Scorota

My return to the mountains has come.  Remembering late last winter, there had been a three week period away from the mountain and I was itching to get back up for a hike in Parang.  Last Friday it had already been almost two months since my last mountain excursion.  It had to happen and it seemed to be my last chance before the cold moves in.  So I made my return Petrosani but not really.  I was in Petrosani to drop my bags off and sleep.  The rest of the time I spent like many of the weekends I spent when I lived in Petrosani, outside of Petrosani.  Excited to here about the weekend's activities, I committed to making the trip on Friday afternoon when the plan was to hike to cabana Buta.  I had only been there once and though I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed one year before to do the hike there were no regrets.  It was a great hike and it ended in a delicious meal made primarily of wild mushrooms.  Knowing what kind of scenery was in store I psyched myself up for the hike, but we never made it to Buta.

On one hour of dirty train sleep the night before, I found myself yet again struggling to fully doze off on public transportation next to my hiking buddies and a group of young mountain enthusiasts heading uphill.  We exited the minibus but only for a minute as we discovered that on demand of the large group of student customers it was heading even further up Basescu's road.  Suddenly plans changed from Buta to Scorota, from familiar and exciting to unfamiliar and even more exciting.  What is more exciting, adrenaline-pumping, fearful, extreme, than the unknown?  To me it was unknown; to my hiking buddies it was a bit more familiar.  I was in good hands. 

We quickly left the group, so we thought.  Thirty minutes of hiking and we were out of woods with cliffs rising up on our left.  Thinking it was a good time for a first break we allowed the students to catch up to us and we ended up even with them until the early snack break at Stana Scorota.  It was there that we split, my group to the right and straight up the wall while the students took their time snacking.  By the time we reached the top of the first climb (not even close to our highest altitude) the group of students was still packed together at the table outside of the stana.  They looked smaller than a group of ants crowded around a small piece of lollipop.  We continued on, finding bright fall colors surrounded in evergreen, endangered wild-flowers (edelweiss), more climbing, and more students.  A large group of students were coming down as we were heading up.  They were students from the same Petrosani high school as the students we met on the way up.  Imagine having monthly mountain trips in a high school club.  Do these kids have a clue how lucky they are?  Does anybody?

Eventually we reached the highest point of the day at Varful Puiule but not until we saw an amazing view of the Retezat high peaks.  The descent consisted first of beautiful views of a lake in the distance, vibrant clouds, and steep rocks rising on our right.  Unfortunately the trail was poorly marked and there was a section where the attentiveness of three hikers was necessary to keep it, until it was lost.  After it was lost we bushwhacked down a steep, fairly dangerous slope through the woods to some water and eventually a forestry road.  The bushwhack descent at the end of the hike sucked.  Mental note... don't expect people to "leave no trace" if you can't manage to mark a trail.  The wonders of the hike as a whole farley outweighed that last miserable hour.

The combination of a sleepless night followed by a 10 hour hike led to a great nights sleep only to lead into yet another amazing day of hiking in the Parang Mountains. 

Festival Balkanik

From what people have told me, living in Bucharest has its positives and its negatives.  They told me that it would seem really crowded, and it does.  They told me that it would be harder to get to know people, and it is.  They told me that it’s much hotter in the summer time, and so it is.  They also told me that there are fun things to do, and I found that one out this past weekend.  As a PCV in a new and strange place I try to keep my eye out for any possible sign that could lead to something positive.  One of those signs in my first week here happened to be advertising a Balkan music festival.

Ever since hearing Shatel in Zeynep’s car during my first trip to Turkey I’ve been a fan of the style.  Since then I have gotten into a couple other bands including the Hungarian band Ternipe.  When I saw them on the band list for Saturday I had to tell Courtney who is also a big fan.  From then on there was no question of whether we would go or not, just when we would get there.

The festival opened at two and the music began at six.  Various cultural elements were promoted on the festivals website so we decided that arriving at two and getting the full feel of the atmosphere before the music started would be the best idea.  Ternipe’s day on stage happened to be the same day of “Let's do it Romania” another activity that was a must do for the 24^th of September.  The plan was to get to the clean-up activity in the morning and finish it with enough time to make it to the festival by 2.  Of course rarely do things ever go exactly as planned.  Dragging ourselves out of the house late in the morning and the unexpectedly long transportation process left us with a re-worked plan to get picked up at the cleaning at 2.  This meant that we (Aran and I) wouldn’t end up getting back to the house to get ready for the show until 4.  Yes, I guess it takes that long to get into the center of Bucharest by two buses and walking.  Aran and I ended up arriving at the festival to meet Courtney, Dave, and Veronica with minimal time to check out the venders before the music started.  I did finally find out how much one of those awesome Roma skirts cost, 400 lei, yikes. 

