Today I awoke in Maramures, where centuries old customs jostle for position amongst the new ways of the western world. Pots sit drying on the tree outside ‑ back in the day the locals were so poor they had nowhere to dry their pots so they hung them on trees. Today it's a nod to the old legends that arose about red pots signifying a marrigeable woman in the house. Nobody seems to know whether or not that was really ever the case.
We're in the western part of the Carpathians where it gets so cold that even in the warm summer afternoons you can almost see the snow; everything here is preparing for the winter from the frantic roadworks to the piles upon piles of chopped wood.
The locals here are friendly, unlike a little further south where they are yet to make the connection between good service and increased tourism. Yesterday, near the famous old wooden church of Surdesti, we chatted to a worker who had been hired by the priest to cut his grass. The priest's son hung around, playing with the grass clippings, while the worker jovially explained to our guide Daniel that he was cutting the lucerne (growing freely) for stock feed. He let Dad have a go with his scythe and told us that a scythe can cut closer to the ground than a machine ever could. Other crops are not cut manually, it depends on how it grows.
For Australian farmers, it's been amazing to see the endless lush grass on the hills, the flowers scattered brightly everywhere, perched high in pots on the light poles and surviving just on rain. Shepherds and their flocks dot the hillsides. The shepherds are hired by people to take their sheep and goats into the mountains for feed during summer and they usually spend three or four months living in a small mountain hut, surrounded by the pretty jingling and jangling of the goats' bells. It's a lovely sound, like a giant set of wind chimes happily singing away.
Our day yesterday was spent mostly driving, with the trip made even longer by roadworks almost the whole way. There is a lot of building and restoration going on in the country, from ancient churches to new roads. We dropped into Baia Mare, the town square peppered with the brightly coloured buildings that we've come to expect here, and then made our way to th Surdesti wooden church. Built in the 1700s, the church has the highest steeple of any in Romania (and Romania has the highest wooden churches in the world). It was originally built as an Orthodox church, but when the catholics came to town, they made a deal with the notoriously stubborn locals; they could keep their traditions if they would at least recognise the Catholic Pope. So the church is now Catholic Orthodox, a rather unique combination.
It is spectacular, rising high above the grass with a steep roof and perfectly aligned shingles.Inside, the joins in its wooden beams were covered with cloth to allow the interior to be painted, and painted it is! The whole church is adorned with beautiful paintings by the locals, whose talents also extended to making the carpets on the floor and seating, the intricate embroidery on the cloths, and the incredibly impressive carvings in the wood. Not to mention of course, building the church itself.
In stark contrast to the centuries old church, we also visited a salt mine. Expecting a few exhibits in the mine, we were blown away when we popped out at the top of a huge shaft, winding salt patterns on the roof, stalactites holding on for dear life, and 40 metres below us a theme park! Bright lights shone down on table tennis, a lake with boats in it, badminton, a little cafe and even a Ferris wheel! The air in the mine is good for the lungs and people come here for holidays, spending 2‑3 hours a day entertaining themselves in the huge mine while breathing the salty air. There's even a wifi connection. (If anyone from Yandi is reading this, I suggest we start up a petition for better conditions in the field!) It was truly incredible, and for my geologist friends I took plenty of photos.
Yesterday was a long day, so today was more relaxing. We visited more wooden structures ‑ this time the world's tallest wooden structure which was built without the use of a single nail. We walked through the local markets, had a chat to a lady in an antiques shop and bought from here some of the goat bells we so loved the sound of. We visited the local prison in Sighet where many, many of Romania's elite perished during communist times. The photos of all the people who died were especially moving, not only for their sheer number but also because, unlike at Auzshwitz, the photos were taken when the people were in the prime of their life. Smiling, happy faces of people with gentle demeanours and kind eyes were juxtaposed with a photo of the same person only a year or two later; old, haggard, broken. No matter how many museums like this I have visited, each time the horrors of what people can do to their neighbours shocks me. In Romania, the adults were killed while their children were brainwashed and totured, before being forced to become the torturer of the next victim. Daniel tols us a story about a man who was beating another man in the street, and then looked up into the eyes of a passer by.In his expression of shameful pity, he said he saw for the first time what his father would have thought of him. Instantly, he shot the passer‑by for this reminder of the humanity he had set aside in himself.
Finally, we returned to the small village that our guest house is in, where we wandered for an hour or so around the traditional wooden houses. We saw the carved gates which have symbols of the sun, the cross and the rope (eternal life); each time one passes through these gates it is supposed to bring good luck. We saw a local distillery, traditional carpet washing using a water wheel, and met lady, widowed for seven years, who asked us to leave the man (dad) behind because there are not enough men here. I said I would sell him for three lei, and she said that we had to pay HER because she is worth more. I said "four lei" and she laughed and slapped me for being cheeky. She told us that we should not make her mistake and get fat ‑ she drinks, eats and sits and now her shoulders, her waist and her hips are all the same! She posed for a photo with us, lamenting her lack of lipstick, and laughed as she wished us goodbye.
Now, we are back at our guest house. Someone is practising violin and we are each taking some time to ourselves to drink beer, write blogs and relax before dinner.
