Day 10 -12

I am sitting in the Newark airport waiting for my flight to Burlington which does not leave for two hours. I am so sick of lugging around my backpack, and what is so kindly referred to by the group as my “Mary Poppins” bag.  This bag has a reputation because you never know what is popping out of it from pillows to passports, money, tickets, Kindle, phone, glasses etc. Now I wish I had an umbrella to fly me to Stowe.

There was no time to write the last couple of days as we would pull into the hotel around 7 pm and rush to dinner. By the time we were through I was too exhausted to go through pictures and write.

How to describe this trip and get across the romance of Romania. Before I went, I did not know if Romania would be bordering on a poor country, still struggling from the aftermath of communism or if it has been able to bring the country into modern times. What is so wonderful about Romania is the rural areas. The people have maintained the old traditional ways and blended some technology to their world. It amazes me that we can’t get cell service in Vermont in many places and yet in Romania even the poorest villages down in the valleys have service.

The landscape is varied driving from open land to high mountain tops. Curve after curve as the road winds up the mountain, brings spectacular views of the valleys below. The leaves are changing on the trees which provide a backdrop of shimmering gold meadows against the multitude of sheep. The shepherds and their dogs are always willing to share a story, allow us to take their pictures and talk to us about their job. Sheep roam the countryside while the dogs keep them reined in and protected. It was always a question when we stepped into the meadows if the dogs would attack. Our Romanian guide kept a whip handy in case, but if the shepherd was nearby, he had complete control of the dogs and if we stayed together there was not a threat.

The farmers with their ox and carts would stop and talk with us while hauling wood or other products. They would allow us to take pictures of their cows getting milked or of them cutting their fields with a sickle. The goats loved to come and be petted and nibble on our shiny jewelry. The churches, seemed to grow in the countryside like meadow mushrooms, doting the picture-perfect landscape. There was not a turn in the road to disappoint us photographers.

Now I have my answer to the question of “Why Romania?” It is a place that makes you believe there are people who care for our planet, who respect their environment and are trusting enough to let a group of photographers into their homes to share their way of life.

Day 9

Castles, castles and more castles. Well, not completely. First, we struggle out into the dawn and drive through winding roads to a village, who knows where, to unload and start to walk down the road waiting for the sun to rise over the mountain. As it does, there is a certain glow which illuminates the changing trees to a shimmering gold, dusts the backs of the cows in the pasture, and encircles the haystacks. It is such a thrill to be in this rural environment as the day begins. The farmer prods his cows along a pathway between pastures, the sheep are grazing contently along the fence line and three people are sitting in the pasture milking their cows. We are lucky to be able to be the only ones on the road taking in this magnificent scene.

I am impressed by the way of life in the rural areas which have kept many of the old traditional ways. In the small villages there are no barns with milking machines, the bread ovens are all wood fired, and the blacksmiths are still shoeing horses in the traditional ways. Yes, there are cell phones, and cars, but one still sees many horses and carts transporting wood, corn, hay, people, milk, and everything that needs to be hauled. No fancy trucks with huge tires, very few large equipment to tend the fields. The shepherd is still tending his flock moving them from place to place. There are still people who live in summer huts to tend to their herds in the mountains. It has been an honor to photograph these people.

The rest of the day was spent touring the different castles in the area. It is amazing how intermarried all the different royalties were from one generation, possibly skipping a generation. I wonder exactly how they were able to produce children that were normal. The castles were as expected with lots of carved woodwork, weaponry rooms, greeting rooms, large dining rooms and lots of dark wood walls. Secret doors lead to different parts of the castle, they said they were in case of raids, but I think lovers must have slipped in and out of these different areas.

The Braun castle and town was a huge tourist area, one could hardly move on the streets and the cues were long getting into the castle. Dracula t-shirts, and “stuff” was everywhere. I was very turned off by the rows of tourist pavilions selling “authentic Romanian crafts” made in China. Had the castle not been interesting, this would have been a huge disappointment. It made me glad to be on our small photography tour in a small van.

We are nearing the end of the trip. It has been a great experience. We are headed back to Cluj in two days.

Day 8

How long has it been since I was in a hot tub? Last night we had to experience the “exclusively ours” hot tub in our room. Why?  Because it was there. Shap pushed every button to get it going, then we both sat down in the redwood cocoon, only to have the water overflow onto the floor. In most circumstances this is not a problem, but the hot tub was on the second floor. Trying to jump out to get towels was another feat as the tub was very deep. I should not have used the word jump, it was more awkward than a jump. Picture one of those cartoons with an old lady stepping with one foot out of the tub and the other hung up on the rim of the tub. The water did not go all the way to the first floor where the bed was, so we did not have to sleep in wet sheets. I think our hot tub days may be numbered.

