Following my two-weeks adventure in Iceland in August 2016, I returned to Denmark. However, it wasn’t for long as I was planning another little trip. This time non-work related. During the time I had moved and settled in Denmark, one of my best friends from back in Romania, Daniel, had decided to move to Norway. The promised land, the land of an unforgettable adventure that started it all for both of us. Now that I was financially stable and settled into my new life, it was time to return to the far north and reunite the brotherhood!
Thus just a few weeks after my return from Iceland, I took a flight from Copenhagen to Trondheim to visit my best buddy in Norway.
Once more above the clouds
Back in Norway
I got to Trondheim pretty late at night. By the time Daniel picked me up and we got back to his place his then girlfriend was sleeping. As was most of the neighborhood. I remember we sat out on the porch during the cool Norwegian night drinking and chatting away while trying to keep our voices down.
We had a lot to catch up on since both of our lives had radically changed since last we met. However, no matter how much had changed, how much we’d change, we would always seamlessly pick up right where we left off.
After one and a half year, the Brotherhood reunites!
The next day was a Friday and Daniel had planned a little road trip for us over the weekend. After a lazy morning, he had to run some errands in the city so I tagged along and got my first brief view of Trondheim.
Driving around Trondheim, Norway
Around noon we drove over to the one of the University of Trondheim locations to pick up his girlfriend. As I was waiting, I remember admiring this casually parked submarine in the harbor right next to the building.
This is not the yellow submarine
Soon enough, we were all packed up and ready to hit the road for the weekend.
Jostedalsbreen National Park
For the rest of the day and well into the night we drove to the Jostedalsbreen National Park, mainland Europe’s largest glacier. We couldn’t see much of anything during our night drive, but the next morning we were treated to quite a spectacular view.
A cool, misty morning in Jostedalsbreen National Park
We woke up in the heart of the national park, somewhere in, or near Fjærland. It was like poetic justice that we started off our trip in the place that we were eyeing three years before, from across the fjords and mountains in Søgndal. I have to admit though, for the better part of this trip, I had no idea where we were. I was just marveling at our surroundings and enjoying the adventure.
Norwegian Glacier Museum in Fjærland
Our first stop of the day was the Norwegian Glacier Museum in Fjærland. The museum showcases the science of glaciology, the history of glaciers in Norway, and their role in climate change. It featured interactive exhibits, models, and presentations on the topic.
Glacier model at the Norwegian Glacier Museum
The museum also highlights the cultural significance of glaciers in Norway’s history and provides insight into the challenges and importance of preserving these natural wonders. But best of all, the museum had a big polar bear in the lobby area that I could high five!
Heck yeah!
Melkevoll Bretun
Following a scenic drive around and under the mountains, we ended up on the northern side of the glacier, at Melkevoll Bretun. Located near the Briksdal Glacier (Briksdalsbreen) in Stryn, Melkevoll Bretun offers stunning views of dramatic glacial landscapes. It was time for a little hike.
The trail to Briksdalsbreen glacial lake
A 3 km trail from Briksdal Mountain Lodge led all the way up to the Briksdalsbreen glacial lake. The winding gravel trail took us up the mountain through lush valleys surrounded by towering peaks and cascading waterfalls. On our way up we passed Kleivafossen waterfall, one of the major highlights of the the hike.
Kleivafossen waterfall spraying everyone that passed it by
Following the waterfall we passed by some cool glacial features in the outcropping rocks. Jettegryter, or the giant potholes formed naturally during the last Ice Age, when glacial meltwater carried rocks and debris that swirled in strong currents, grinding into the bedrock.
The giant potholes (Jettegryter) on the Briksdalsbreen trail
The polished, smooth wall of the rocks also revealed other neat features in these rocks that would excite any geology enthusiast.
Structural features in the rock layers, including displacement and boudinage
Of course a Norwegian hike wouldn’t be complete without encountering a pack of goats. Most of them were minding their own business, grazing around. But then there was this one goat perched up on a rock that was just staring down at us lowly humans like the king that he was.
Close encounter with the Goat King
Briksdalsbreen
Shortly after our encounter with the Goat King, we reached Briksdalsbreen glacial lake. A serene lake with a gorgeous view, Briksdalsbreen glacial lake continues to grow larger as the glacier gradually retreats over the decades.
Briksdalsbreen, an arm of the larger Jostedalsbreen ice cap
This was one of the best places to test out my newly acquired PENTAX digital camera. It wasn’t as fancy as a Canon, or Nikon, but its fixed lens had quite an impressive zoom for the time. The only problem was keeping the camera steady. I never invested in a tripod, so I had to always find just the right surface around to get my zoomed in shots.
Briksdalsbreen zoomed in
I ended up getting some really neat zoomed in shots of the glacier. One of them even captured distinctive cracks/crevasses in the blue ice.
Even more zoomed in action revealing cracks in the ice
Of course I couldn’t just ignore the jagged mountain peaks surrounding us. After a quick camera repositioning, I got some moody shots of the landscape as well.
Ice patches tucked away between the surrounding mountain ridges
Finally, Daniel ended up just in the right spot for a spaghetti western style shot!
The man, the viking, the legend, Dovahkiin Daniel
An epic sunset
After we finished our nature photoshoot at Briksdalsbreen, we slowly headed back to the parking lot. As we drove back towards our lodging, the clouds led up just enough to offer some amazing sunset views that just kept on getting better and better.
Sunlight just barely grazing the peaks of the mountains
Even Daniel was constantly staring into his mirrors while driving while we were “oo-ing” and “aa-ing” at the scenery. We ended up pulling over numerous times to get the best shots.
Jostedalsbreen in the distance
But it wasn’t until the apex of the setting sun that we were truly treated to some spectacular sights.
An epic Norwegian sunset
Nothing like a lake view of the burning red sky as the sun goes down behind the mountains and fjords. A perfect way to end a great day on the road. However, our adventures in Norway were not over yet. The story will continue in “The return to Norway part 2”.
After a couple of months of traveling, working and procrastinating, I finally sat down to write again. Today I thought to add to my “Transylvania 101” series by talking about one of my favorite camping destinations in Romania. Namely “Scaunul Domnului” (God’s chair), a mountain peak and plateau in the Călimani Mountains, east-Transylvania.
How it all began
Around 4.54 billion years ago, when the Earth was a molten fireball baby… Oh sorry, I went back too far. About 80 million years ago, during the alpino-carpatho-himalayan orogeny volcanic activity gave birth to the east-Carpathian mountain chain… Wait, no. That’s still too far.
Ok, let’s start in 2010, towards the end of the summer exam session at University. While discussing with one of my friends and dorm mates about holiday plans, an idea for a camping trip came up. As we were both mountain lovers, I suggested a few spots in north-Transylvania that I knew of close to my home town. However he already had plans to go hiking with a couple of friends in the Călimani Mountains to the east. I had never explored that region of Transylvania and was keen on discovering new places.
