I set out over unmapped country

---

21-6-2007 I set out over unmapped country

An hour or so later I reached my turning and bade my fellow passengers farewell. As the minibus sped off into the distance I stood for a few minutes gazing out over the Danube and towards a very magnificent and mysterious looking Serbia. Then I turned up the small road towards Sicheviţa. My journey on foot had begun.

All along the road were large mulberry trees casting great shadows stained an even deeper shade where their purple berries lay. I ate handfuls of the luscious fruit and arriving at a spring outside a church I helped myself liberally from this as well. It was a very fine breakfast. Just as I was coming to the end my mobile phone sprang into action. I was extremely surprised to discover that it was my friend and colleague Anca calling. “Are you alright?” She asked anxiously. I wondered what made her suspect that I wasn’t alright. “Just fine! I replied “In fact I’ve had a very good breakfast off mulberries and spring water.” “Oh dear, no!” replied Anca, “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to drink cold water and eat berries?” I assured here that English women have a special dispensation from this particular peril and wandered along trying to fathom why on earth this combination might be seen as a threat. On the other hand, I had laughed at the draught peril as I sat in the window seat at Simon’s party and still had a terrible sore throat. What might happen next?

The houses looked very different in this area. Many of them were entirely covered in ceramic tiles arranged in bold, colourful patterns. As I walked along I wished passersby a good day as is customary in country areas in Romania. Every one of them stopped and asked where I was going. When I explained I was on my way to Şopotu Nou they waved me on to Sicheviţa with instructions to obtain better directions once I got there. In Sicheviţa I was hailed by an old man leaning out of a window and asked the same question. He started to explain I should turn to the right and take the bridge that I would then find shortly afterwards. In mid-explanation he suddenly turned and called for someone inside the house. A young girl emerged. “This is my granddaughter Evuţa, ”he told me, “she will show you the way.” I was extremely grateful and very surprised.

Evuţa turned out to be a very nice young woman about to be married to a Romanian working abroad in Italy. It seemed that she in no way resented being suddenly plucked away from whatever she had been doing up to then. We set off heading up the village’s rough stony road and fairly shortly afterwards turned right into fields. We hadn’t gone very far when we greeted by two women sitting by the side of a field in the shade of a tree. It was the usual question but once I had explained they announced “that’s all very well, but have you eaten yet?” Indeed I hadn’t and despite my fine, if perilous breakfast, I was beginning to feel hungry. “Join us for lunch” they commanded. Of course, being English and also being conscious that Evuţa had been taken away from whatever she expected to be doing that morning, I said, thank you, but we couldn’t possibly. No, however, was not an acceptable answer and we were entreated so sincerely that in the end, with Evuţa’s permission, we both joined them around their table cloth at the side of the field. It was a characteristic and delightful lunch of cheese, tomatoes, peppers and bread.

As usual, the exchange of information was much enjoyed. The two ladies kept punctuating their conversation with the statement “Of course we’re Baptists” and were obviously very proud of the fact. Once the picnic had been packed away we all bade one another a fond farewell and Evuţa and I continued on. The afternoon was oppressively hot and I was very tired after a night without sleep. Half an hour later I finally gave in to all of this and told Evuţa that for the moment I didn’t have the strength to carry on. Would she please explain to me the next section of the path? She could then return home and I would take a short nap in a nearby wood.

When I eventually got up the afternoon was a little cooler. I carried on but after about half an hour or so reached a point where the paths went in three directions. Two of the paths took off around the perimeter or a small farmstead. I enquired as to the way from the farm lady and set off. Fairly shortly I came across another farm and was pursued by two large dogs. I hurried back to my friend at the farm and explained what had happened. “Oh dear” she said, “you made a little mistake with the path but in any case you know you really should have a stick. Take this one.” She handed me a beautiful straight light staff and I felt like some ancient hero accepting a weapon of power from an enchantress. Encouraged once again, I set off taking a slightly different direction. This time I seemed to have hit upon the correct way and this was confirmed when I came across the poles carrying the power lines over the top of the valley that my farmer friend had described.

A forest road struck out confidently from this point but seemed to be taking me in the opposite direction to the one I wanted. I took a smaller path leading down into the next valley and eventually reached a group of houses at the end of a long rough track. By this time it as around 5 in the evening and I was beginning to cast around for somewhere to pitch my tent. I saw an old lady sitting with a few goats in a field. I explained to her that I had been hoping to get to Şopotu Nou but now was just looking for somewhere to pitch my tent. “Oh no” she assured me “you can’t stay here! You must go on!” I found this reply discouraging to say the least but plodded on. From this point on I passed through a series of small villages, Cîrşa Roşie, Valea Roşie etc. By now it was beginning to get dark. I spotted a young family in their family yard. Outside the fence was a promising patch of green grass. “Could I pitch my tent here?” I asked. “Oh, no, surely you’d prefer to stay with us in the house!” Came the reply. I was very pleased to accept the offer, and was made very welcome. “We’ll have supper together soon” announced the husband “but first you must see our agriculture.” I spent an enjoyable half hour being introduced to the various farm animals and watching the cows being milked.

After supper, featuring the usual large quantity of local spirits, I was taken to my room. They made a great fuss about installing a light bulb in the room but in the end the light switch didn’t work anyway so my trusty torch did duty as usual.

I slept quite late the following morning and woke to find them preparing breakfast. On the table in the kitchen the Mum had rolled out a large flat piece of pastry which much to my surprise she proceeded to cut up into tiny little sticks each about the length of two fingernails. Immediately before serving these were thrown into a soup bubbling on the hob. The result was very good and very sustaining. I was told that these pieces of pastry were called tăieţei – literally, cut up bits. They function as a kind of homemade pasta.

After breakfast I bade my hosts a fond farewell and set out again on a wonderfully sunny morning towards Şopotu Nou. Running parallel with the rough road I was following was a stream and between the road and the stream were a series of meadow where the hay was being cut and gathered in. There wasn’t a tractor in sight. In some meadows people were using long handled scythes to cut the grass, whilst elsewhere others raked mown, dried grass into piles which was ultimately heaped into small haystacks. I stopped and chatted with some of these folk.

---