Festival Highlights:

Ternipe with their quick footed dancing man, charismatic style, and background: “hop hop” “diggi do diggi diggi do” throughout many of their songs. 

 

The long haired dancing man in the crowd that we swore was American by the 1960’s hippy style dance he was showing off but ended up being Romanian. 

Getting spotted by a TV camera while holding a cup in my mouth so I could take my own video of the performance. 

Mahala Rai Banda with their 14 band members packed on the stage, large horn section, and feet-moving music.  By that time the crowed had swelled to the perfect amount of people, packing the venue but you were still able to move around easily.  

Finding Nick there and hanging out with him and his gazda from Targoviste. 

Aran’s continuous come and go as he met a group of fun people up in the front of the crowd. 

Baba Zula the mysterious headliner of the festival wearing a beanie, aviators, and a cape while playing the saz.  This music probably could have put me into a hypnotic trans if  I was paying better attention to it.  

Gathering

Fungi

Suddenly I felt the soft forest floor of thick moss over large rocks. My concentration was broken by the change in the forest floor as the sound of the crunching of last seasons fallen leaves turned into the silent compacting of moss. Eyes lifted from their careful scanning the forest floor around my feet to to the distant rise in the landscape through the trees and past the bright green covered rocks. As the morning sun dotted the landscape in front of me I could not imagine a place that I would have rather been at that moment. Sure it was hard to pull myself out of bed that morning after a long night of Romanian pop music in the streets of Petrosani, but when I saw the morning sun rise high enough to cast a yellow light on my bedroom wall I realized that if I were to stay in bed that morning then I would regret the decision. I rose out of bed, started the coffee on the stove, and watched the news as I waited for Morison's call.

You know that it is going to be a good day when it starts off with a slow cruise up a winding road periodically catching the bright morning sun after rounding the bend. Loaded with potholes, it took us about 45 min to reach Groapa Seaca after passing through Jiet Canyon. On a cleaned up version of the road I would estimate the trip to last 15 minutes. Nobody was in a hurry. It was early yet and expectations for a big find were low. It was a hike, but if we managed to find what we went looking for, great. And so went the start of my first morning, wandering through the forest in search of edible fungi. On the previous hike I became somewhat oriented with mushrooms. We spotted several, and my guides quickly identified which were edible and which were toxic, giving me somewhat of an idea of what to look for. My first couple of finds I took over to Morison for verification and with each one he confirmed an edible find. I was collecting strictly on the principle that if something else had previously munched on it, it must not be toxic. The mushrooms that I picked up were second-hand mushrooms.

Wandering through the forest that morning my two guides were within site most of the time and within shouting distance all of the time. They had a much better eye for what they were looking for. For the most part I just picked out the more prevalent and easier to spot yellow caps while my partners spotted the more desired maroon capped mushrooms as well. At one point Morison found a mushroom that did not at all resemble the traditional shape of a mushroom. Instead it looked like a mini dirty-maroon forest of fungus growing in an opening in the forest. He handed me some to put in my bag but later that evening he called me warning that it was rather bitter, so I tossed it. There were times in my wandering when I was completely focused at the ground around my feet. My nearsightedness was a limitation in the forest as my sharp vision was limited to a mere 2-2.5 meters in front of me. There were other times in my wandering where my concentration had been broken and I simply moved my feet in awe of the environment surrounding me. It could not have been a nicer morning to be in the forest. The sun popped in where it could and I was wearing just enough layers to protect me from the bite of the cool early fall temperatures.

Before letting me off at my apartment just as the sun reached its peak position in the sky, Morison insisted on taking a look through my bag to make sure that what I took from the forest would not kill me if I ate it. He verified that all of the mushrooms that I picked where good and gave me some instructions for initial preparation. I was happy to have his confirmation but I was still leery about what was in my bag. Picking mushrooms can be a very dangerous activity but I went on with preparation anyway. I prepared a nice stew after boiling the mushrooms and adding them to a pot full of vegetables. After dishing out a tiny portion for myself I sat and stared at the plate for a minute. It looked good, it smelled good, but was it safe to eat? There was only one way to find out. I ate the tiny, delicious portion of mushroom stew and laid down for a nap. If I woke up feeling alright then I could finally consider my first mushroom hunt a success and I would dig in on a much larger serving. It ended well. Pofta buna!