My University city of Cluj Napoca where all great adventures began
We decided to go camping for a few days in Călimani, in a spot that he once went to called Scaunul Domnului. Our trip basically hinged on my friend’s ability to recall the way to this place, half day’s walk across the bear-ridden Transylvanian wilderness. Suffice to say, there were a couple of instances of coin-toss level decision making where the path would diverge, but in the end he got us through to the top.
The Călimani camping experience, which I will detail more below, was so much fun that we ended up returning the following years.
The Călimani trip
My journey the Călimani always started in city of Cluj Napoca, which was also my University city. From here I would take a train to my friend Cipri’s hometown of Târgu Mureș, in central Transylvania. the rest of our adventurer friends would all meet up there and spend one night at his place. The next day we would take an early morning train to the village of Deda-Bistra. From Deda-Bistra we would begin our ~10 km hike in the Călimani Mountains.
The old train station in Cluj Napoca
Now 10 km doesn’t sound too bad, but with fully packed 60-80 liter backpacks on our backs, it was certainly no cake walk. Especially when apart from the canned foods, tents, sleeping bags, we would also pack an excessive amount of alcohol with us. The Transylvanian way…
The hike up to Scaunul Domnului
The first leg of the journey would see us cross the village of Deda-Bistra. A very gentle incline upwards, this bit always felt like the tutorial section of the hike. Yet, by the time we’d reach the edge of town, we’d already be sweating.
At the edge of the village of Deda-Bistra
The next portion was the “make it, or break it” section, which involved a grueling steep climb in the morning sun, with zero shade. During this part, everyone was expected to complain, swear and curse while questioning why on Earth they are doing this instead of relaxing in a soft, comfy bed at home. However, after passing the test of endurance, the mountain would reward us with a gorgeous view of the valley bellow. Then Cipri would always add that there’s only two more big steep climbs to do. Well, that and about three quarters of the way to go…
Overlooking the valley of Deda-Bistra after completing the first steep climb of our hike
After the first big climb, the forest completely envelops the path. From there on up, we’d spend most of our time hiking up and down through the forest. Occasionally crossing a few meadows where we’d remember to be on the lookout for signs of bears. At that time the Călimani Mountains were known to have one of the highest bear populations in Romania. During this long section, a couple of diverging paths could potentially stray one away from the right way… Which was to the left… I think.
A little glimpse of the long hike through the Călimani forests
The plateau and peak
About half a day later and a couple of kilos less, we would reach the final stretch of the hike. A moderately steep climb in a rocky coniferous forest. This bit was always associated with excitement and euphoria of having nearly completed the long and arduous hike to the top.
Nearing the top of Scaunul Domnului and the end of our hike
Finally, the forest would open up and reveal a glorious mountain plateau. The area offers plenty of good flat ground for pitching tents. There’s at least a couple of great campfire spots as well. Most importantly, there is a safe to drink fresh water spring situated in the center of the plateau.
On the northwest and east side, slated rocky cliffs offer some of the best views of the Carpathian Mountains I’ve ever seen. Northeast of the plateau, the path continues for over 20 km towards “Pietrosul Călimanilor”, the highest peak (2100 m) in the Călimani Mountains.
Southward view of the Călimani Mountains from Scaunul Domnului peak
Since the first time I saw the sign to Pietrosul, I always tried to convince my companions to do a full expedition all the way to the top. For some reason, I’d always find it hard to just sit in one place for more then a day. I kept wanting to go further, walk more, see more! Sadly, that trip would never materialize. However, I did somewhat learn to appreciate the less active camping style of simply relaxing and enjoying nature in one remote spot.
Slated rocky cliffs atop Scaunul Domnului peak
The first year: Perfect conditions
When we first went camping in July 2010, we were very fortunate with the weather. the mornings and evenings were nice and cool, while the days were warm and sunny. The weeks prior to our departure also saw plenty of rain, so everything looked super fresh.
Sunshine after light rain in the morning is just perfect
We pitched our tents next to a fireplace atop an elevated section just north of the plateau. We were right at the edge of to the forest, which was great because it provided us with plenty of dry dead wood that we could use for our nightly campfires. A few meters from our tents we had breathtaking views of the Călimani Mountains stretching north-south. A short walk down the plateau, we had easy access to the fresh water spring.
Our neat little camping site in the Transylvanian wilderness
We were also lucky to have the entire place to ourselves. Not say that Scaunul Domnului is a popular tourist destination, but when the weather is so good there’s a high chance of other hikers stopping by.
Nights and days
The nights were filled with drinking, philosophical debates, nonsensical rambling and lots of laughs. The night sky was so clear and visible that each night we’d spend a couple of hours stargazing. On the other hand, when we’d venture into the forest for more lumber, we’d be enveloped by a darkness that no city dweller could imagine. Roaming around the pitch black forest with our headlights, we discovered a tree with its bark pealed like a banana. The deeply engraved claw markings were unsettling to say the least.
Our long nights by the campfire
Fueled by the other wordy of our surroundings our imagination went wild and the spooky campfire stories followed. Weather it be extraterrestrials, demons, or bears, or extraterrestrial demon bears with corn eyes, the ridiculous tales were endless. To add to all that, the first night after we retreated to our tents, I’m fairly sure we were visited by a beast. As I lay ready to fall asleep, I clearly heard ruffling in the grass near our tent. This was distinctly different than the sound of the blowing wind. The sound got closer and closer until it seemed to be next to the tent. Everyone else was asleep at that point, so I just rolled towards the center and hoped it would go away. The next morning there was a large patch of flattened grass beside my tent. Could it have been the beast that pealed the tree nearby? Who knows…
The peeled tree we discovered the first night, about 50 m from our tents
The days were mostly spent recovering from the long nights of drinking. Weather this involved meditation, walks in the forest, or throwing up depended on the individual. Another fun daytime activity was foraging for blueberries. It’s always impressive how time can fly when you’re munching on fresh berries – bear life 101.
First year hiking crew in Călimani (2010)
It’s easy to see how we fell in love with the place and quickly decided to return the next year.
The second year: A bit moist
So it was that in July 2011, we were back at Deda-Bistra, preparing once more for our hike in the Călimani Mountains. This time around however, the weather was not favorable. It had been raining for a couple of weeks and it didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping.
The train station in Deda-Bistra during the wet season in 2011That first steep climb that ended up being way harder then the year before
The climb felt much harder. The ground was wet and muddy and our clothes got soaked within the first hour. Personally, I may also have been fairly out of shape at that time, so everything felt extra heavy. We had to make a lot more frequent stops on the way. About half way into the hike, we even decided to pitch a tent to rest and nap for about an hour. It truly felt like a completely different game then the prior year.
