by It was beautiful up in the hills, breathing pristine air, though it is nice to be back too. I find it hard to relax in somebody else’s world, even one as magical as that.
Călin picked me up at 1pm on Wednesday, and after spending some time on the motorway, we ventured into more remote territory. Brad, which I’d been to before, was the last place of any real size, and before long we were wending our way through villages like Zdrapți, a blast of consonants which sounds more like something an angry farmer would say than any sort of place name. We reached the village of Blăjeni, then stopped at our final destination of Sălătruc which is barely a hamlet. It wasn’t quite our destination because we then had to haul our bags up a hill. Florin (from tennis) met us at the bottom, and half-way up we stopped at some “neighbours” – Neluțu (the local handyman) and Mariana – who plied us with coffee, țuică, and beer. Florin and his wife Magda bought their traditional Romanian house as a holiday home in 2009. It sits on more than three acres (so they don’t have neighbours exactly), with views of the surrounding hills, and is endowed with all manner of fruit trees. It’s very basic, but it does have a fully functioning loo and cooking facilities.
For dinner we mainly had crenvurști which a type of sausage, in this case containing goat meat, and plenty of beer. Then it was ping-pong time. They had a table just above the house, and Florin rigged up some lighting because it would soon be getting dark. Table tennis is popular in Romania, and I thought I might get thrashed, but I didn’t do too badly. Neluțu joined us, and the four of us men were all of a similar standard. I started with a 22-20 win against Neluțu, then I had a 21-19 loss, then a 21-19 win – the close games kept coming. After the final ping had been ponged, Călin managed to get enough of a connection on his phone so we could watch the start of the US Open match between Francis Tiafoe and Andrey Rublev. Only the start though – it was getting pretty late. Bedtime. Călin and I shared a double bed, though we each had our own sleeping bags. Magda supplied us both with earplugs and I certainly needed them because Călin’s snoring was an eight-hour-long seismic event. With the noise and not being able to pee without waking everyone up and the occasional visit by the resident King Charles spaniel, I didn’t sleep too well.
Not knowing what breakfast options there were, if any, I’d brought along some cereal, which I ate with yoghurt. Shortly afterwards, plates of meat came out. I should have known. I’ve been in Romania long enough. We had blue sky, and after breakfast Călin, Florin and I went in the car part-way up the mountain, then headed off for a walk in the sunshine. The views were breathtaking – everything was crystal clear and reminded me of those long-ago trips around the South Island. Every minute or so, Florin pointed out a plant, giving its name, and saying how it could be used in a tea or as a remedy. There was plenty of oregano, which he called sovârv. It’s commonly used in tea here. There was also a lot of sunătoare, or St John’s wort, which is also used in tea here but could be bad news if I ever have it because of its reaction with the antidepressant I take. The plants were buzzing with flying insects of all sorts. Magda didn’t come with us – she preferred to stay inside and read or paint. She’s been learning to paint, and at some point she stumbled across one of my father’s books. She was surprised to find out that he was my dad. On the way back, we stopped again at their neighbours’ place. This time Mariana had prepared a plate of cakes and filled eggs.
Back at the house, Florin showed me the scythe and other traditional farming tools that they had inherited. Then it was barbecue time. Mici, pork chops, and more of those sausages. The pièce de résistance was the gadget that Florin called a disc that sat on top of the barbecue and was used to fry chips. Neluțu and Mariana joined us, and all in all it was a tasty meal. I was pleased that everyone happily tucked into my plum crumble afterwards. We also had țuică, then more beer than I could face. I had to say no at times. More ping-pong, and by this point I’d heard that the Queen was in a critical condition. By the end of our games, someone had messaged me to say that she had died. The end of an era. I’m a long way from being a royalist (I’m basically agnostic on the whole issue), but she had been such a constant – dare I say comforting – presence, that it felt very weird that she had suddenly gone, even at her great age. And on the new prime minister’s third day in office. Our resident dog’s breed had been thrust into the limelight all of a sudden. (It was named after Charles II, who was a major dog fan.) Royalist or not, I’ll certainly always remember where I was when the news broke.
