1999 Biking East Europe

Tuesday, September 14 – Sighetu, Romania – MR Buti, 300 000l
Distance cycled: 89.8 – Maximum speed: 48 – Average speed: 16

We left our comfortable hotel in Borsa at 07h30 this morning – both looking forward to our day in the valley. Our euphoria was substantially increased by the noticeably downhill 12kms to our first stop at Moisei. There to visit the museum and monument. “In 1944, following the news that the front was approaching Moisei, villagers started to flee, including those forced labour detachments stationed in the village. Occupying Hungarian forces organised a manhunt to track down the deserters. Thirty-one were captured and detained in a small camp in Viseu de Sus without food or water for three weeks. On 14 October 1944 Hungarian troops brought the 31 prisoners to a house in Moisei, locked them inside, then shot them through the windows. Before abandoning the village, the troops set it on fire, leaving all 125 remaining families homeless. Only one house in Moisei survived the blaze: the one in which the prisoners were shot.” And amazingly two of the 31 survived to tell their tale of horror.

As the museum was locked we knocked on the door of the neighbouring pink house – as instructed by Lonely Planet – rousing a young man from his bed who came cheerfully enough to open up for us. The two-roomed peasant house makes an unusually moving museum – housing as it does photographs and artefacts of the dead and the two survivors. On the hill opposite and south of the railway line, is “a circular monument to the victims. The 12 upright columns symbolise the sun and light. Each column is decorated with a traditional carnival mask, except for two which bear human faces based on the features of the two survivors”.

From Moisei we cycled up and over the long steep hill into the next valley – the Izei valley, Maramures, known for its wooden churches and for the fact that it was never conquered by the Romans – in which we spent the remains of the day. Charl and I on our speedy steeds proved to be the fastest moving things in the entire valley apart from an occasional motorised vehicle. We were a little taken aback at the extraordinarily slow pace of life and only later found out it was an Orthodox holiday – which accounted for the people mingling on the sidewalks, or sitting on benches watching the world go by, chatting to neighbours, playing cards under trees or in bus stops. So we spent the day cycling gentle valley terrain with hills to left and right, forested and farmed, and the river joining us in our gentle ramble west. The women in short flared skirts and doeks, sometimes in pointy-toed shoes tied up the lower leg with leather thongs, sometimes in aprons or waistcoats – not a particularly flattering ensemble. The men in trousers, traditional embroidered sheepskin waistcoats folded into one arm and flung over a shoulder when hot, wide leather belts, fedoras in felt or straw. Everyone friendly to us, grinning and waving. Cycled past pretentious carved wooden gates almost bigger than the homes into which they led, less interesting houses than in Bucovina, very peasant two-room affairs mixed with large and or semi-completed homes. Some with shaduffs or saint-figures in the garden. Front doors decorated with curtains and colourful hangings; beans, onions and peppers hung out to dry (we were invited into one home to try the bean soup after Charl asked the owner to identify her drying foodstuffs – but we declined). Some locals were at work – people carrying scythes or wooden rakes over their shoulders, horse-drawn wooden carts with car tyres transporting sand or wood, families travelling with a pig, etc. Lovely.

At the turnoff into the valley at a town called Sacel we tried to shop for breakfast – but there was no bread to be had and the shops were virtually empty and rather depressing so that we bought only juice mix and beer there. At Salistea de Sus we managed to find bread and pretzels at least – but not much else. Which we ate later with butter seated on logs at the side of the road under a warm sun. At Dragomiresti we saw our first wooden church – this one of pine and oak and still under construction. Quite beautiful with its disproportionately tall steeple. At Bogdan Voda an old wooden church shares its grounds with a new brick and mortar church – the two together mimicking somehow the incongruous sight of old ladies traditionally clad conversing in the streets with youngsters in high heels or jeans.  Here I took photos of the omnipresent old ladies in their black flared skirts and black waistcoats and black doeks, and at their invitation joined them briefly in the church, to watch them place hankies on the dusty floor and kneel with difficulty before the only man in the church – a priest clad in shining blue and gold robes in stark contrast to his flock. A little bizarre.

Then 6kms off the main route south on a bumpy road to Ieud – through a sheep, goats and cows traffic jam – to visit the oldest wooden church in Maramures. A sign in the village led us down a narrow dirt turnoff, past an old man doffing his hat (all the locals are friendly – and the only foreigners we saw today were two ‘professional’ cyclists heading upstream), and across a stream on a suspension footbridge, and up a steep hill to the church. On the hill we were joined by a young man who greeted us and seemed merely to be going in our direction, but who turned out to be the keeper of the church key – who mysteriously knew of our presence in the village and had come to let us in. The church, built of fir wood, dates from 1364, but was restored in 1958 and again in 1997. There are ancient faded paintings inside, a ladder-stairway carved out of a trunk, a cluttered overgrown graveyard, and dappled light through the surrounding trees.

On the way back down the hill we were accosted by a young woman and a group of kids. She told us she had goods to sell and we went with her to her humble home. There to admire one of the sleeveless jackets we had been enjoying on the men. Sheepskin turned fluffy side in, with the leather tanned and elaborately embroidered. But too expensive for Charl unfortunately – though he lusted after it.

Back in the main street of Ieud Charl bought Cokes while I watched the bikes and ended surrounded by curious kids more interested in our modern transport than in us.

Then onward to Rozavlea where we sat on a bench outside the church and ‘chatted’ to a group of mellow men who asked if Mandela was ‘mort’ – causing us some anxiety! At Birsana we visited the new and beautiful Birsana monastery atop its hill – climbing its not-yet-completed clock tower for spectacular views and much admiring the church both inside and out.

And finally to Sighet, tired but happy, disappointed at the town’s first ugly impression. We headed straight for the CFR office to try and make a reservation on our chosen train – only to find it was closed. Were accosted there by Gabriel (who turned out to be the architect of the Birsana clock tower) who offered to show us to a cheap hotel and brought us to the not-so-cheap Motel Restaurant Buti – 300 000 lei including breakfast where we have a nice room, protected parking out back for our bikes, and shared bathrooms. There seem to be an inordinate number of military men staying here.

We bought Gabriel a couple of beers to say thanks, and stayed chatting for a while, but found it very difficult in the end to dump him. He was very insistent about taking us to Sapanta in a taxi or showing us the local night life or something else expensive and perhaps inappropriate. After our showers we dined at the hotel (the dinner was OK, but not as good as that served us in Borsa) and had an early night.