Second year Călimani crew, getting ready to head out again after a little napOur wet forest hike
With plenty of extra hours spent on the hike, we finally made it to the plateau in the evening. The clouds were very thick and low, so we didn’t have many hours left of light. We had to scramble to pitch the tents and start a fire as soon as possible. Due to our earlier rest break, the tents, sleeping bags and most of our clean clothes got wet too. Everything was wet and the rain showed no intention of stopping anytime soon. It was a disaster.
Our mood after arriving at our destination all soaked
The sinking submarine
The hasty manner in which we pitched our tents the first night came back to haunt us the next day. I’m not sure if one of them had sprung a leak, but somehow this one tent got flooded. So much so that our friends sleeping in the tent woke up with their sleeping bags and feet in a pool of water. Thus, we christened it the sinking submarine.
Cliffside in the clouds atop Scaunul Domnului, Călimani 2011
The sub had to be evacuated and abandoned for the rest of our stay. This meant that all four of us had to cozy up in a two-person tent. Talk about sardines in a can… At least we used the sinking submarine to store our wet backpacks. Speaking of wet things, the clothes left outside to dry never dried because surprise surprise, it kept raining through the night!
Futile attempts to dry our clothes
We solely had to rely on the campfire to attempt to dry anything. This had it’s own downsides, like when I ended up burning my boots while trying to dry them.
Still trying to dry those boots too…
On the flip side, Cipri was very knowledgeable about wilderness survival, so thanks to him and his skills, we could constantly make and maintain a fire even with all the wet wood and bush. A handy thing I learned from him is how well tinder fungus burns even when wet.
With all the rain, there were plentiful mushrooms at least
A mystical allure
Despite the hardships, our second year in Călimani was fantastic! Once we got used to our new conditions, we adjusted our habits and adapted well to the new wet environment. The night parties raged on as the year before, with music louder than ever. The spooky atmosphere of the constantly foggy forest added a new layer to the mystical allure of the place.
Most importantly, we always made time to goof around
Mushrooms and berries were flourishing thanks to the abundant rain of the past weeks. Eventually, a day, or two in, even the rain stopped. So we finally got a chance to dry some of our clothes. To top it all off, during one of the evenings the clouds even gave way to a few rays of sunlight. This provided us with some incredible photo opportunities and breathtaking sunset views.
A sneaky sunset behind the clouds
Honestly, as perfect and fun as our first year was, the second year remains my favorite Călimani camping adventure. Perhaps it thanks to the challenging nature of that trip.
The rare rays of sunlight we got on this trip were extra special
That being said, we wanted to make sure that the following year we would avoid all the rainy days and strive for a warm and dry camping trip. Oh boy, did we ever get it…
Leaving behind the cloudy Călimani Mountains in 2011
The third year: Where’s the water?
This time around, I was in better shape and so was the weather. No more clouds, no more rain, the sky was clear and it was damn warm. We were in fact hiking during a heat wave. Whenever we’d start complaining about the heat, we’d just think back to the rainy conditions in 2011. Not this time. this time it hadn’t rained at all for weeks before we set out on our trip. The issue with this wasn’t evident at first, but would soon be made clear once we reached the top.
Out of the three years doing this trip, I’m fairly sure we completed the hike in record time in 2012. After exhausting most of our water supply going up, we were keen for a refill from the spring. However, in there’s where the problem lay. Due to the lack of rain and persistent heat, the freshwater spring had almost completely dried up. All that was left was a muddy little puddle…
We saw this stork back in Deda-Bistra and its expression perfectly mirrored our reaction to the “no drinkable water” situation
Some attempts were made to filter the muddy mess through a cloth and then boil it. But despite our best efforts, this was unsustainable for days and nights. With no other known water spring in the area, we realized we had no choice but to turn back the next day. To top it all off we couldn’t even drink all the alcohol we’d brought up, because without water, the next day we’d be screwed.
Another group of excessively rowdy campers arrived that evening and completely hampered any semblance of our enjoyment during the one night.
Even if it was just the one night, we still had our mandatory campfire in the evening
The final grueling return trip
The next morning, we all woke tired and thirsty. There was no time to waste. We packed up everything and started our descent. What would normally be a fairly easy half-day hike down from the mountains, turned into an very physically and mentally challenging trek. We were 4, or 5 people and had half a liter of water left for the entire trip back to town. Let’s not forget that we were already dehydrated from the day before. Even though the walk was mostly downhill, or straight, the temperature highs of around 30°C still made us sweat whatever little water we had left in us. It was truly miserable.
These days we see and hear people constantly reminding us about the importance of hydration. Well, after what we went through that day, I think none of us would ever forget to drink enough water for the rest of our lives. When we finally managed to get back into town, tongues out and half hallucinating, we rushed to the first store we saw and emptied their shelves and fridge of water bottles.
Our final sunset in Călimani
Final thoughts
Our camping trips to the Călimani Mountains were generally an absolute blast! The key of our good time lay as always in great companionship and camaraderie. The great memories we made together those days are unreplaceable and despite the hardships and even dangers that nature threw at us, we came back each time for more.
Bear footprints we found during our hike in 2011
It’s just a shame that our last trip ended up being so dissapppinting. On top of that, the failed trip served only to accentuate an already bad period of my life fraught with personal issues and depression. It would take another year for things to start to turn around for me. Specifically, it would take an unforgettable little trip with one of my best friends to Norway.
After leaving the car near Bâlea Lake, we began our hike up the mountain slope. The clouds were low and thick, so visibility was quite poor. For a while, we followed one of the marked paths. Since the trail would have taken us right up the steep crests, we decided to find our own, smoother climb. To me this basically meant – go up in a straight line until you can’t go any further. And so we did.
Leaving Bâlea Lake and our sanity behind.
As we got higher and higher, small patches of remnant snow began decorated our surroundings. I was quite surprised to see leftover snow during this time of the year. We climbed further up the wet grassy and rocky slope with a gradually increasing inclination. We were up in the clouds by the time we reached a steep wall of rock, rising well into the gray mist above. It wasn’t a dead end though. There was also another trekking path stretching parallel with the cliff.
As we looked up, an odd dark gray-bluish tint loomed over us in the clouds. I figured it was an approaching storm cloud, so we decided not to linger on the mountain for too long. The safest bet would have been to turn around and go back down. However, for lack of better judgment, I let Daniel decide our fate. Thus, we ventured on the newly discovered path a bit further.
Let’s just follow the blue line. What could possibly go wrong?
Further into the unknown
Since Daniel was more familiar with this region, or at least that’s what I thought, I let my good buddy take the lead. The general idea was that the path should lead back down to Bâlea cabin at some point. By this point, visibility was extremely poor. We couldn’t see much past one to two meters around us. However the trail seemed to descend, which was promising.
