Transylvanian horseman

Good intentions interrupted

Today I intended to photograph the new mare for Sarah, so that she can see what whe will be riding during the years ahead. It's not that I imagine the mare unsuitable; in fact she seems ideal. Just courtesy. However my camera batteries need replacing, so I needed to get to the village shop.

However I also need to find some firewood, and was tipped off that a neighbour with a sawmill had some useful offcuts. So in the early afternoon, after a morning heavy with flu symptoms, I took a walk over there. In their kitchen I found my neighbour's wife Lucica, my employee Cornel, two of Lucica's female cousins, and another neighbour Simi who is married to one of the cousins. Clearly, buying something as mundane as a pile of offcuts for firewood would require a few drinks.

The company was interesting. The women were loud, as peasant women can be when feeling unthreatened by the male company. Cornel was not related to any of them, Simi is well known to be under the thumb of his wife (who is reputed to beat him when she is drunk), and I am foreign and therefore neither fish nor fowl. Opinions were expressed openly. The two cousins possessed the sort of plump earthy beauty that I imagine Tolkein envisioned for his hobbits. One was 32 and had been married for 15 years. (Readers can do the maths.) Having a 14 year-old child at the age of 32 seems curious when one, like me, is 43 and without children. With piercing eyes, a strong voice and a powerful gesture expressed with the flat of her hand, she made it clear that she has her husband well under control.

It was revealing to hear them tell that, a decade and a half ago, one young single woman "had seven men after her". Now, it seems, the situation is reversed. Back then, they asserted, a woman had a decent choice of partner. There is a view amongst these peasant women, young enough not to be part of the older generation, nor so young as to be part of the new consumer generation, that femininity relates to being able to run a house well, bring up their children nicely, and keep their husbands on the straight and narrow. Rather than being able (as is the fashion amongst teenage girls) to wear jeans so low cut that kidney complaints are a medically observable statistic during winter.

In such gatherings, conversation invariably tends towards the earthy, full of allusions, alive with tales both the tall and the (allegedly) verifiable. It must be very boring, we decided, amongst the religious sects in the village that eschew drink.

Cornel told me that an ancient aunt of his had died. I wished him my condolences. Then he admitted that she was a Jehovah's Witness, so he wouldn't be going to the funeral because, at the party afterwards, there would only be soft drinks served. No beer or brandy. It wouldn't be a proper send-off for her, so there was no point attending.

After several drinks, it was clear that driving to the village shop would not be an option. However, I did strike a deal for the firewood, and we will start collecting the offcuts tomorrow. So the afternoon was by no means wasted.

However, Sarah will have to wait for the photo.

Bad for my work ethic

I returned to my office this evening to find my place taken. How can I work with a clear concience when I have to turf these two off my chair?

Truth is, weak-willed as I can be when confronted by such loveable felines as Zgomotilla and Lucky, I am now working perched on the front of the chair. The two cats are sprawled out behind me, taking advantage of my warmth to luxuriate as only cats can.

Seven things.....choice of further victims

Scary has pointed out that I should nominate some others to reveal seven things about them that we don't know. So, here is my selection. I hope that I haven't re-nominated anyone who has already confessed.

Thehorseshoeinghousewife

Ramblingsfromthereservation

Igallopon

Seven things

Scary tagged me to admit to seven things that no-one else knows. Well, that will be a interesting. What to own up to, what to keep hidden. Anyway, here goes. I'm not sure whether they appear in any particular order of guilt, stupidity, insight or anything else. I'm even not sure why there are seven items.

1. I suffer from a strong temptation to post comments when I am sleep-deprived or have had a beer or two. It's something about walls of inhibition being broken down. However, the comments tend to be pointless. As I write, I am hoping that a couple of people will forgive me. I'll try to do better in future.

2. I first rode, other than pony rides as a child, at the age of 27. From then on, riding developed quickly as an obsession. It changed my life. I hope that this was a good thing. I'm not sure what I would be doing otherwise.

