Cycling Romania: Sighisoara to Tarcau, via Lacu Rosu & Bicaz Gorge

Bike wash!!!
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We were sad to leave Sighisoara, but we stocked up on some yummy cheese and meat filled pastries and hit the road bound for Lacu Rosu and the Bicaz Gorge, about 150 kilometers northeast in Romania´s beautiful Carpathian mountain range.  The first part of this ride was a little less exciting than before, as the green misty hills of Transylvania had given way to a landscape of stunted hills and dry yellow grass.  Our first major stop was at a car wash, for, yay!!!!, a much needed bike cleanin´.  But the end of the day found us grabbing dinner in a beautiful town that turned out to be a 100% "Hungarian" town.  The town was markedly different from most towns we had seen.  Trees lined the main streets and slick eateries and lounges abounded, offering - holy mamoly - food with real honest to god spices.  We grabbed a yummy dinner, but we wanted to get a little further down the road before stopping for the night, in order to make the next day under 80 kilometers.  After dinner we set off for a town that our road map indicated (by a handy little symbol) had at least one guesthouse.  (Most of the places we went in Romania were too small or out of the way to be in the LP guidebook.)

Palinka with our Hungarian host, northeast of Sighisoara.
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We were expecting a decent-sized town, but after about 12 kilometers on a SERIOUSLY BUMPY road (and me having, ahem, traveler's tummy that worsened with each awful jolt), we found ourselves in a decent-sized village.  Having no idea if or where we could find a guesthouse, we asked a villager, and eventually found one.  We inquired about a room, an arduous task since no one spoke English.  Luckily, "doble" means "double" in Romanian, so we eventually made it happen.  The evening turned out to be an interesting one.

you just can´t say no to palinka in Romania

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The guesthouse belonged to an extended family who lived in the bottom part of the house.  The family offered us dinner, but since we´d already eaten they instead invited us for palinka and a chat.  Well, you just can´t say no to palinka in Romania.  It´s not just a drinking thing, it´s a cultural and a social thing.  It´s a gesture of friendship and we had the feeling we´d be turds to say no.  So despite being ridiculously tired, we accepted and joined everyone in the kitchen for some moonshine!  The palinka was good, and our hosts seemed very sweet and were extremely hospitable, but the chatting soon reached an impasse given the total lack of common language.  (I used the ploy of playing googoogaga over their toddler, which seemed to be a crude way of communing over mutual appreciation of the baby´s cuteness - he was in fact, very cute.)  Hmmm, what to do.  We saw our host using his cell phone, but did not find out until later that night that he had come up with an answer.  For then, it seemed too much awkward silence had passed for anyone in his right mind to want to continue the evening.  We said good night, as best we could, then headed back up to our room and began to get ready for bed.

Entering the mountains again, northeast of Sighisoara.
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About 15 minutes later, we heard a knock at our door.  I opened it and found the owner´s 13-year old son there.  He said, "you come," and pointed downstairs, and he sounded pretty desperate for us to do so.  We couldn't imagine what it could be about as it seemed really important. We later learned this effect simply stemmed from his age, shyness and inability to communicate with us.  We followed him downstairs and found an entire new family to welcome us - our hosts´English-speaking friends!  Out again came the palinka, and this time some wine, and we spent a few hours chatting with a couple in their forties and two teenagers from the neighborhood.  It was very interesting.  For one, they explained to us that their village, and most of the region, including the beautiful town where we´d had dinner, were "ethnically Hungarian".  Hungarian was spoken by everyone as a first language.  Street and road signs gave both Romanian and Hungarian names.  Business names were all in Hungarian.  They told us the people in this region migrated long ago from Hungary, and we could see they prided themselves on their heritage.  We definitely sensed that there is a tension between the Hungarian Romanians and other Romanians.  The Hungarians consider themselves a bit superior, and work hard to maintain clean and pretty towns in their region.  To be fair, the towns in this area were quite a bit nicer than those we´d seen previously.  They also told us that the roads were so horrible because the government had utterly failed to fix roads in the Hungarian region for the previous 20 years.  In fact, the hideously bumpy road on which we'd arrived, which was extremely bad even by Romanian standards, continued for about 50 kilometers until about the time we exited the Hungarian area the next day. (Additionally, this was a yellow road on our map, supposed to be completely paved and second only to a major highway!)  Lonely Planet claims the people in these regions are of dubious origin, and may or may not be Hungarian.  We only saw that they look different than other Romanians, which may be enough to foster the kind of tension that exists between the two groups.  This family also spoke to us about the very poor economic situation in Romania, which most hope will improve with Romania´s entry into the EU next year.  (Their admission, along with that of Bulgaria, was conditionally approved in August 2006.  If they meet the conditions by January 2007, they will be preliminary members next year and full members after a probationary period.)  They also told us that of the 420 households in the village, 170 are guesthouses!  Apparently, you just knock on any door and you stand a good chance you've found a guesthouse.  Who knew?

A hut in the mountains.
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Our host had warned us the paved road (already in bad shape, as I said) ended entirely after about 20 kilometers.  After that, we had about 30 kilometers to ride uphill on the worst road we´d encountered yet in Romania (excepting cow paths, of course!).  Thankfully it wasn't too steep.  After the slow ascent, we finally got to the paved part and road downhill for about 10 kilometers - woo hoo!!!  After a yummy pizza lunch (we each ate an entire pizza - a touring cyclist's appetite is at all times gargantuan), we headed off for the last 25 kilometers up to Lacu Rosu.  This was the biggest climb we had encountered yet, but turned out not to be as big as we´d ancticipated.  Still, we were feeling pretty darn satisfied with ourselves when we reached the top several hours later.  Another bit of downhill and we finally reached Lacu Rosu.

Getting ready to start the REAL climb.
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Now, Lonely Planet described Lacu Rosu as an unmissable sight of strange and wonderful natural beauty.  Apparently, reasonable minds can differ on this point, because we saw only a pond with some sticks in it.  However, it was kind of a cool little spot in the mountains, with a campsite nearby, lots of small hotels, and a nice vibe.  As an aside, though, Lacu Rosu was also the site of the worst service in the world.  Our waitress managed to take 3 hours to serve us soup and mamaliga, and I'm not exaggerating.  Then, we waited 30 minutes after asking for the check before we decided to get change in a nearby hotel, estimate the bill, leave the estimated amount under a salt shaker and head home.

Toles coming along the mountain, he is.
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In the morning, Lonely Planet redeemed itself.  The Bicaz Gorge, just 5 kilometers east of Lacu Rosu, borders on awe-inspiring.  The dramatic gorge cuts a deep gash through the tree-covered Carpathians, and we had to stop pretty often to gawk at all the beauty around us.  Many kilometers later, we reached an awesome rural guesthouse in a village named Tarcau, just outside the town of Bicaz.  Here we spent a lovely two days with the house to ourselves, playing Chess, watching movies, and reading.  Our Romanian biking tour was finished, and we were bound for Bucharest to try to get our bikes shipped to Argentina for the next leg of the trip.