Stumbling in the clouds in the Făgărăș Mountains of Transylvania
Ten minutes in, we came across a fairly large “patch” of snowy ice. This thing stretched up and down the mountain slope, covering our path for about five meters. The inclination, combined with the icy, hardened snow made these few steps quite slippery. My summer-time footwear wasn’t doing me any favors either. I carefully managed to cross the obstacle, but it had made me quite uneasy. Nonetheless, since we were clearly descending, we carried on.
First of the white “terrors”
It didn’t take us long to run into a second snowy portion of the slope. This time twice the size of the first. I was getting really nervous about attempting the crossing. My wet shoe soles were slippery even on grass by this point. When I tested the frozen snow with my feet, there was simply no grip. It may have been just me, but the slope also seemed to be getting steeper and steeper. If we were to slip we would have fast been rolling down the rocky mountainside to whatever was at the bottom. The smart thing would have been to turn back. However, we had descended half-way and the prospect of climbing back up wasn’t very appealing.
A slippery slope
After some convincing from Daniel, I started cautiously crossing the snow, with one hand on the ground and feet shaking. It felt like forever, but I managed to cross safely. After a sigh of relief, I looked back at the white “terror” we had to overcome. We then carried on downwards, only to come across the third and biggest ice field of them all. This ice cover looked to stretch on forever into the gray haze. “Nope, nope, nope” – I said – “ This is not passable”. Indeed it was not, but the major issue now was that we were caught in between two large ice fields. It seemed like the only way out of there was straight down.
Once more, we slowly descended sideways on the steep slope, trying to hang on to any stable rocks we could. Daniel was faster, as he was actually wearing mountain boots, so the wet gravel and grass wasn’t affecting him as much. My gaze and focus was fully on each step I took, making sure not to slip.
Ice fields surrounding us on our descent
An unexpected sight
Daniel called out and I looked up to see a rocky cliff in front of us. The two ice-covers on each side closing in around us as we went down. With fingers crossed, I shouted back at him to take a look over the cliff and see if there was any clear way to go down around the rocks. He tried to make something out amidst the thick gray blanket of clouds. As I was cautiously approaching his position, he suddenly cursed out loud, got up and turned around with a face as pale as the snow. There had been a moment when the clouds dispersed to expose nothing but waves somewhere at the bottom of the cliff. We were right above Bâlea Lake. The problem was the two accursed ice covers met up around the rocky cliffs, leading straight into the lake. Only then did we realize that those icy snow patches were in fact remnants of the glacier that formed the lake itself.
Bâlea Lake, so close, yet so unreachable
Daniel’s expression made it pretty clear that there was no way of getting down on this side of the mountain, without tumbling into the glacial lake and probably breaking some bones along the way. I had to see for myself, so I tried to take a few tentative steps around the rocky cliff to see if there was enough ice-free space to sneak through. Unfortunately, there was hardly any, and by this point, the glacier also had just enough thickness to get one’s foot stuck in between it and the rocky wall. Climbing down the ice was also out of the question, since the slope took a major dip just before hitting the water. As much as I hated to admit it, the only option we had left was to go back up. Back all the way we came and descend exactly on the same slope we had climbed up initially. Right then and there, I had a flashback to earlier when I had suggested we turn back down instead of following a path blindly. But hey, where’s the fun in that?
The way back
With no other option, we reluctantly climbed up again, passing the two tails of the glacier once more without incident. Luckily we had memorized the location of the rocky wall and initial path marking. So without much trouble we ended up in the exact spot we had climbed up about two hour earlier. We made a stop one last time to look up at the stony cliff. In the clouds above we noticed yet again the same ominous dark gray shadow looming over. The one we had thought to be approaching storm clouds earlier. At this point it seemed very strange to have a storm cloud apparently hovering in the exact same spot for two hours.
The spiky crests of the Făgărăș Mountains revealed
As if the elements had read our thoughts and wished to reveal the truth, the clouds gave way to reveal a huge overhanging bit of the mountain to be our looming gray shadow. In hindsight, I highly regret not taking the time to photograph the impressive formation, but at that moment in time the only thought we had was getting down as fast as possible before that thing fell on top of us. So much so that we ended up sprinting half-way down to safety. We had had our fill of the Făgărăș Mountains for the day. Reaching the parking lot, we were extremely relieved we had survived our great Făgărăș adventure without any incident.
We were quite pumped full of adrenaline and in some weird way felt very pleased with ourselves. To finish off the day in the theme of spontaneity and adventure, Daniel decided to book us another room in a different Hotel, closer to the mountain. It was unfortunate that we had left all of our precious beers in the hotel in Cârțișoara. However, the view we had from our new crib was a worthwhile tradeoff.
The view from our hotel room on the Transfăgărășan
The night is young
As the darkness settled, we had a great meal and restocked our alcohol supply. I then had an idea of the perfect way to finish our exciting day: an adventurous spooky walk out into the woods with a couple of beers, a flashlight and Daniel’s airsoft gun. It had also started raining heavily, just to make it that much more interesting. We proceeded into the pitch black woods, in search of the unknown. Crossing a small stream, we carried on until we reached a nice little clearing. There we had our fun goofing around and shooting empty beer cans in the rain. It was the icing on the cake with plenty of good laughs and childish fun. After getting drenched for about an hour we headed back to the hotel for a well deserved rest.
The next morning, after a delicious breakfast, we had a lovely chat with the Hotel’s bartender. He told us this wonderful story of the problems they kept having the other night with a bear that was roaming near the hotel… Yes, the same night that two half-drunk idiots that had almost gotten themselves killed earlier in the day were goofing around in the pitch-black forests around the hotel. Perhaps the bear was just looking to join in on our fun. In any case, we packed-up and drove back to Mediaș, but not before receiving a phone call from the motel in Cârțișoara, reminding us that we had forgotten some items in the fridge – good old Transylvanian hospitality.
In hindsight
To wrap this story up, one should never venture up the Carpathian mountains, or any mountains as matter of fact, without proper equipment! Even if it’s just for a short day hike. These places can be extremely unpredictable and dangerous, as we learned on our own skin. Some semblance of knowledge of the area also goes a long way. And for goodness sake, don’t go out in the middle of the night, during a storm, into bear ridden woods with booze and toy guns. Unless, you’re a Transylvanian, of course. Then you do as you please 🙂
No bears, no snow, nor mountains, or lakes shall stand in the way of my adventure!
The next morning, before heading out, we met Julio’s boss and manager at the Borgund Stave Church museum, Tanna. I recall being eagerly inquisitive about a potential part-time position at the museum. By this point I had fallen in love with Norway so much that I would have done anything to stay. They were actually looking for more people for the next year’s tourist season. But they wanted someone fluent in French. Unfortunately my French language skills were abysmal. Ironic how today, ten years since this trip, I am in a place and position where I once more would greatly benefit from a high level of French. After our pleasant conversation with Tanna, we bid farewell to her and Julio and set off to climb the mountain.
