The Unfortunately Named Turda

Trip Start Aug 31, 2007

Trip End Apr 19, 2008

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Flag of Romania Turda, Romania
Tuesday, October 23, 2007

4:30 am is a decidedly unpleasant time to be standing on a dark road in the rain waiting to flag a bus. Some might even call it a disgusting time, but it was that or 5 more hours waiting for a train in Salva. And as for flagging a bus, that's what you do here. You stand on the side of the road and when the vehicle you want passes, you flag it down and it stops. Considering our alternatives, I thought we were putting a lot of faith in our flagging abilities. I mean, it's dark. How do you know those headlights off in the distance are a bus? But we flagged our hearts out (fortunately, there isn't much traffic at 4:30 am), and the bus pulled over, and we were off to Cluj-Napoca.

Now, Greyhounds turn the lights off at night and you sally forth into the darkness in silence. Not so with Romanian buses. Ours was lit up like a cube farm on a rainy day, with Romanian folk music blaring through the speakers

1-Fuzzy Photo In Mine

. The fiddle wasn't bad, but the singing! Imagine a drunk duck, and you're halfway there. Fortunately, Syncrude's high-quality ear plugs got the cacophony down to a dull whine, and I was able to doze off.

The bus driver turned off the music around 8 (go figure) and we arrived in Cluj-Napoca about 10, transferring to a mini-bus to take us to Turda, 27km south. After hitting up the tourist office (maps are important) and securing accommodation (no, Matt and I do not require a "matrimonial" bed), we head for the town's salt mines.

Used since Roman times, but especially from 1271 to 1932, the mines prove very fun to wander. The 500m entrance tunnel seems it should house WWII partisans and the 40m high grand chamber is nothing short of magnificent. Circling the top of the chamber on platforms hanging over mid-air, I whistle the Indiana Jones theme, stopping every now and then when I get scared. It is quite dark and a long way down, with only smooth, salty walls to cling to.

At the end of the mine, we hit a wall of smell: decomposing horse, 75 years after operations ceased. We quickly head out, passing an echo chamber on the way. Claps, finger snaps, and shouted exclamations bounce back to us 15-20 times

2-Horse Cart Sign

. I've heard duck's quacks don't echo. If I'd had the bus driver's cassette, I could have tested that theory, or least thrown it into the abyss.

In the afternoon, Matt and I set off for Turda Gorge, 7 km out of town. The girl at the tourist office hadn't given the clearest directions, but we figure we can ask as we go along. Wrong. Outside of town, we see no one. Lonely Planet also promises a trail with red crosses, which never materializes.

After a decent amount of guesswork, we catch sight of the gorge in the distance and being cutting across beautiful farm fields. It begins to pour, but quickly clears. The roads and fields are a mess. Matt's new runners from Chisinau (see, I'm not the only one who buys shoes travelling!) are baptized with mud. But our feet are dry, so in the new sunshine, we continue towards the gorge. We know we don't have enough daylight to get us there and back, but the return journey passes the town's landfill, so we put it off as long as possible.

Eventually, we are forced to turn around or risk losing our daylight. Coming into the home stretch, we are stopped short by an abrupt cliff, leading down into a construction site. There's nothing for it but to cut through. I feel naked and vulnerable without my hard hat, safety glasses, and steel toed boots, but we make it through the worst mud yet with no incidents. No one ever yells at us!

Walking through town, I am very conscious of my attire, covered in mud almost to my knees. I've broken nearly every rule of 20-something female fashion just by wearing my loose cotton pants, and now to be so dirty

3-Fields on Our Hike

! Back at the pensione, I take a shower with them, scrubbing off layer after layer of dirt with hot water and soap. In the morning, I use my knife to carve the worst chunks of mud off my boots. Passably clean for a half day in Cluj-Napoca.

Cluj-Napoca is a party town with a handful of other attractions. As their hostel is currently under renovations, I had stricken the town from my itinerary. However, passing through the day before, Matt and I decided we could give it some time before catching our train to Sighisoara. Arriving in the rain, we took in an Orthodox church, St. Michael's church, and the main square before visiting the charming Pharmaceutical Museum. Our tour got off on the right foot with me receiving a student discount. I have neither a valid student card nor a full time job and so am thrilled whenever I can get a student ticket with no ID. A wonderful man in a white lab coat showed us around the place, pointing out old apothecary jars from the 16th century (the building acted as a pharmacy from 1573 to 1949) and explaining the uses of things from mummy dust to a compound high in iron for blood disorders. It was all very interesting and fast paced to keep from being boring. I particularly liked the basement laboratory, filled with old balances, pill makers, and glassware.