Off to the baker who brings the loafs of bread out of the oven blackened with the fire. After cooling they beat the charcoal off the bread and then take a belt sander to it, to get the rest of it off. So, the next time you have burned toast, beat it up, then sand it off and everything will be fine. The bread was great with no burned taste.

Into another fortified church in the center of town where we climbed up to the top of the church. The beginning steps were stone, irregular and steep. The passageway was dark and narrow. Going up was not the issue but the thought of free falling down the stone steps was a bit daunting. Then came the ladders which were at only a slight angle, and with a stair tread for a two-year-old. Up and up and up, the ladders went from one platform to another. Open staircases, one misstep and down the tower you would go. As usual, I asked myself “What am I doing here?”

The top of the tower had a roof on it and was about 5.5 feet tall with head whacking beams. The view was worth the climb and the trip down was not as frightening as I had thought. Off to the blacksmith. While everyone crowded in to take pictures of the blacksmith, I spotted wool slippers that his wife had made. Of course what else would a fiber artist do, I made a beeline to her. We discussed the process through sign language, talking about soaping the wool, rubbing it and how long this took. They were very fun and cozy. Shap and I are sporting wool slippers made by a Romanian gypsy.

I thought we were finished with our life cycle, but I can now add an engagement. We were photographing the castle that was featured in the Dracula movie. The sun was setting on it, we were in a park getting our pictures when I happened to notice a couple sitting on the grass. I thought they were having a photo shoot because there were photographers taking their picture. In the middle of shoot, the man pulled out a box with a ring and asked her to marry him. She did not hesitate for a minute. I was able to get shots after the fact.

It was a beautiful day knowing that love still exists in the world. There is hope for humanity in the everyday things we witness.

Day 6/7

Who would have thought you needed a passport to go through a security gate to get into a violin factory? Not only did we have to convince the matron at the gate we were all American and Canadian citizens, but we were under strict instructions to only photograph when told. We all tip toed into the factory imagining that every shot we took might end us up in jail. The reality is, there was only one area we could not take pictures and none of us could figure out what was secret about it.

Who would think making violins would be an exciting photography session, but it was if you were into photographing shapes. The people were friendly, showing us their expertise whether it was sanding, gluing, bending, or finishing… there was a sense of pride in the work. We got serenaded on one of the brand-new violins. Even Barbie has made it to Romania, there was a bright pink violin and guitar just sitting there, ready to be shipped somewhere.

Back in the van, the drive was long. We were promised mist in the morning around the large church that dominated the town we stayed in. Anxious to get the perfect mist picture, we were sorely disappointed to find there was none this morning. After waking up for the dawn patrol, stumbling in and out of the van, to be dumped at the bottom of a steep hill and walking up at top speed, so we did not miss the sunrise, it was all for nothing. The sun took its sweet time rising and then hung around just on the crest of the mountain, not moving and not illuminating the church. Again, the mist has alluded us.

Off to visit the gypsies who make copper. The houses they live in are huge, and I mean huge, but the inside is not necessarily finished. No central heat, and only a dining table with chairs to sit on. It looked VERY uncomfortable. They made copper kitchen pots, had four generations working in the trade. The women are married by 16 and all the marriages are arranged. I brought with me a small pocket size printer where you can print pictures from your cell phone. Everyone loved them and wanted a picture of themselves or with each other. I think it is a fun thing to bring on a trip. It is an ice breaker.

Our leader is so amazing at setting up scenes for us to photograph. He just picks up chairs, has people sit in them, rearranges them, closes windows, open windows, stages them in barns, so the light is just right. We told him, had he gone down to the funeral, he would have asked to corpse to sit up, move to the left or the right. It is fun to watch him, and with his instruction we hope our pictures are successful.

We crossed into Transylvania yesterday, had lunch today at the birthplace of Dracula. Or so they say. We left after a walk around and came to a charming village for the night. Our room has an upstairs with a hot tub, sauna, and cedar cold tub. After settling in for 15 minutes, we took off on a cart pulled by two horses to go up in the mountains to photograph cows, sheep, and goats. The goats were my favorite but there was a tiny lamb that was 2 hours old, he was adorable. He kept trying to walk on his shaky legs. Meanwhile the goats jumped over the fence, ran around, jumped back in and had a merry time acting like just what they were, kids at play.

Day 5

A christening, a wedding, and today a funeral, we have managed to complete a life cycle in Romaina. Driving up the mountain on a curvy road I looked out to see a funeral taking place in the valley below. The wagon was decorated with flowers, people were gathered around, and the horse was waiting nearby, ready to be hitched up.