The tiny village of Borgund with the Stave Church museum to the upper left
Once more, we were very fortunate with the weather. The entire week we spent in Norway we had nothing but beautiful clear sky and warm days. From what we were told, the entire summer before that was murky and rainy. We definitely picked the best time to go.
The climb
From the Borgund valley at around 400 m, we climbed all the way up to around 1200 m during the first half of the day. We followed a gravel road climbing the mountain and ran into the owner’s herd of sheep at one point. The sheep had stopped in the middle of the road and eyed us like motionless statues. With their horizonal pupils intensely focused on us, we felt uncomfortable… judged. We maintaining eye contact as we slowly approached the herd. It felt like a stare down in one of those old western movies. Then out of nowhere, they defecated before our very eyes and moved along. We felt we had been given the right of passage. We could now continue climbing up.
Admiring rock outcrops on our hike up the mountain
Along our journey up, we had to make many stops. The backpacks were heavy and our energy levels were not the greatest. I guess that’s what you get when you’re on a mostly ramen-berry diet for days in a row. At least we didn’t have any water shortages. There were plenty of small creeks we ran across on our way up. We were however a bit hesitant about drinking from the creek after our sheeply encounter. We decided to ration what we had and find a safer source, closer to the top.
The higher up, the better the view
A bit over half the way up we decided to make a base camp. We pitched our tent in a small clearing in the forest and left most of our heavy stuff there. Coming from Romania, we have an overly cautious attitude towards leaving belongings in the open where they can be easily stolen. In this situation we were on private property and far from anyone else. This was also Norway, not Romania. So begrudgingly I agreed to leave some of my stuff behind. However, I still refused to leave my big backpack. It was like my big blue baby. I wouldn’t abandon it.
Our new base camp with tent tucked away under the trees
On top of the world
Not too long after setting off from our new base camp we reached the start of the mountain plateau. Gone was the densely vegetated forest. Taking its place was alpine vegetation, with but a few scattered trees. Before us lay one final gentler climb to lake Vassetvatnet, flanked on both sides by gorgeous, tall peaks. We simply referred to them as the two monsters guarding the path. Behind us the scenery now opened up to reveal the deep valleys and neighboring peaks. It was magical.
The start of my victory pose, only to be used on rare, glorious occasions
We spent the rest of the daylight up there. Tried our luck once more with some fishing, but third time was not the charm. We tentatively climbed a portion of one of the monster peaks, but weren’t serious about going all the way. It had been a long day already and these peaks required a lot more energy then we had left. We also followed one of the small creeks all the way to its spring point, which was strangely satisfying. Fresh water, right from the source! A couple of times during our stay, we spotted a lonesome car driving away into the distance on the road. Somebody waving their hand at us from the car. Most likely the kind owner of the property. We returned the gesture.
Vassetvatnet, the lake with a dam and plenty of fish, but none for us
I find it hard to describe just how good I felt when we were up there. Perhaps it was the serenity of the place, or the sheer panoramic beauty. For whatever reason, that day there in particular managed to heal my troubled mind. All my troubles and worries from back home now washed away. At that moment, for me personally, our adventure had achieved its goal. I used that day to mentally get over all the hardships and struggles of my life back in Romania. I was forging a new purpose. Something to fight and strive for. I was going to make moving to Norway my one primary goal from that point on.
One of the two monster peaks rising just above 1600 m altitude
The end of a journey
Before heading back down to our tent for the night, we were treated to one of the most beautiful sunsets one could ask for. As the sun gradually disappeared behind the great fjords in the west, it felt as if the land itself was bidding us farewell. After a good night’s sleep, we packed our things the next morning and headed back to the bus stop.
A sunset over the fjords
We went back to Fagernes and our favorite camping ground to relax. Since it was our last day in Norway and we managed to not break the bank, we indulged ourselves with some local food. I recall the last evening in Fagernes camping as we melancholically stared across the lake. I pointed to a red building in the distance on top of the hill and told Daniel that that would be my house one day. With my loving Norwegian wife preparing some scrambled eggs for breakfast. He pointed out that that was in fact a barn. I didn’t care. It will do just fine! The heart was heavy, but the mind was more determined than ever before.
Strondafjorden lake, Fagernes
The day of our flight back from Oslo, the skies were overcast and an chilly autumn wind had arrived. It was the end of our journey for now. Just as we seemingly had brought the good weather with us, we were now taking it back. I was going to return to Norway one day. But twists and turns would redirect my life in many more ways before that day would come.
Our time in the great fjords had come and gone. The next morning we left Sogndal with a heavy heart and an empty stomach because “Dang, those food prices!”. I had honestly forgotten about our huge shock regarding the price of food during our first visit to Norway. But my good buddy Daniel reminded me in a recent chat while reminiscing about our old adventure. Indeed, we mostly ate out of our own reserves we took with us. Trying our best to avoid having to buy food, because let’s not forget, we were on a very tight budget. That’s what led us to hours of foraging while we’d go hiking. We were living off the land… and ramen noodles. We even got creative and made our own “berry burritos”. Basically a bunch of wild berries wrapped in sorrel leaves. Mmm… so healthy, but I digress.
We were now on our way back east from Sogndal. Crossing once more the great Sognefjord by ferry, we were heading towards a little settlement tucked away in the mountains of Lærdal called Borgund. We wanted to see one of the last remaining stave churches in Norway. Incidentally, Borgund is home to one of the most well preserved ones. Now I called Borgund a little settlement because, even by Norwegian standards, this place is tiny! As in, we counted like 7 houses. There wasn’t even a bus stop in Borgund. Instead, we had to get off in the middle of nowhere after exiting one of the tunnels in Lærdal, where a lonely sign said “Stave church” 1 km away.
Crossing the Sognefjord by ferry
Borgund Stave Church
We made our way to the Borgund Stave Church. Built more than 800 years ago, the church is classified as a triple-nave stave church of the Sogn-type. Its grounds contain Norway’s sole surviving stave-built free-standing bell tower. These days the church is run as a museum by the Society for the Preservation of Ancient Norwegian Monuments . For more details on the church, I’d direct you to everyone’s favorite free information website, wikipedia, where I also happened to yoink the previous statements from. If you’re considering visiting, you can check out their opening hours here .
The Borgund Stave Church, 2013
The outer part of the church was covered by a relatively fresh coat of tar when we visited. This is done regularly to protect the wood from the elements. The outside and insides are decorated with intricate wood carvings combining the old Norse pagan beliefs with Christian ones. The inside of the church is fairly dark in the absence of regular windows. Only a few rays of light are allowed in through narrow openings, mostly in the roof. The site definitely merits a visit for its uniqueness and historical significance.