Fruit

Just before Cabana Lunca Florii we spotted a Dacia kicking up dirt on its way up the road. How could we miss it? By that point we had made it up through the canyon to a stretch of road rarely used at that time in the season. Summer had ended and the cooler days of fall had descended upon the Jiu Valley. The cabana was already closed up for the season at the beginning of September and there were no longer signs of people grilling, a sight that would have packed the banks of the creak just 2 weeks earlier. Ernest flagged down the Dacia and I jumped in the back with our backpacks. The two of them chatted as we hurried up the dirt road in the old car. Less than 10 minutes later we reached our drop off point and as I climbed out of the backseat I heard Ernest say "am economisit o ora si jumate". Thanks to the Dacia we had saved an hour and a half of walking. We still had more to go. The short road took us to a spring where we filled up with fresh water and from there we took a hard left on a path leading straight up the hill.


It was my second time hiking in the Sureanu Mountains. We had hiked the exact same trail, almost exactly a year earlier, in search of the exact same thing, blackberries. It was a steep trail leading us into a dark forest and then out to the edge where we walked up a ridge. From the ridge I looked straight ahead and to the left to see a tree on the side of the hill. That tree was our destination. A year earlier we sat our bags down next to that tree and started wandering the area finding some delicious blackberries, not enough to gather but definitely enough to munch on until full. The tree is the only tree situated on that particular steep slope but it is surrounded by bushes that yield an incredible amount of fruit if you happen to be wandering by at the right time.

Once again we had not arrived at the right time. The previous year we were late, this year we were early. After enjoying some zacusca over bread we began to forage. I quickly learned the trick to finding a good berry. First of all it must be the right color. In the berry's development it starts out green, then changes to red, and finally to black. When spotting a good sized black one you hold it and start to pull. If it is ripe, you barely have to pull before it breaks off into your hand. If you have to give it a good tug in order to break it off, once you pop it in your mouth you quickly realize that you pulled too hard. In learning the right amount of pull to get a good tasting berry I had to spit out several. Trial and error.

This time we wandered further up the hill to the ridge were we found many berry bushes. I ate until I had had enough and then we continued on the trail. As we passed over the ridge we could see a sheepfold on an adjacent hill with some people near it collecting berries. Ernest told me that Priest's Valley, the area that we were in, has a high frequency of lightning strikes and therefore the sheepfold was vacant. A few years earlier several sheep had died there from a lightning strike. We decided to sit down there for a while and eat. We ate, we napped, and we chatted, preparing ourselves for the descent ahead of us.

Our walk back to Petrila was long. The descent was nice and easy bringing us through a dark forest and by a couple of old secluded sheepfolds. After reaching the road we walked all 10 kilometers back to Petrila which took a toll on my feet. We took a small detour on a road leading from the canyon to Leonia passing by small country houses with fruit-filled trees in their front yards. Even though we did not return home that day with a bag full of berries we filled our bellies. After such a long walk neither of us were ready to stand by the stove and cook up jam anyway. It was a good day of escape from the city.



Lessons learned:
First lesson is, if you have the chance, take it. This is a lesson that has proved to be helpful in integrating throughout my service. So many mornings I have woken up to an alarm with my body begging me to stay in. Soon after that early morning coffee I end up realizing that getting up and getting outside was by far the best option.
Second lesson is, if you want to do something, ask. I've been wanting to go mushroom hunting. During my last hiking trip I realized that there are a couple people I know that go mushroom hunting from time to time, so I asked if I could come along next time. They were happy to bring me along and show me how its done.
Third lesson is, have a guide. People in the area know the spots and in my experiences, they're happy to show them to you. Maybe it is because you're foreign, and your stay is temporary so they are a little more at ease with sharing their secret spots. Maybe they are just hospitable and they enjoy the company. Without someone who knows, you could be walking around in the forest "degeaba" and not find a thing. Also, when it comes to mushroom hunting, without a guide it can be much more dangerous and you could end up munching on something that you'll regret.
The forth lesson is to be inquisitive. Getting out in the forest and in the mountains with someone who knows what they are doing is a great chance to learn some things. Asking questions can help you to not only learn about your partner, but also learn a lot about the environment. Plus, you get to practice your Romanian.
The fifth and final lesson is don't rush. Take the time to enjoy and fully appreciate the day, the sunshine, the fresh air, and the unusual environment. I used to see how many high peaks I could pass by in a day and now I can't even remember the view from the top of Basin. Stay, rest, relax, and take it all in.

