Tag Archives: Landscape

Moldovița – a smaller monastery on a bigger day

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Saturday 27 September 2025 – The half-day’s activity envisaged for today turned into a very enjoyable whole day’s set of activities. The morning was taken up with a visit to another monastery, at Moldovița, a half-hour drive from our accommodation. Our chauffeur was Gabriel, the boyfriend of Daniela, the daughter of the house. I was quite surprised when the car he led us out to was actually a British model, steering wheel on the right-hand side an’everyfink. It turned out that he had only relatively recently left England, where he’d been first studying and then working for a few years; he could legally drive his British car for a total of 90 days before having to do something about it. It was very convenient for us to have a local guide who had such good English, and we were pleased that Daniela also joined us.

I had expected simply to be deposited at the monastery and left to our own devices whilst we wandered around it, but actually the two of them joined us in viewing the monastery, and were able to provide some commentary about it, which was very welcome. It being a Saturday, it was clear that there would be quite a few people there (there was a coach parked outside, for example), but we’d got there early in the hope that the crowds wouldn’t be too oppressive.

Anyway, the monastery: this is the sight that greets you as you enter.

The central church building sits within a pleasant, albeit fortified, complex.

As with Sucevița, the outside is painted with saints and biblical stories. It’s not as large as the one in Sucevița, but it’s still very striking. The frescoes have fared well on one side,

but sadly, on the other,

the prevailing winds and rain have wrought great damage. This church dates from 1532, when Prince Petru Rares built it as a replacement for another church which had collapsed. We went into the church for a look around.

It has an external narthex,

and inside there was the expected ban on photography. However, two things convinced me that I could get away with taking a few pictures: Gabriel said that it should be all right; and other visitors were brazenly taking photos anyway. I think maybe the use of flash is what the monastery was particularly trying to avoid. So, here are a few pictures of the inside, which, as with the others, is hugely ornately painted.

In preparation for the day, Jane had, as ever, been researching other things to see in the area, and she had come up with a very unusual-sounding option – a decorated egg museum, just a couple of minutes drive away. Daniela and Gabriel were happy to take us there so we could look around. It’s actually the residence of a specific artist, Lucia Condrea, and is situated at the end of a row of pretty houses.

We paid the entrance fee (though I discovered later that we could have simply sneaked in through the front door) and were treated to an explanation of a film of the artist actually creating coloured eggs, using a batik technique, which involves covering with wax the parts of an egg that should not be coloured, before immersing the egg in a colouring dip – and then repeating the process with different colours; so the artist has to visualise the pattern as a negative rather than a positive image. It was interesting to see the film… but the place is astonishing. Lucia Condrea has created over fifteen thousand eggs in her lifetime, and the interior shows a stupefying variety of sizes, shapes, patterns and colours.

There is huge elaboration in the eggs,

and the artist has taken, as her inspiration, patterns from fabrics, from other cultures, and many and various sources. There are a couple of pictures of her on the walls with local dignitaries.

Upstairs, there are a couple of rooms dedicated to eggs from other places, literally all over the world.

It was nice to see Britain represented

and we were particularly taken by these, from New Zealand.

How do they do that?

There were eggs for sale in the place, but we didn’t have sufficient cash and they didn’t have a working card machine, so we left empty-handed and started the journey back to Sucevița. The journey takes you over some hills and past some great views; Gabriel had said on the way out that we could stop at one viewpoint on our way back, and so we did.  It was called Pasul Palma and had a couple of kiosks there, but not evidently a huge amount else. I thought it was just to look at the view, which was indeed great,

but actually we spent quite a lot of time there for one reason or another. Taking coffee was one reason, and we sat overlooking the view as we drank it.  It turns out that the place also offfers guided horse rides

and there’s a zip wire across the valley, too; we watched a few people whizzing down the wire as we drank our coffee. Across the road from these kiosks was a huge sculpture of a hand

which is the logo of the place – “palma” means palm, as in palm of the hand, and the place, according to Gabriel, is to acknowledge the hard manual labour undertaken by people in rebuilding the country (or some such – he wasn’t absolutely certain of this). Anyway, the sculpture was, as one might expect, a nexus for some nifty Romanian entrepreneurship.

There were stalls selling liqueurs, cheeses

folk remedies, and tourist tat, of course.