The bell tower next to Borgund Stave Church
We were fortunate enough to be the only people visiting at the time. During our visit, we had a long friendly chat with one of the staff at the museum, a Spanish fellow by the name of Julio. We told him about our adventure and how it all began with a lost credit card at a sandwich shop in Schiphol Airport. He was amused by our story so much so that he invited us to spend the night at his cabin. Well, his managers cabin where he was living. We happily accepted and would meet up with him again after his shift.
Tons of runic engravings on the old church door
The King’s road
The Stave Chruch was not the only historical site in Borgund as we found out. The old valley is also marked by a stretch of The King’s Road. Completed in 1791, the King’s Road was the first “drivable” road to link Eastern and Western Norway. Although, I personally wouldn’t attempt driving on it, it was definitely a wonderful hiking experience!
The narrow stretch of The King’s Road
Starting off from Borgund, the first stretch of the road was fairly narrow. More of a nice walking pathway. But I suppose a not too large carriage would fit through well enough. Then after a while the road widens up quite a bit and adds protective railing as a feature, taking on a true “Kingly” aspect. Makes me want to pull parallels with today’s way of building roads in Romania: here’s a perfectly good stretch of 1 km highway, followed by “Oh my God what is wrong with this road !@#”. But that wouldn’t be a fair comparison. The old Norwegians actually finished their roads, hah!
The wide and smooth “Kingly” stretch of The King’s Road
Suffice to say it was a perfect 1-2 hour walk on a nice and warm sunny day. Plenty of berries to forage on the way too, in case you want to replenish your strength!
Plans change. Again…
After our royal hike, we went back to Borgund to meet up with Julio and head back to his cabin. We spent the late afternoon talking and relaxing by the river. I fondly remember the homemade chorizo he offered us. After days of ultra-processed packed food and wild berries, some good quality meat was outstanding. Daniel and I munched up the entire plate. In retrospect we felt a bit bad about severely depleting poor Julio’s chorizo reserves. I hope his sister made more for him that year!
The Borgundsfjorden river flowing through the Borgund valley
Although our plan was to head back to Fagernes the next day, Daniel and I were still keen on going wild camping at least for one night. My mountain hiking hunger was also not fully satisfied yet. The “mountains” we’d climbed thus far were mere “tall hills” by my standards. I wanted something more significant, more challenging. Some place far away from the beaten path, where I could climb up and see the lands far and wide.
The winding King’s Road near Borgund
It so happened that one of Julio’s neighbors in Borgund owned the land covering the local mountains. Yes, you read correctly. Mountains. Plural. I don’t know if this sort of thing is normal for other places, but for us it sounded quite impressive. So after a quick message exchange, Daniel and I got permission to hike up a private mountain the next day. And let me tell you… This wasn’t one of those “tall hills”. No, no, no. This was the real deal!
Fagernes had to wait another day. We were ready for a new adventure!
We arrived in Sogndalsfjøra in the afternoon and quickly made our way to the local camping ground by the fjord, on the west-side of town. There were quite a few people with RV’s and tents set up in the main camping area where the ground was flat and the grass was cut. They sounded mostly Norwegian and so we didn’t want to bother them too much with our rowdy eastern-European shouting way of speech. Thus, Daniel and I decided to pitch our tent further up the gentle slope where there was nobody else. Here the grass was tall and wild, overgrowing a small old playground too. No bother, we wanted wild camping anyway.
The town of Sogndalsfjøra on the Sognefjord, seen from the west side
As the sun was heading west, the mountain behind the campsite started slowly casting its great shadow. I wanted nothing more then to try to climb up on top of it! We set up our tent, left our stuff in camp and headed out to explore the area. We quickly made our way up the streets of the residential area looking for a path to take us up the mountain. Instead we wound up in someone’s backyard… Oops! We had a laugh with the owner and he pointed us in the right direction. Eventually, we made it up to a lovely clearing and were treated to a superb view of the surrounding area. We then headed back down to explore the town and decided to leave the full mountain hike for the next day.
Sogndalsfjøra
Like we’ve come to expect by this point Sogndalsfjøra was a nice and cozy, quiet little Norwegian town. We walked up and down the streets taking in the sights and the Norwegian chattering around us. It felt like we were the only foreign tourists in town. Well, except for this one other backpacker dude that we kept running into everywhere. I mean seriously. We saw this guy like 5 times popping up everywhere we went. We half expected to run into him in our tent too. Well… small town I guess.
Just an old Laben in town… (this will get a snicker out of any Romanian speaker… don’t ask why)
By the time we made it to the other side of town our stomachs were rumbling and the sun was starting to set. It was time to head back to camp.
Sogndalsfjøra from the east side with our camping ground to the far left at the foothills of the mountain
An adventurous evening
Once we got back and had a much needed meal in camp, we spent the last minutes of daylight chilling by the overgrown playground. As we’re goofing around on the swings, we suddenly notice an alarmingly large number of spiders inhabiting the corners of the swings, just a couple of meters away from our tent. Neither of us have any arachnophobia luckily, but the sight was quite unsettling. Especially when upon closer inspection we realize it was an entire nest of Cross spiders, with a gigantic mother queen in the middle. Now we understood why everyone else was camping on the nice patches of cut grass and not in the wild jungle we were in.
Apparently cross spider bites are harmless to humans, but at the time we weren’t sure about that. Back in Romania we used to be told to keep away from these types of spiders because they can land you a trip to the hospital. Regardless, it was now dark and we couldn’t really move all of our stuff until the next day. As long as we kept the tent closed, I thought, we should be fine. Daniel, however, was not having it. He was hell bent on usurping the queen mother, but wasn’t sure how to do it. Within a few minutes, he shows up with a pot and pan in hand, ready to strike the killing blow. I strongly advised against this rash and reckless course of action, but he wouldn’t listen.
The mother queen!
With arms spread out far to keep a safe distance, he bashes the two items together in the most clumsy way imaginable hoping to squish the spider-queen. The pot and pan fall out of his hands dropping into the spider-infested grass. The murder weapons were safely recovered and inspected for proof of success. However, it seemed like the assassination attempt was failed. As a good friend, I reminded him of how I advised him not to do this. Now the spider-queen would come back to get him in his sleep!
Our spidery hosts
Sogndal hiking
We survived the night and woke up the next day to a bunch of our lovely spidery hosts investigating the outer layers of our tent. Thankfully none ever got inside of the tent. We just had to be careful when going in and out of the tent, so as to not have any unwelcomed guests. Otherwise, we had grown accustomed to our new eight legged friends. After the morning ritual we decided to head back up the mountain behind us and climb up all the way to the top this time.