"Isn't it curious how in so many of our pastimes and hobbies we play at supplying one or another of our fundamental creaturely needs--for food, shelter, even clothing? So some people knit, others build things or chop wood, and a great many of us "work" at feeding ourselves--by gardening or hunting, fishing or foraging.....we like to think of ourselves as self-reliant, even if only for a few hours on the weekend, even when growing the stuff yourself winds up costing twice as much as it would to buy it at the store." Michael Pollan, The Omnivore's Dilemma.

A trip to the countryside.

When I decided to join the Peace Corps I had in mind what I think many applicants have in mind, rural life. I had that mental image of me having to leave my grass hut in sub-Saharan Africa to fetch water 3 km away. Two months into service I would finally learn the secret to getting it back on my head without spilling a drop. Well I did not get sent to Africa and I did not get sent to a rural site. After my first week in Targoviste I realized that those images of Peace Corps that I had had been squashed. The dream of living in the countryside was revived during my IST when I saw the site of a fellow volunteer in a comuna. When I found out that I was going to be sent to a city, a little part of me was bummed. I thought that I’d never get to experience those neat traditions that they have in the countryside, cutting the pig, making stacks of hay, making cheese, making tuica, raising animals, the list can go on and on. I expressed my concerns to my PCVL’s and they assured me that it is still possible to experience many of those things if you live in a city. Their advice was to ask, and to be persistent.

I have been at site for three months and I have been asking my landlord to take me with him to the countryside for 2 and a half of those months. Last weekend I finally had the chance to go with him. Luckily for me the plums had been setting, rotting since early September and it was time to make them into ţuica.

We went to a little village called Nucşoara at the foothills of the Retezat Mountains about 30 minutes from Petroşani by car. The first thing I noticed when we were inside the gate was the animals. My landlord’s parents have roosters, hens, chickens, pigs, dogs, cows, geese, horses, and cats. The roosters and hens walk around freely while most of the other animals are kept in their gated areas. Christi worked with a friend on building a railing. I just watched and ate pumpkin seeds that his mother gave me, shoving handfuls into my pockets. I would occasionally lend a hand when it was needed until Christi’s dad started splitting wood. I adopted the job of stacking the wood. At that point I realized that it had been a very long time since I had done some actual work. Stacking wood never felt so good. The gorgeous day and beautiful scenery helped.

After the porch railing was finished and we ate lunch, the caruţa was backed up to the opening of the shed. We started loading on the rotten plums. These plums had been sitting in barrels for 2 and a half months and we were passing them in small buckets, transferring them and all their juices into large barrels on the caruţa. I admit that all their juices didn’t make it to the barrels. My clothes soaked up quite a bit. After the caruţa was loaded the horses were brought out and hooked up. My first caruţa ride was about to begin. I sat on some of the many logs piled in the back as we made our way down the road. We didn’t have to travel too far when we arrived at a small shack inside a gate. This small shack was the ţuica shed. It had a large area where the fire was made and the wood was loaded. Above the fire was the container that the fruit went in which had a crank nearby so that the fruit could always be turned as it boiled. A long tube connected the main section to a large container of cold water. Finally at the bottom of the cold water container was an opening at which a pot was set to collect the ţuica.

It took a while to get the fire hot and the fruit boiling but once it began to spit out ţuica it didn’t stop. Once it starts to yield product the testing begins. As the taste started to get bad, less strong, it was time to wash out the container and put in another batch of fruit. This cycle repeated until all the fruit was gone and we came out with several liters of ţuica.

I had the great opportunity to catch a glimpse of a tradition that’s practiced every year in the Romanian countryside. I could have never pictured myself sitting in a shack making alcohol with mostly strangers in the countryside of Romania. I’m sure it was strange for them to see an American, maybe their first, hanging out in the shack with them, but everybody was welcoming to me despite the fact that I didn’t understand a lot of what they were saying. I hope that this was one of many traditional Romanian experiences that I am able write about.