Daniela and Gabriel bought a couple of things, and we got some home-made chocolatey thing which took our fancy.  Then Daniela mentioned fried potatoes. So we went to the final kiosk in this area

which sold, courtesy of a chap out the back,

the local equivalent of chips. These would be cooked to order and ready in 15 minutes, we were told, so there was nothing for it but to buy a beer and do some more sitting and admiring the view.

Overall, this was a pleasant and unexpected interlude, which was fairly closely followed by another. We had discussed walking up a (reportedly very steep) path to a chapel which gave a view of the Sucevița monastery from above. Our information said that the route going up was so steep that coming down it was not recommended and that you should follow a different path for which it provided vague instructions – “you cannot get lost”. Heather at dinner had said she’d tried to follow the instructions for this and had got lost, ending up walking along a track made by a tractor to get down. Doing this climb had been one of the things I had been considering for my afternoon’s adventure, but Daniela said that there was an easier path that led from their very house and gave a better view. So, having completed our journey back to Casa Felicia, that’s what we did instead.

We went through the back garden, past the chickens

and a terribly cute puppy called Mimi, who, like many dogs in Romania, was kept in an enclosure. More on this sort of thing in a future post, but for now, we scrambled about a bit up a steep path through pasture and entered a forested area.

Apparently, the right to roam in Romania is pretty absolute – you can walk more or less wherever you like even if it’s private property. We think we covered a mix of private and government land, but we’re not sure, as the maps are not very accurate. There were some very attractive, but probably deadly, mushrooms growing as we made our way through the forest.

There wasn’t a path as such, but Daniela and Gabriel seemed to know where they were going (with a couple of discussions…) and we emerged at the top of a hill, where we could see the monastery, but largely hidden by intervening tree branches. We made our way down to where one could get a better view

at which point Daniela told us that the best path led back up another hill where we would get a really good view. So we did that. It led past some fairly serious logging

which Gabriel said was quite possibly illicit, but not uncommon since policing the forests was very difficult. We carried on to a path that was very steep in places

but we staggered our way up it and emerged at the top, where there is a cross and a really very good view of the monastery and the countryside.

Opposite us, on the other side of the monastery, was the hill up to the chapel

where we could make out a few hardy souls toiling upwards. We, of course, now had to get down from our vantage point

which was also quite steep, but not too daunting. It also gave us a nice aerial view of the small church and graveyard associated with the monastery.

When we got down, we walked past the church to take a look at it, and one could look back up the hill we’d just descended.

In fact, in this picture of the church, you can just make out the cross at the top of the hill.

Yes, you can.

Our route back to our accommodation took us past the monastery, and we called in to see what time they closed. Jane had seen a photo of the monastery illuminated at night, and we very much wanted to see that if possible. We got a very uncertain answer about closing time, so decided that we’d go back after dinner to see if it was still open. We arrived at 7pm, and the door was open so we went in, past the (now closed) closed ticket office. There were still people there, mainly, it seemed, making their way out after some kind of special occasion.

We waited for it to get dark, expecting to be ushered out, but we weren’t. There was some singing coming over the sound system, so I got some slightly atmospheric video of the monastery church at twilight.

It got darker and darker, and everybody else left, so we were pretty much alone – and waiting by the entrance just to make sure we didn’t get locked in.

It got to the point where we realised that they weren’t going to turn on any illuminations. I suppose it makes sense – why spend money on electricity if there’s no-one there to see the result? Maybe they just do it on winter afternoons, when there will be crowds there, or possibly just special occasions. Anyway, not tonight, Josephine. So we made our way back to Casa Felicia and made our preparations for leaving the next day.

The morrow held a visit to another monastery, which we would reach by a longish walk of some 17km. The weather prospects were not as good as today’s but promised rain should at least hold off for the day. So come back to find out how our day went.

Măgura to Zărnești – Enjoying the results of a good decision

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Monday 22 September 2025 – The utter correctness of our decision to ignore the extreme hike that was scheduled for the day became apparent almost immediately we got under way. Before that, though, we had a pleasantly leisurely start. The bathroom was a clear winner in the “Best Bathroom So Far This Trip” competition, and since breakfast didn’t start until 9am, we were able to take things nice and easy. At a few minutes after 9, we got down to the rather attractive terrace outside the building, to find a forest of upturned chair legs, but people fairly soon appeared and got things in order

and we had a decently eggy breakfast to set us up for the day’s walking.