Hiking around in Sogndal
As I recall, it was a good hour or so hike up through the shady forest. On our way we found a decent variety of mushrooms, but didn’t attempt picking any. Neither of us were mushroom experts. On the way we constantly got glimpses of the spectacular views through the trees. Oh and there was this random wooden shack on the way. Probably holding someone’s secret shroom-stash.
Shelter, or private shroom-shack?
Towards the top, just as we were coming out of the forest, we found this large patch of blueberry bushes. I think we spent at least half an hour munching on those. Every time we’d want to continue we’d stop to just take a few more. We also had this pack of almonds with us and discovered how amazingly well almonds go with blueberries.
To eat, or not to eat?
Breathtaking views
Beyond the rich blueberry fields, we came across a small lake surrounded by swampy ground where we met a couple of polish guys on their holiday. Beyond the tree line we got a glimpse of snow-capped mountains in the distance. We later learned that we were looking towards Fjærland, and one of the last remaining glacier fields in Europe. The sight was just so incredible and unexpected. We discussed possibly going there the next day, but eventually decided not to. We weren’t really equipped for snowy conditions and were already half way into our holiday time.
The glorious mountains of Fjærland in the distance
We continued our hike on the trail towards the south. At one point, we found this curious cube placed on top of a dried up tree. Could it be the famous cubic oracle of ancient folklore described by various tripped out shamans of old? Either that, or a moose attracting salt block.
Oh great cube, imbue us with your salty nature and show us what you’ve seen!
Hiking on, we got a good glimpse, and shot of this big pointy antenna thingy that was sticking out from one of the neighboring mountains. We kept seeing this thing from camp too and named it the Soyuz, just because it looked like some Russian rocket ready to blast off into space.
Soyuz to the Moon!
Finally we reached the southern edge of our trail and got treated to the most spectacular views of the Sognefjord!
Sognefjord, view towards the west
Gone fishing
Later that day, we went back down to the fjord. Daniel was ready to try out his fishing prowess once more. There were many attempts and I believe at least one more hook was lost. The end result was a bunch of tangled fishing line and a half-decent clump of oozing seaweed.
Catch of the day, 100% vegan friendly
While he was busy figuring out his tangled wires, I decided to take a dip in the fjord. I mean, one should not simply travel all the way to the fjords without testing the waters. In conclusion, the waters were cold. But not too cold. Like it was ok to take a dip and wash off, but anything more then that was just brrr.
“Brrr-o-meter” was not great, not terrible
After we had our fun in the fjord, we hiked around the edge of town some more, checking out some nice looking rock outcrops. Hey, we’re geologist. We’ll sometimes randomly do that kind of stuff. Funky folding rock textures
The day was almost over now and it was time to say farewell to Sogndal, to our spider friends, to the random backpacker dude we never talked to, to the Soyuz and everyone else. I’m always a bit sad when I’m more than half way through my trip, because I realize the adventure is soon coming to an end.
We left our runic mark in the sands of Sogndal. I don’t remember what we wrote, so I’ll just assume it was something nice like love and hugs… Ah, who am I kidding, it was definitely something obscene!
We had about 3 days left of our holiday and the current plan was to start heading back east the next day. We would stop for a day somewhere in the mountainous regions of Lærdal to check out a historic stave church and hopefully do some more hiking. Then we’d go back to Fagernes and spend the rest of our time there. However, don’t forget… plans change…
In my previous post on hiking in north-Transylvania I left off at the village of Firiza, located north of Baia Mare city. Firiza is a typical quiet, rustic north-Transylvanian village nested in the Firiza valley. The crossroads at the north-end of the village marks the end of the bus line. The east-bound road crosses the Black Valley (Valea Neagră), leading to a regionally well-known skiing resort, Staţiunea Izvoare. The north-bound road leads to the village of Blidari and theoretically goes much further to a very large and beautiful mountain plateau called Platou Runcu. However, I say theoretically because last I checked the road was so insanely bad that no normal car should attempt that and expect to make it out in one piece.
Luckily one doesn’t need to go all the way to Runcu for a wonderful hiking experience. At the northern edge of Blidari you can see a large rocky cliff from the road and you may think to yourself “Wow, that place must offer some great scenic views”, and you would be absolutely right! The exposed cliff is called Piatra Bulzului, which translates as the Bulz’s Stone and is a great medium difficulty day-hike from Blidari.
Piatra Bulzului, seen from the road in the Blidari valley, 2014
Piatra Bulzului
The hike to the cliff begins from the main road down in the Blidari valley. Just as you’re coming out of the village, there is an easy-to-miss sign pointing towards the forest. Turns out there’s actually a trail amid the thick bush and trees.
Hmm, now where could that sign be?
The first half an hour, or so you will follow a gentle slope up the mountain. Sporadic crooked wooden fences mark private property along the trail so make sure not to cross those. During the autumn season, the leaf-covered soil gives way to several types of mushrooms. Some edible and some not so much. Make sure to pack a book on identifying local mushrooms if you’re considering picking some!
Common puffball (edible mushroom) on the hiking trail to Piatra Bulzului
Wildlife
The second part of the journey takes you through the colorful beech and birch tree forest where you start getting glimpses of the surrounding mountains and hills. During this stretch, some of the slopes can be fairly inclined. You will also be fairly far away from any houses and human activity by this point, so there is a higher chance of encountering wildlife.
I’ve briefly discussed the dangers of wild boars while hiking in north-Transylvania. However, the Blidari region presents a new potential danger, namely Romania’s brown bear. Unfortunately, bear encounters have become more common over the last decades as human settlements continue to encroach on the bear’s habitat. Bears will generally try to avoid humans, so when hiking in bear territory it’s best to make noise and let your presence be known. I would also recommend packing a can of bear spray, just to be on the safe side.
Hiking up the trail
Reaching the top
The final stretch of the journey is marked by the increasing number of rock outcrops peeking out from under the blanket of leaves. As you get closer to the top, the outcrops grow in size and number. You will notice that all of the rocks here are mostly black, with some minor surface weathering. These rocks are basalts that formed during the Neogene volcanism, between 12 and 7 million years ago.
Rock outcrops near the top of the mountain
Before climbing the last narrow stretch up to the top, you can try to look for the hidden grot on the north-side of the cliff. Mind you, it’s not easy to find. When you’re ready, go on ahead and make the final climb along the large rocky outcrop. As you go up, the forest opens up to reveal a breathtaking view. Congratulations, you’ve reached the top of Piatra Bulzului!
South-facing view from Piatra Bulzului, autumn 2014
In the final part of my north-Transylvania series, I will take you on a steam-train ride along the Vișeu valley!