There is so much more to say about Romania, and I will, but for now this is your snapshot of the little part of the nation sitting on the border of Ukraine, called Maramures.
We're in the western part of the Carpathians where it gets so cold that even in the warm summer afternoons you can almost see the snow; everything here is preparing for the winter from the frantic roadworks to the piles upon piles of chopped wood.
The locals here are friendly, unlike a little further south where they are yet to make the connection between good service and increased tourism. Yesterday, near the famous old wooden church of Surdesti, we chatted to a worker who had been hired by the priest to cut his grass. The priest's son hung around, playing with the grass clippings, while the worker jovially explained to our guide Daniel that he was cutting the lucerne (growing freely) for stock feed. He let Dad have a go with his scythe and told us that a scythe can cut closer to the ground than a machine ever could. Other crops are not cut manually, it depends on how it grows.
For Australian farmers, it's been amazing to see the endless lush grass on the hills, the flowers scattered brightly everywhere, perched high in pots on the light poles and surviving just on rain. Shepherds and their flocks dot the hillsides. The shepherds are hired by people to take their sheep and goats into the mountains for feed during summer and they usually spend three or four months living in a small mountain hut, surrounded by the pretty jingling and jangling of the goats' bells. It's a lovely sound, like a giant set of wind chimes happily singing away.
Our day yesterday was spent mostly driving, with the trip made even longer by roadworks almost the whole way. There is a lot of building and restoration going on in the country, from ancient churches to new roads. We dropped into Baia Mare, the town square peppered with the brightly coloured buildings that we've come to expect here, and then made our way to th Surdesti wooden church. Built in the 1700s, the church has the highest steeple of any in Romania (and Romania has the highest wooden churches in the world). It was originally built as an Orthodox church, but when the catholics came to town, they made a deal with the notoriously stubborn locals; they could keep their traditions if they would at least recognise the Catholic Pope. So the church is now Catholic Orthodox, a rather unique combination.
It is spectacular, rising high above the grass with a steep roof and perfectly aligned shingles.Inside, the joins in its wooden beams were covered with cloth to allow the interior to be painted, and painted it is! The whole church is adorned with beautiful paintings by the locals, whose talents also extended to making the carpets on the floor and seating, the intricate embroidery on the cloths, and the incredibly impressive carvings in the wood. Not to mention of course, building the church itself.
In stark contrast to the centuries old church, we also visited a salt mine. Expecting a few exhibits in the mine, we were blown away when we popped out at the top of a huge shaft, winding salt patterns on the roof, stalactites holding on for dear life, and 40 metres below us a theme park! Bright lights shone down on table tennis, a lake with boats in it, badminton, a little cafe and even a Ferris wheel! The air in the mine is good for the lungs and people come here for holidays, spending 2‑3 hours a day entertaining themselves in the huge mine while breathing the salty air. There's even a wifi connection. (If anyone from Yandi is reading this, I suggest we start up a petition for better conditions in the field!) It was truly incredible, and for my geologist friends I took plenty of photos.
Yesterday was a long day, so today was more relaxing. We visited more wooden structures ‑ this time the world's tallest wooden structure which was built without the use of a single nail. We walked through the local markets, had a chat to a lady in an antiques shop and bought from here some of the goat bells we so loved the sound of. We visited the local prison in Sighet where many, many of Romania's elite perished during communist times. The photos of all the people who died were especially moving, not only for their sheer number but also because, unlike at Auzshwitz, the photos were taken when the people were in the prime of their life. Smiling, happy faces of people with gentle demeanours and kind eyes were juxtaposed with a photo of the same person only a year or two later; old, haggard, broken. No matter how many museums like this I have visited, each time the horrors of what people can do to their neighbours shocks me. In Romania, the adults were killed while their children were brainwashed and totured, before being forced to become the torturer of the next victim. Daniel tols us a story about a man who was beating another man in the street, and then looked up into the eyes of a passer by.In his expression of shameful pity, he said he saw for the first time what his father would have thought of him. Instantly, he shot the passer‑by for this reminder of the humanity he had set aside in himself.
Finally, we returned to the small village that our guest house is in, where we wandered for an hour or so around the traditional wooden houses. We saw the carved gates which have symbols of the sun, the cross and the rope (eternal life); each time one passes through these gates it is supposed to bring good luck. We saw a local distillery, traditional carpet washing using a water wheel, and met lady, widowed for seven years, who asked us to leave the man (dad) behind because there are not enough men here. I said I would sell him for three lei, and she said that we had to pay HER because she is worth more. I said "four lei" and she laughed and slapped me for being cheeky. She told us that we should not make her mistake and get fat ‑ she drinks, eats and sits and now her shoulders, her waist and her hips are all the same! She posed for a photo with us, lamenting her lack of lipstick, and laughed as she wished us goodbye.
Now, we are back at our guest house. Someone is practising violin and we are each taking some time to ourselves to drink beer, write blogs and relax before dinner.
There is so much more to say about Romania, and I will, but for now this is your snapshot of the little part of the nation sitting on the border of Ukraine, called Maramures.
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