Jeremy, our instructor, wanted to go down the hillside and join the funeral but our Romanian guide, Daniel, convinced him otherwise. We were all relieved as none of us wanted to intrude. Daniel felt it might be different if it was taking place on a city street. With my telephoto lens I could make out the scene. The priest entered the house, and we could hear music, then out he came ahead of the open coffin. The deceased did have a blanket tucked under his arms with his hands resting together. Everyone stood around in the courtyard while the priest did his thing. There was a gaggle of older ladies standing together and I wished so much that I had a longer lens. I would have loved to get that shot. His head was bare, and I kept thinking someone should put a hat on him so he would not be cold. How ridiculous was that.

A wooden cross was at the head of the coffin with the family name and the date of 1938 when he was born. The priest again said some blessings while two men blew the trambita, a long wind horn used by shepherds to call their flock, very similar to the Alphen horn. The sound was deep and strong echoing throughout the valley. A fitting backdrop to the scene.

We continued our journey, stopping to watch a blacksmith shoe a horse, then on to two churches, one Orthodox and one Catholic. The Catholic ones had grumpy nuns who were quite stern about picture taking. You will enjoy the sign below.

All the paintings look the same throughout the area we have been in. I am told that when you go to theological school, you can choose to become a priest or a painter. You are taught to do the paintings according to tradition. The paintings are put on the side of the churches to teach people about Christianity. The second church is famous for these paintings done in the 1400’s and are still here today.

Tomorrow a long drive…

Day 4

It had to happen, the dawn patrol call. This wasn’t so bad as dawn came after 7:30. The first night of frost and a 30-degree morning temperature. Oh, where are my mittens? In the drawer at home. Many layers later, zipped up like a two-year-old in a snowsuit, we climb into the van to head to…Yes, another church. Looking for mist in the valley and a church on the hill was the goal and our fearless Romania leader, Daniel, found just the right spot.

Frost on the ground, rising fog in the valley and a slowly illuminating light on the church spire made for the perfect picture. Walking down the road with cow bells clanging, we encounter three farmers and their herd. This time the communication was in Spanish, and I cannot tell you why. I tried German with no luck. After a visitation from three dogs, and a roundup of the cows, we were off.

The holy grail is finding a horse, wagon, and someone driving it. Magically one appeared just as we were about to leave. This is after three days of racing ahead with the van, scampering out onto the road, camera in the ready, only to have them turn and go a different direction.

Back in the van we left to head for Vama, a promised three-hour drive on winding roads. Along the way we stopped at an outdoor flea market, to wander amongst the clothes, mounds of cheese, vegetables, and horses. A table of cow bells presented three men with a hard decision of which bell to buy. Who knew there were so many choices. After lots of consultation and a thumbs up from me, they bought two with two different tones.

We drove amongst Austrian style ski homes on the edge of ski slopes, through pine forests, with a bit of changing color (not even close to Vermont color), along flowing rivers… and wait, a horse and wagon. Everyone jumps out of the van, starts to click away while the horse speeds up and most of us photograph the ass end of the horse. Not to be discouraged we start to walk after him, then we drive after him, and finally find him on a hillside with the horse unhitched.

Imagine twelve people standing around taking pictures of this man loading his cart with hay. For one hour we stood taking pictures, then collecting walnuts, then taking more pictures, then taking time-lapse pictures until he was finally finished. Now we were ready for the horse to be hitched and have our picture-perfect postcard of farmer, horse, cart, and hay slowing progressing down the hillside. No go… the farmer poses with his cart of hay, we plead for him to hitch up the horse, and he refuses. We finally give up, walk down the hill only to see him head for the bushes, a sure sign that he had other business to attend to.

The day ended with no more carts, well one full of manure, and a visit to see a woman decorating Romanian eggs.

Day 3

Rain today brought a challenge for photographing, but you never know what opportunity arises. We were off to the find the steam engine which had been used for transporting wood, cut from the forest above, but now offered rides to tourists.

The suggestion was made to stand in the middle of the train tracks because? Well, you know, steam engine trains do not go that fast. I safely stood on the side. A couple of blasts, several hisses of steam and the old lady puffed her way out of the starting gate. We then became train chasers as opposed to storm chasers. Whipping at record speed around curves we arrived at the promised bridge to get another shot as the train chugged by.

I imaged a normal bridge that arches over the train tracks, the train gracefully making its way under the bridge and me getting the ultimate shot.

In my dreams! Instead, we jump out of the van looked up and to our amazement it is a swinging bridge 20 feet over a raging river and the train tracks are on the other side. Be warned, when crossing a swinging bridge, one should always be first because the last ones, like me, enjoy exactly what it is- a swinging bridge. Not just swinging, but bouncing up and down and concentrating on trying to place one’s feet anywhere but where the missing boards are. After such antics we clamber up the side of the wet banks to watch the tail end of the train go by.