Traditional wooden shacks in Maramureș county, Romania
In my previous post, I talked briefly about “The Park” in Baia Mare city and how it’s a gateway to easily accessible hiking trails. I mentioned that the path northeast, takes you to Roman valley (Valea Romană), which was one of my favorite regions to hike. This will be the focus of today’s post.
The Roman valley
Located about 7 km north of Baia Mare, the Roman valley stretches around 2 km, from east to west along a small river. The valley is flanked by forest covered hills and short-mountains (up to 850 m high). The river flows from the mountains eastwards eventually reaching Lake Firiza. Several hiking paths cross the valley, but the most common one follows the river direction. The main path is fairly wide and can also be crossed by bicycle, motorcycle or ATV. The landscape itself is beautiful and offers a great retreat from urban life, while being relatively close to the city.
Hiking in the Roman valley during February (2013)
Main path during summer, 2015
Mount Igniș (1307 m), viewed from the Roman valley (2014)
Mushroom season
Numerous pastures and fern-covered meadows dot the region and offer the opportune environment for one of the most sought-after edible mushrooms in Europe: the parasol mushroom. The parasol, also known as Macrolepiota procera, is one of the most easily identifiable edible mushrooms. Its cream-colored and brown dotted “scale-like” cap set it apart from other mushrooms species in the region. I am by no means an expert on mushrooms, but I find that the parasol is definitely one of the easiest ones to identify. It’s fairly common throughout European countries and it’s delicious!
Young parasol mushroom in the Roman valley (2014)
The parasol season starts around late-spring, during May and ends in October. Personally, I found that they spring up more during spring and autumn, and less so during the summer. This might be due to the more abundant rain during these periods. This is also the time that you are more likely to see other people walking on the paths, as locals often go mushroom-picking during the high season. You can read more here about how to identify the parasol, as well as some cooking tips!
How to get there
You have two options to get to the Roman valley from Baia Mare city. You can take a car up the 183 county road going northeast from the city. When you reach Lake Firiza, you will want to drive another 2 km (~3 minutes) from the Adventure Lake Resort, until you reach the big bend in the road, with a forest road heading west. There will be a barrier on the road, so you’ll have to leave the car there – don’t worry, there is enough space and everybody does this! Alternatively, you can take a public bus from Baia Mare, to Firiza and get off at the Firiza Lake stop. You’ll have to walk a bit to get to the forest road, so make sure you have a map, or someone with you that knows the area!
Forest road from Roman valley ending in the 183 county road (2013)
A more exciting options to reach the Roman valley, is to hike 6-7 km all the way from the Queen Mary Municipal Park in Baia Mare. You can do this by following Petőfi Sándor street along the park and continuing north up Usturoiul valley. At one point the road turns left just after the last power lines end at a private cabin. At this point you don’t want to continue on the road, as it leads to the village of Ulmoasa. You should instead go straight, following the tight valley going north. You can add to the adventure by having a compass with you to help keep you north-bound! This is kind of an off-the path hike, so don’t worry if it seems like you’re going nowhere. As long as you keep north, you will end up in the Roman valley.
I personally preferred hiking from the city, then following the valley east on the forest road. To get back, I would just take the bus from Lake Firiza to Baia Mare. If you want to extend your trip, you can also take the bus up north to Firiza and spend a night at a cabin. I will talk more about this region in my next post!
Curious dragonfly while hiking in the Roman valley (2015)
Looking back to my journey thus far in life, I can firmly say I have no regret leaving Romania. However, as with most places we leave behind, there are always going to be things we miss. For me, it’s hiking the beautiful regions of north-Transylvania. Specifically, Maramureș county, where I grew up.
Queen Mary Municipal Park, Baia Mare
One of my favorite places in my hometown, Baia Mare, was the Queen Mary Municipal Park situated at the northern tip of the town. I doubt most residents even know the name of the park, I sure didn’t, as we used to just refer to it as “The Park”.
This park itself features a small roman-catholic church by the main entrance, a kids playground and a little train looping inside the park for children to ride on. Additionaly, there is a private tennis-court, a small pond that has been rehabilitated a few years ago and is now full of exotic fish, as well as many walkways and a designated running lane. You can also find a couple of sculptures and statues of famous Romanian poets within the park, like Mihai Eminescu and George Coșbuc. Last, but not least, you can find three restaurants within the park’s confines: OAZIS Philia just by the main entrance, Bastion near the west-entrance and Athos at the heart of the park. Personally, I’ve only ever tried out Athos and the meal was excellent and well-priced. Oh, and they also have some really good ice-cream!
View of Baia Mare city from the west, 2019The little train in Queen Mary Municipal Park, Baia Mare, 2019
My true love for this park, however, comes from how its northern edge seamlessly transitions into the wild forests north of Baia Mare city. There is no fence, no marking, it just simply leads up a hill and then seems to go on forever – a park? or a gateway to freedom and adventure? – You be the judge!
Into the wilds
Following the main trail from the park up the hills you will soon reach a crossroads. To the left you may walk for a short while in the forest before you hit a bunch of residential houses. To the right the trail continues for a good 2-3 km before it end in the valley, at the old Usturoiul Cabin, which unfortunately burned down recently. A third option is to climb straight up the 450m hill atop which sits The Virgin Stone (Piatra Virgină), every local armature climbers go-to place. The hike up to the top can get quite steep at times, but the city-view from up there is completely worthwhile.
Autumn colors in north-Transylvania
I have ventured up the old hill many times in my youth. When I began exploring the wilds of north-Transylvania on my own, I continued on from The Virgin Stone on the path that leads north, up and down the leaf-blanketed hills, surrounded by oak trees and chirping birds. This northern trail goes parallel to the “Usturoiul” valley to the east and the “Valea Roșie” valley to the west. The crisscrossing path eventually leads to either the village of Ulmoasa to the northwest, or the Roman valley (Valea Romană) to the northeast.
Ulmoasa can also be reached via the “Usturoiul” valley on foot, or by bike. No matter which path you take, you will have a wonderful and wild experience. Keep an eye out for wildlife like deer and boars!
Animal-related dangers
You should be cautious of wild boars in the region, especially during spring when they are with young. Wild boars shouldn’t attack unless they feel that they, or their offspring’s are under threat. Personally, I’ve never had any problems with them in all my journeys and even spotted a herd of them once in this region. It is prudent, however, to have a response plan in case you end up in a nasty encounter with boars. You can read more about prevention and behavior during encounters with wild boar here.
One more thing to keep in mind whenever you hike the wilds of north-Transylvania is that meadows are often frequented by sheep herds. That means packs of guard dogs, and the shepherds are not always around, or paying attention. My advice is to keep your distance if you hear the little sheep-bells in the distance. It is best to avoid any unnecessary encounters with the dogs guarding them. Otherwise, pack your water bottle and follow me as we continue our journey through north-Transylvania in the next post!
