Sunday 21 September 2025 – The day’s main agenda item was the first hike of this trip. According to our information, it would be fairly short – 10km – and take four hours. I suppose I should have inferred from those data what the route would be like; under normal circumstances, Jane and I would be able to walk 10km in around two hours; on other walking trips, maybe three. But I was blissful in my ignorance.

Breakfast at Casa din Bran was slightly weird.  The menu consisted of just four items.

I opted for number 3, and Jane made the better choice of number 2. It wasn’t bad, just odd to our way of breakfast thinking.

Anyway, we deposited our bags at the hotel’s reception and set off on a gloriously sunny day with temperatures ideal for walking, in the upper teens Centigrade. I took a final photo of Bran, which is very picturesque,

and we turned off the main road to seek our path.  The light was perfect for a couple of shots of Bran Castle.

As we left, I noticed a cross, perched high on a rock. Thinking that we’d be headed in a different direction, I gave it no further thought as we headed to the start of our hike. We saw a couple of hikers preparing also for the start of their walk

and seeming to be spending some time on those preparations.  When we got to the same place, we found out why. It was fucking steep, that’s why. It was so steep that we attepted to convince ourselves that other paths might be the right one, but no; this was the official route.

It wasn’t hiking, it was fucking mountaineering.

I have never before had to make my way up a path this steep. As well as steep, it was reasonably treacherous underfoot at times, which added to the general feeling of being hard done by. After a short distance but a somewhat longer time, we emerged at a viewpoint.

That was the very cross that I’d decided we wouldn’t be going anywhere near. And very cross is how I felt that I hadn’t taken a photo to show you how tough the whole thing was. However, the view was pretty spectactular.

As we were about to move on, a group of four lads, probably early 20s, came storming up the path which had virtually reduced us to hands and knees; they had only a short time before meeting a guide (presumably at the castle) so didn’t venture further; quite apart from anything else they were wearing regular trainers, and one was in a knee brace! We took their photo for them and went on our way – oh to be young and fit.

I got a couple of pictures of the castle that are even more satisfying for having been the reward for hard labour

however, the pleasure of getting these photos soon evaporated as the hard labour continued.

The path we were taking, you’ll notice, was headed perpendicular to the contour lines, i.e. as steep as possible given the terrain.

It had been 40 minutes unmitigated toil to get to the castle viewpoint. A further 40 minutes of similarly unmitigated toil got us to another viewpoint

where we realised that we were up with the eagles.

The unmitigated toil continued

then relented for a short while

before continuing once more

for another 40 minutes or so, overtaken at one point by a couple of rank cheaters.

By now we’d been going for a couple of hours, and so passing a table and benches gave us a nice chance for a rest

and to admire the view.

As we were preparing to leave, a goup of four hikers came from the direction we were headed. They were British, and so we had a nice chat for a couple of minutes before we pressed on.

And on. And up. And up.

We eventually reached the high point (geographically, not emotionally) of the trek after four hours of more or less consistently remorseless uphill. We’d climbed 600 metres in 5km and we were knackered. The views were great, though.

We rested for half an hour or so before embarking on what we fondly believed would be the easier bit – getting back down.

Wrong again.

The start of the descent was so steep that I needed to use my walking poles to help me get down. I’ve never felt the need to use poles on a descent before. This was what we came down

before continuing a much less steep downhill towards Măgura. There was an electric fence in our way, but its owner had thoughtfully made it easy for hikers to pass.

One might be forgiven for thinking that the rest of the way down was easy, and I suppose that, comparatively, it was. But we were both very, very tired by this point, and the continued stress on knees and thighs meant that the rest of the hike was still quite hard work. There were wonderful views, of course,

and we saw some of the haystacks that might possibly have given old Vlad the idea.

It’s an indication of our state of mind – and body – that when we reached the “road” into Măgura

it was an actual relief to be walking a strada bianca. (You’ll remember, of course, how much we came to hate these when walking in Italy.)  Finally, we caught sight of Măgura,

with a pretty church on the left and our accommodation for the night on the right, which is also the main restaurant in Măgura, called, imaginatively, La Măgura.

We had a slightly chaotic reception there, as all the staff were busy serving Sunday lunch, but the proprietress showed us to our room, which had a balcony with a lovely view

and enabled us to get a Nice Cup Of Tea and a couple of cold beers, things that we both really needed by this point. The four-hour walk had taken us 6 hours, but I suppose we were grimly satisfied that we’d made it, albeit at a trudge for the last four of them. The tea and beer on the balcony was wonderful and after a short restorative kip we went down for some dinner, which gave us the chance to plan for the morrow. As seems normal on our walking excursions, the first day’s hiking was an utter bastard. What was due to come next?

Our official schedule had us trudging hiking to the neighbouring town of Zărnești, which is some 7km away and somewhat downhill from Măgura. The benighted souls who had organised the itinerary for us had, though, invented a route which was 15km long and involved another 600m ascent (and therefore a 900m descent). Looking at OutdoorActive, the app which we’re using to not get lost, we saw that this route was categorised as “Demanding”, whereas the stroll in the park we’d undergone today was “Moderate”. So there’s no fucking way we’ll be doing that, then.  There’s a perfectly good cheater’s route which covers that 7km with no uphill at all so you can bet your sweet bippy that this is the route we’ll be taking. The Clint Eastwood option: “A man should know his limitations”.

I hope I haven’t bored you with my ceaseless whining about how tough today has been; indeed, I hope you’ve been able to have a gentle laugh at our expense, and will thus be prepared to check in tomorrow to see how our cheating went.