago because of the virus, but he knew somebody who would be able to let us in. Seriously? You didn’t even tell me that? I was livid with him. We then picked up the other two – husband and wife – from Lugoj. By this stage I wasn’t in the mood for anything. We parked at the foothill of the mountain and climbed up through the snow to reach the hut at Cuntu. This trek took about two hours. There were at least three other people staying there, but thankfully we had our own room separate from them. I really wanted to avoid other humans as much as possible.
We dumped off most of our belongings in the room, which had a welcome fireplace, and then began our ascent up Mount Țarcu, though there’s no way we could have got to the summit and back in the light as we did last June. My student is fitter and had better equipment than me, and he was off like a rocket. I followed in his wake, while the other guy (who has a bad back and is carrying 20 kilos too many) and his wife turned back after a short distance. Just before Sadovanu, a smaller peak on the way, we too turned back. My student and I were still talking to each other despite my tirade earlier in the day. Back in our warm room, the others didn’t know what to do. I was quite happy to just lie there and read my book. I started to relax just a little. The others spoke a mixture of Hungarian, Romanian and English, often switching been languages at will, a skill that never ceases to amaze me. I quite liked it when they spoke Hungarian, with its alien euuuhs and oooohs, so I could switch off. I learnt the odd Hungarian word – the word for “they” or “them” sounds like the noise you might make while sitting on the loo: “euughhk”. I taught them the English word “ember” which means something like “mate” in Hungarian.
I ate a mixture of fish, beans, eggs and pasta, and that filled me up. I did much better on the food front than last time. The others bemoaned a lack of cards to play with – there was no “cruce” or “hatvan hat” this time – and it was lights out at 9:15. The lights were well and truly out – there was a blackness beyond anything I could remember. The Romanian word for that is beznă. I was wide awake by seven, and soon got hungry. I got up and had breakfast alone in an empty (and much colder) room. We left Cuntu just after ten, and stopped on the way at a friend’s place in the village of Turnu Ruieni. It was a lovely wooden house with a courtyard. He and his wife were very welcoming. He brews palincă and gave me two glasses. It was sweeter and more palatable than some of the stuff I’ve tasted.
On the way home I apologised to my student for my outburst the previous day, and at about four I was back in Timișoara. It was a relief to be home. The scenery was wonderful but I’d had a hard time taking any of it in. The head-in-the-sand attitude of the others towards the coronavirus crisis irritated me intensely. “Don’t be silly, hardly anyone will die from this.” “It’s just flu, dammit!” “Whatever happens, happens.” “Soon we’ll get warm weather which will kill the virus.” And most annoying of all, “The show must go on!” Sometimes the show must stop! This blasé attitude is literally killing thousands across the continent.
Late yesterday afternoon, Central Park was mostly empty. Bizarrely, there was a man playing a didgeridoo. Outside the park were banners advertising events that now won’t happen. There’s now only one event in town.
This morning I did my big shop. I got to the supermarket – the one I know best – before it opened at eight. A man in front of me was coughing and spluttering and even spat on the ground. I gave him a wide berth. The woman in front of me pushed the revolving door with her elbow and took great care not to touch the handrail of the escalator. I’d drawn up my shopping list as Mum used to (and possibly still does) – with a map of the store in my mind. There were surprisingly few customers so I didn’t have to rush. I filled both my backpacks, mostly with cans and jars and packets of frozen vegetables. It was hard to squeeze everything in. As I came out of the store, one old lady was screaming “fuck off” (in Romanian, of course) at another. Charming. Then I had to lug it all home. I’m sorted for the next three weeks at least.
In my next post I’ll talk more about what has become the world’s deepest crisis in my parents’ lifetimes, let alone mine, and post some pictures of the trip.