3. A historical character who fascinates me more than most others is Lawrence of Arabia. His abilities inspire me, his hardiness challenges me, and his breakdown is a worrying spectre of what can go wrong.

4. I would love to be able to go back to the period around 1930 to explore far-flung parts of Europe when there really was enormous variety abounding.

5. A journey that I would love to have made was Belgrade to Dubrovnik, nearly 400 miles by narrow-gauge train through the Yugoslav mountains. Failing that, a perambulation of the old Denver & Rio Grande Western narrow gauge network would have been fun.

6. Scary may suffer from rhinotexilomania, however I suffer from intestinal fermentation of the sort that makes fluffing the duvet a faux pas. Still, if done silently and with a straight face, the effect on a crowded subway car can be hillarious.

7. I was adopted as a young child. I've no idea who my real parents are. (This kind of information is legally protected in Britain.) I suppose that now I know, more or less, who I am - so, knowledge of my parents has become less important. I do wonder whether this is what made me a loner for years, happy in my own company?

So there you are. Nothing too shocking, and only one particularly bad habit let out of the bag. Even if kept safely under the duvet most times.

Am I now supposed to tag others? What's the form, Scary?

Swirling snowflakes

The photo just about sums up the past few days. Snow has fallen, covering the ground and then being whipped up by the growing wind. Looking through the crystal-clear air to the ridges, the wind could be seen scooping snow up into the air. On the exposed top of the field, a stinging layer of snow crystals whistled across up to knee-high, building into ridges and cornices where scuffling air currents deposited it.

The masses of driving cold air have seen me pacing between the wood store and the stove, late into the night. In this bleak weather, with a group spread through the house needing to be kept warm , the heating system has been working at its limit. So have I, helped by Cornel. Now that they have gone, there are fewer rooms to keep warm. I am looking forward to catching up on sleep after one night after another with too few hours in bed.

Snow at last...

After a long and impatient wait, we were treated to more snow at last. Nearly a foot (30cm) fell overnight, pleasing me and delighting my Irish visitors. Quickly we arranged a sleigh ride to take advantage of nature's providence. Something tells me that that Scary will like this picture because my very beautiful dog Balanca looks more than a little like her delightful Atticus. Admittedly, Balanca lives outdoors, therefore her smelly hair does not clog my vacuum cleaner. She truly can be a malodorous dog. Only our eccentric but loveable cat Tiger is a denizen of the great indoors.

Here we are whooshing up the road from home into the forest, the world white and silent. The sleigh bells jingle, the runners hiss through the snow, the horses breath hard as they pull us uphill. It is a timeless scene on a tranquil Sunday.

The sleigh has a low platform, hence the view of Gelu's bottom. The general purpose sleighs used here have a very low centre of gravity. Hence one does end up looking around rather than over a well-built draught horse.

Our visitors loved the trip. Later on, they enjoyed a visit to our neighbours during which a goodly quantity of plum brandy was consumed. One of the challenges of this job is keeping up with guests on social calls, hopefully reaching pensionable age with an intact liver.

Hay whilst the sun shines

This morning we set out to collect a haystack, taking our Irish visitors so that they could experience the traditional rural life of the Carpathian mountains. The haystack was situated a little further up the valley, on the fringe between the woods and the meadows. In the photo, Tudor and Gelu wait - and eat hay - whilst Vasile and Nelu fork the fresh green hay from the stack onto the cart. Oprea and one of the local children appear to be supervising, a job that I had assumed was mine.

It took half an hour to load and secure 600kg (1,300lbs) of hay. Then we set off, across the field and back down to the rough trackway that reaches through the village and up to the forest.

Crossing the field, we needed to negotiate a sheet of ice, formed where water running from a spring had frozen in a smooth, slippery layer. Equipped with spiked shoes, the horses crossed in security, never slipping. Such are the hazards that we negotiate, daily, local solutions enabling us to operate carefully in security.