We were joined by the family cat.

Romania seems to be a very cat-friendly country. Wherever we’ve gone, cats have been in evidence. There has been the usual plethora of dogs which spend their day (and night – Ed) barking at nothing – we suppose that this is just such a part of the local way of life that no-one really notices – so it has been lovely to see cats being such a part of the pattern of life here.

Although we weren’t doing the Well ‘Ard hike, we still had some 8km to cover to get to Zărnești, and set off a few minutes after 10am.

The overall direction of the route was downhill, descending some 300m in the 8km. However, although I felt fine walking along the straight and level, there were a couple of very gentle uphill stretches to start with, and it was immediately clear that my body hadn’t replaced the energy sapped from it by yesterday’s exertions – my legs felt leaden and uncooperative, such as when being asked to walk past a pub. However, these gentle uphill gradients were short, few and far between, and we could enjoy the great views in the lovely weather – glorious sunshine and temperatures around 20 Centigrade.

Măgura is a textbook example of a “Kalibash Village”, a uniquely Romanian development. Farms are scattered along ridges with these dramatic views over the Piatra Craiului mountains. The emphasis is on harmony with the land and self-sufficiency in the community. Just as well, frankly; it’s bloody miles from anywhere and the local shop

doesn’t look as if it keeps a ready supply of life’s necessities. The library is small, but perfectly formed

and there are no tarmac roads. It’s a lovely place, very strung out, with well-spaced houses. It was a 2km walk through the village from the church end, passing a couple of interesting buildings, such as this fairly modern place with a very traditional turf roof

and this barn, which had a very unusual texture to its walls.

On closer examination, the texture appears to come from wooden tiles

which are of an unusual shape. If of clay and on a house, I would call these hanging tiles, but these were clearly nailed into position.

It was right at the far end of the village that our route left the dirt road and headed off into the valley.

The sign says that it’s 15 minutes to the Zărnești gorges. The path leads clearly downhill and we were prepared for it to be steeply downhill. Just as well, as it was probably as steep in a couple of places as anything we’d encountered yesterday.

Being the misguided macho man that I am, I tried to cover this 100m vertical descent without using my poles. However, there were a couple of places where I really needed them, so I was glad to have them with me. It wasn’t all steep downhill

but most of it was, right down to the dirt road that leads to Zărnești.

The overall gradient we walked down (ChatGPT calculates for me) was 1 in 7, which doesn’t sound very steep, but I invite you to consult my knees for a second opinion on that.

At the bottom is a riverbed, which seemed dry, with a dirt road beside it.


The area is part of Piatra Craiului National Park, and had we done the Difficult Bastard Hike originally planned for the day we would have headed off up there, to toil up 600m and then down 900m over 15km – er no. Bollocks to that. We went down the dirt road instead. It seems to be popular as a destination for a stroll; we passed several people just walking about, and you can clearly get a car up the dirt road so you don’t have to walk too far.

We passed some mystery buildings

labelled “Danger!” and with other ominous signs outside.

We also passed the point where the Difficult Bastard Hike would have rejoined our route.

The national park has an information centre, with info boards telling you about some of the lovely wildlife you might find there, and

also some for which care is recommended. There was plenty of poo lying around on the track, of various sizes and consistencies. Because this wasn’t actually in the woods, we assumed that none of it was bear shit, but we could have been wrong, I suppose. Some of it clearly came from a couple of cows that were grazing in the margins.

As we approached the end of the dirt road and the start of the tarmac that leads into Zărnești

we were adopted by a friendly little kitten

which I think was hopeful that we could feed it. It certainly did the kitten thing, running around us and between our legs. It would have been ironic to have made it down two mountainsides without falling, only to be tripped up by a bloody kitten, but we made it intact into Zărnești and eventually the kitten stopped following us.  It was a cute little thing, and it seemed harsh to ignore it, but there was nothing we could do for it.

Zărnești is an attractive town, with a few local quirks: driveways with decorated gates;

a relaxed attitude to piping rainwater away from the houses;

some interesting chimneys;

a stork’s nest;

and several rats’ nests.

One restaurant has a quirky entrance

and another house has a very fine grapevine growing all over it.