Our next adventure was a curvy road for miles on end, with a contest to see who would throw up first. Luckily, I do not get car sick, just seasick, but one other did. We were off to see the Merry cemetery, the recently renovated church, and an unusual cemetery. The rain began with a vengeance. While seeking shelter in the church we had an opportunity to photograph a baptism with the baby and her six godparents. The mother is in the background and cannot hold the baby, nor can the father. Baby preformed beautifully, sleeping through the whole experience. The freshly painted icons in the church and the other painted stories added color, charm and vibrance to the ceremony.

Outside the church is surrounded by brightly painted grave markers depicting a wood carved representation of the person and what they did for a living, or in their life. If they were a drunkard, the carved picture and the story below would tell the world about you. What fun, for those who could speak Romanian. A great way to keep the history.

Finally, the rain stopped, the sun came out as we entered another small village. We began a conversation with a local man who allowed us to take his picture, but first he wanted a picture with a woman. He chose his prey, and leaned in to give her a kiss, we thought on the cheek. He had other ideas and did a full kiss on her lips, not just to one lady but two. Neither of which were particularly happy

Day 1/Day 2- Clug

 “Your bag is in the airport” announces my air tag and I breathe a sigh of relief. After last years’ experience with Air Canada, where my luggage joined the pile of homeless suitcases, I did not expect much. I often wonder if my suitcase is in a deep depression wondering why I abandoned it, or perhaps it has found a nice person to adopt it. I must confess I do like my new carry -on so much better as it has four wheels and takes off at a moment’s notice. No more temper tantrums from the old two-wheel suitcase that would refuse to move if it stubbed its wheel somewhere. Meanwhile, a fellow traveler on our plane arrived at the baggage carousel only to find one side blown out and the lining barely holding the clothes together. Certainly, it was bullied by all the other suitcases jumping up and down on it.

“Why Romania?”, is the question people kept asking. “Why not?” I retort. I can’t give you one reason why I wanted to go to Romania. Could be the Eastern European rolled stuffed cabbage or maybe the plum brandy that knocks you off your feet, then again it might be the old women in their head scarfs, printed skirts sturdy legs and fallen arches, or the painted wooden churches. I don’t know why I wanted to go; I just did.

Entering Cluj you see the Russian architecture of the communist era. It is not until you get closer to city center, then the architecture changes and the old city emerges with cobblestone streets, Catholic and Orthodox churches, monuments to past kings, and priests. It has a way of wearing its history with pride but ask a Romanian and they will tell you the Russian occupation was a dark time for them.

We all piled into a large van and were promised an exciting day by our fearless leader, Jerome Woodhouse, and Daniel his side kick from Romania. Together they are like a comedy team feeding off each other. They are both entertaining and professional.

It’s the first half hour in the bus and we come to a screeching halt in front of a house with an elderly woman dressed in black, peacefully enjoying the sun. Out jump 9 Americans, two Canadians, and on Romanian all with cameras and huge smiles on our faces. Of course, it is perfectly natural to invade someone’s home, piling into the yard, and trying to convince the younger generation that “Great Grandma” wanted her picture taken. As it turns out she did, and within minutes we had her daughter, daughter-in-law and great granddaughter posing for pictures.

That set the tone for the rest of the day with stops along the way to photograph men loading grass into wooden wagons, and families loading corn for feed into corn cribs, watching a water wheel turning and pounding wool into blankets while another older woman fed hot water onto the wool. A felting process I thought stopped back in the last century or so.

We finished the day by joining a parade of cars honking and winding their way to bring the groom to the bride’s home. Again, we all piled out of the van, mingled with the crowd dressed in their finest or native costume and we, dressed in our finest jeans and Patagonia shirts, with cameras ready to shoot the festivities. You don’t think it is perfectly normal to have a van full of strangers join in the celebration? We were welcomed with glasses of plum brandy, cabbage rolls, cake, and lots of laughter.

As the wedding party hopped into cars, we followed in our van. At the edge of town everyone unloaded from their cars, and us from our van, and strolled along the road through the town to the church. Click, Click, click was the parallel sound to the drum, and violins playing beside us. A hike up to the church where finally the bride and groom come together, the priest shows up and into the church everyone goes. All the guests waving us in to witness the marriage. After about a half an hour we all made our way back to the van and to our guest house for the next two nights in the Maramures region. Don’t ask where that is, none of us know.

To the wedding couple who allowed us to join them, I wish them a long and lively life.