Our guests were fascinated, the activities of the morning taking them back to childhoods in rural Ireland half a century earlier. Two even jumped into the hay in remembrance of youthful recreation.

Our neighbours appeared on the next field, leaving the woods with a cart well loaded with timber for a local sawmill. I counted the rings on one tree, which proved to be just over fifty years old, probably planted in the aftermath of Hungarian exploitation during the Second World War.

In the afternoon, I took my guests to buy plum brandy (7 euro/litre for good 60% plum spirit), then to experience a quaint local bar a short walk from my home. The sort of informal bar with no sign outside, a room with benches and bare floorboards, presided over by a jovial peasant who was glad for our company. Long may our rustic outlaw life continue.

Cause and effect in a Carpathian village

Shortly before Christmas, a visitor would have witnessed a pyromanic scene in our back yard. A freshly-slaughtered pig was having the bristles singed off using a home-made flamethower. Later the pig was butchered and every part used for something. Our employees were happy to take the parts that made Danielle and I squeamish, to be used for making soup.

A great length of excellent home-made sausage came out of this pig and his fellow, and these were smoked for a day over beech wood. A goodly quantity was eaten at New Year, greatly appreciated by our visitors, whilst a large quantity remains in the freezer.

Today's barbecue lunch in the forest benefitted from those pigs. Nelu and I lit a fire at a picnic place thoughtfully provided by the forest administration, then we cooked a couple of kilos of sausages for our six guests. There were none left, to the dogs' disappointment. Half a litre of plum brandy was consumed too. It was a jolly picnic.

Wild pigs.....and pig's ears

One advantage of working in the tourism industry is getting to see interesting sights. Today was no exception, as I took a group to see, first a traditional blacksmith at work, second a brandy distillery, then lastly the wild pigs that a neighbour breeds.

The wild pigs, or wild boar, live in a large enclosure totalling a hectare (two acres) of mixed woodland, scrub and pasture. We took a bag of maize with us, using this as bait to bring the pigs over, whilst helpers made noise on the other side of the enclosure to encourage them to move. Compared to domestic pigs, their wild relatives are comparatively squat and stocky, and very hairy. The young have a ginger coat, soon losing this for a dark coat varying from brown to charcoal. It was curious to see how their tusks interlocked like scissors: they could, I was told, sever a finger with one bite. It was, therefore, less tempting to reach over the chain-link fence that separated us from the pigs to try to feel their bristly coats. Whilst open to bribery by corn, and used to seeing people, they are by no means domestic animals.

Returning home, I found that a neighbour delivering hay had made a pig's ear of crossing the stream. On his short cut, the ice had given way, allowing the left side to drop far enough for the cart slowly to overturn. The two horses just stood there as the load rotated behind them, coming to rest on its side. Attempts to right the load using a pulley then draw it forward onto solid ground failed. Nor could it be dragged out on its side since it was snagged on waterside trees. So there was no alternative but to throw some timbers across the shallow water running across the melting ice and unload the cart, trying to get as little hay as possible. It would be easy to right once empty. The hay was being delivered for immediate feeding, so its getting wet represented no particular loss. Still, it was an embarrassing incident for the neighbour, amidst a crowd of onlookers, each with his own idea as to how the situation might be retrieved.

Sleigh ride

Today, for the first time this winter, we travelled by sleigh. It was not out of physical necessity, as when the snow is deep and impassable to wheeled vehicles, but because a visiting travel writer needed to make a sleigh ride for a feature that she is writing.

There was little snow, because the weather during these past days has hovered just above zero, drizzle falling and washing the snow away. Fortunately we found a thin, barely reliable covering of packed snow on a forest road nearby, sufficient for the sleigh to travel with occasional grating of the runners on stones.

At the top of the forest road, Claire and I got out to allow Nelu to turn the sleigh more easily. That's when we took the photo. There was a bit of snow, the weather was cool, however it didn't seem wintry as we understand winter in the Carpathian mountains.