Our accommodation, Maria’s Dream House, was by the roundabout that houses the town fountain

and appeared to be closed, as we might have expected – it was not yet 1pm. However, Jane optimistically rang the bell and the door was opened by the charming, vivacious and moderately polyglot Ioana. Her languages didn’t include English, so we used a mobile phone app to understand what the deal was, and a very nice place it is, too.

We had free rein in the kitchen, which could have been fantastic had our bags, with their useful supply of Twinings finest Earl Grey, turned up. So we satisfied ourselves with Nescafe and mint tea and settled down to relax until the bags arrived and we could have a Proper Cup Of Tea, after which it was time go out for a bite to eat.

We got a nice surprise when we did, too. Jane had identified a candidate restaurant. It was identified on Google Maps as “Pizzeria Family”, but had a real name of Orașul de Sub Munte – “The Restaurant Under the Mountain”. We walked up through the town, which is handsome

with its not necessarily oil-driven transport

and passed the church, dedicated to St. Nicolas,

at which point we decided, hungry as we were, that it might be worth looking in. The very elaborate door

seemed to have swung shut, but we dismissed this as merely caused by a gust of wind and looked in. Inside was a chap in overalls and

a quite extraordinary interior – beautifully decorated. The church is 600 years old, but has been renovated more than once; the main part in its current state dates from 200 years ago.

The chap inside was delighted to allow us to see the church and particularly its museum, which was in the 400 year-old chapel beside it, featuring some remarkable original frescoes.

Serendipity is a wonderful thing; we hadn’t known about the church and might not have looked in and might therefore not have met the deightful chap inside who was so proud of the church’s wonderful treasures.

We carried on to the restaurant, where we had a very fine meal, of mici (Jane) and pizza (me). We got chatting to a neighbouring couple, who were American but had Romanian family connections, which was a nice distraction from the service, which was, well, strange. The lass who was supposed to be looking after the tables seemed to be lost in the teenage thing of it being NOT FAIR that she had to do all this stuff; but the food was very good. And they had gin. So we had a nice time there before stumbling back to Maria’s Dream home, where we could have another Nice Cup Of Tea.

We have a very relaxed schedule for the next couple of days. Tomorrow, if all goes according to plan, we will be whisked to Putna, some 400km further north. It’s a six-hour journey (at least, if our experience so far is anything to go by) and will deposit us in the area which is the main objective of our visit to Romania. The hiking bit is only a bluff really, and you’ll have to keep your eye on these pages to find out why we really came to Romania.

Bran Management

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Saturday 20 September 2025 – Today’s mission was to decamp north to start with the mainstream of the week’s objectives – doing a bit of hiking in the Carpathian Mountains. Like (and a fraction more extensive than) the Alps, this is a multinational range, spanning from a little corner of Serbia via most of Slovakia, squeezing a narrow passage through Ukraine and taking up the north-western half of Romania. The rest of our time here will be spent doing what we opted for in a moment of lunacy love best – walking up and down hills in search of great views and splendid photos.

First we had to get out of Bucharest, and Jane had cunningly organised a driver to take us to a town called Bran, which, our information gave us to believe, was a two-hour drive, some 160km away. Somewhat inaccurately, as it turned out: the distance was some 190km and the journey actually took over four hours – traffic congestion and road works meant that we averaged less than 50kph for the journey. Just as well we’d visited the loo before we set out, then.

The congestion started immediately in Bucharest – completely normal, according to our driver. Still, it gave us a chance to take a couple of photos of Bucharest landmarks: a slightly better crack at the Arc de Triomf;

and a photo of an archetypal communist era slab of masonry.

This was, laughably, called the House of the Free Press, built under Communist rule and named “Casa Scînteii” (House of the Spark) after the Party newspaper edited and printed there. That is presumably free press as in you didn’t have to pay to get a copy. At least, I hope you didn’t.

After we left the Bucharest urban sprawl, the landscape changed into a much more bucolic one. Although we were on a dual carriageway, the undying spark of Romanian entrepreneurialism was unfazed. Operators small and large were there with their offers for the passing traffic, which was often at a standstill, even away from the city.

We passed Interesting Churches, and other striking buildings

as well as other mystery objects.

The terrain became mountainous, which showed that our driver was headed in the right direction,

and then caught our first sight of Bran.

Bran is famous for its castle, which everyone knows was “Dracula’s Castle”, where the legend states that local Prince Vlad the Impaler was used by Bram Stoker as the basis for his story about the vampire Count Dracula.

