No writing tonight: I was off at the Royal Geographical Society attending a lecture about Hiram Bingham's discovery of Machu Picchu. Now that man was a fine photographer and polished teller of tales: both of which I admire.
My trail is a lot flatter and far less wild. Ancient dwellings we have upon these hills, but of earth rather than stone. But still this is rich material for picture and story.
Going to such lectures is a provocation: a blatant challenge to travel, explore and tell others about what I find. I did not finish my exploration of Transylvania: I was too busy working to do more than scratch the surface, and that I regret. There were Habsburg roads (which I did explore, in part) and plentiful Roman remains (of which I saw a little). Medieval trade routes crossed the mountains, and one I rode part-way weekly all summer long. A part of me would go straight back there to explore, if I could: and photograph, write and publish for such things fascinate me. For how long can I resist?
Meanwhile the green ways on the hills whisper: we are close by and we wait.
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