Trouble is, that’s bollocks.

Bram Stoker never visited Romania, so he never set eyes on Bran Castle. Vlad the Impaler only visited Bran Castle once – he was imprisoned there for two weeks before being shipped off to be imprisoned elsewhere. However, the good marketing folks of the region never let the facts get in the way of a good story, and now Bran and its castle are the centre of a flourishing tourist industry which they have milked assiduously. We willingly submitted ourselves to the marketing machine, as I hoped to get some splendid images of the great lowering presence of the castle and its grim interior. OK, they’d be just the same as everyone else’s, but they would be my images. Oh, and Jane’s, of course.

We checked into our accommodation, Casa din Bran,

and admired the view from our room for a few minutes.

We had about half an hour to spare before we had to get to the castle for an English langage guided tour. We set off to see if we could find the entrance to the castle. A short walk through Bran, which is quite picturesque,

led us to the entrance. It’s not difficult to find, as a whole host of retail opportunities have sprouted up around it.

You can see the castle above all the marketing brouhaha,

and they even have a small model of the area on display.

With 20 minutes to spare, we were able to take coffee in a garden near where we had to wait for our guide.

It turned out that we were the only two for the 4pm English tour, so we had an hour or so in the company of Darius,

who gave us a very entertaining run down on the place. Historically, the current stone fortress replaced a wooden building in the late 1300s. It had a strong strategic position, on the border between Wallachia and Transylvania.

In 1438–1442, the castle was used in defense against the Ottoman Empire, and later became a customs post, exploiting its position on the mountain pass between Transylvania and Wallachia.

The focus on myth and legend means that the real story of the castle, which is really interesting, is all but lost on most of the world. For example, not a lot of people know that Maria, the queen of Romania between 1914 and 1927, was British – born Princess Marie, a granddaughter of Queen Victoria. She could have been queen of England, but didn’t marry the future George V because he was a cousin, instead becoming the wife of King Ferdinand I, who took over after the death of Carol I. Maria was multi-talented – artist, nurse, diplomat – and very popular with the Romanian people. The castle now is effectively a museum dedicated to displaying art and furniture collected by Queen Maria.

Another surprise for me was that the castle is actually (a) quite small and (b) was really lived-in;

it wasn’t in any way a ceremonial location – Maria lived there and loved it. In these respects, it reminds me of Lindisfarne Castle, in the north-east of England.  The rooms were properly heated with some wonderful heaters

and the place was properly decorated, as you can see from the beams in the picture above and the example of this door.

There is some exquisite furniture,

and the castle is laid out to take visitors along a route showing off the rooms and the furniture, supplemented by display boards with lots of information and, in our case, a guide. Being set high, it offers great views over the surrounding countryside

and, being a castle, offers some great internal scenes as well.

Of course, the marketing machine exploits the legend mercilessly, and why not? There’s a picture of the castle (I’m not sure whether this is the original or a print)

that could well be what Bram Stoker saw as he researched Transylvania’s legend and folklore from his base in Budapest and what gave him the idea for Count Dracula.  Vlad the Impaler’s dad was Vlad Dracul (Vlad the dragon in medieval Romanian) and Vlad himself was therefore Dracula, son of the dragon before he got the Impaler schtick. The fact that dracul means the devil in modern Romanian didn’t do his reputation any harm… So there are plenty of links between the story and the castle, although they’re much more tenuous than most people might think.

The Impaler thing is displayed, along with many other gruesome items, in the torture chamber, a multi-storey exhibit in one of the towers.

and the exit from the castle can be (if you pay extra) via a “Time Tunnel”, actually an elevator which descends into the bowels of the castle, so that you pass further ghoulish exhibits

as you exit from the castle into the gardens. There are various other horror-related things going on in the bazaar between the entrance and the castle itself.

The Dracula nonsense aside (and even that was a bit of fun), we had a really interesting 90 minutes in the castle, and left feeling that we had a much better grasp of the real history of the place.

After dinner back at the hotel (the bar even stocked Gunpowder gin, which shows it has class), we had merely to start to psych ourselves up for the morrow, when our real labours start with a hike over the mountains to a neighbouring village called Magura. This will involve more uphill work than downhill and I confess that I don’t feel quite ready for it, but come back tomorrow and you’ll find out if we made it OK.