Naked truth - part 5 The Carpathian mountains and travelling by train
Fragmented memories
"The Carpathians are the stone walls of this fortress that is our homeland. They are the backbone of Romanian soil, the link between heaven and earth, constantly reminding us of the age and strength of our people." - Cezar Petrescu
Romania is graced with the majestic Carpathians, mountains so grand they seem to divide the country in two. Their presence is powerful, almost otherworldly, and you can feel their energy long before you reach them, especially if you are travelling by train.
Martha adored the train ride (not that she was travelling often) the rhythmic clatter of wheels on the tracks, a soothing melody perfectly in sync with the pulse of life.
The journey to the mountains took about 90 minutes in semi-comfortable carriages, each with compartments for eight people—a breeding ground for lively conversation once the train gained speed. Martha often thought of the film *The Lady Vanishes*, with its scattered dialogues, drowsy passengers, and the casual exchange of food. The atmosphere was free of tension, just peaceful, shared moments. There were occasional cigarette breaks, more chances to chat with fellow travelers from other compartments. Reading on the train felt natural, with the gaze rising now and then to take in the familiar sights—the houses, the trees—until Martha could tell exactly where they were without needing the train to stop.
Taking out a book was a conversation starter in itself. As a teenager, Martha would often read the classics—both international and Romanian. She remembers one trip in particular, reading “La Medeleni” by Ionel Teodoreanu and striking up a conversation with a beautiful woman dressed in pink. She couldn t not remember how meticulously people dressed back then. You could easily tell who was visiting friends or heading for a mountain adventure. Clothes were fashionable, always clean, decent and would you believe it … long lasting. No flash displayed in your face or grossly overweight bodies in sight! What a difference to what happened just a few years after the revolution!
Back then, people took pride in the way they dressed, always neatly pressed clothes and well-tailored too. It wasn’t uncommon to have your garments made by a tailor. Her father, for instance, would have a suit custom-made every so often. The process took months and several visits to the tailor, but the final result was always worth the wait—each suit unique, a source of pride. She can still see how proud and dashing he looked. But, let’s go back to the story!
"La Medeleni" was one of her most cherished books, not only for its captivating narrative but also for its vivid and heartwarming depictions of family life. It painted scenes of jovial uncles and bustling aunts, of lively countryside adventures where geese waddled across fields and cattle grazed lazily. There were days spent climbing trees, plucking sun-ripened pears straight from the branches and eating with gusto the juice dripping down the face and afternoons filled with pearls of laughter echoing through the air. At times, she used to close her eyes and see herself with imaginary friends, running freely through meadows, searching for colourful bugs and butterflies.
But what stirred her heart the most was the tender figure of the grandfather, a figure of strength and love. She could picture him, the beloved imaginary granddad effortlessly lifting her up from the high steps of the train holding her in a tight embrace, twirling her in the air as her shrieks of joy filled the sky. That sense of playful adoration was something she longed for. Oooo and how about the scene with grandad Ion racing down dusty roads with his carriage, pretending to compete against an unseen rival, much to the delight of Olguța, one of the main characters in the book. Such vivid memories! So many times fictional characters seemed more real to her than the reality around. Safer, more predictable.
In reality, her life lacked any similar warmth. Her maternal grandfather had passed away a year before she was born, and the one on her father’s side died when she was only three. Her memories of him were faint, like shadows in the fog, barely graspable. The only image that remained was from a family photo where her grandfather stood near her, his wife, Martha’s father and … Martha but there was no warmth in the scene—just stiff postures, like lampposts casting a cold light over the earth!
"La Medeleni" isn’t a children's book, yet its depth makes it suitable for teenagers and adults alike. The conversation with the lady in pink filled her heart with joy—a warmth she rarely felt, as such conversations never graced her own home, much to her sorrow.
"On paths of crumbling rocks, on banks collapsing into ravines, the train glides gently, disappearing among the towering mountains and deep forests, as if fleeing towards the sky." - Mihai Eminescu - Scrisoarea I
You need to know that the Carpathian Mountains possess an enchanting charm, like ancient guardians watching over a landscape filled with hidden paths. Their trails wind through the forest like threads in a tapestry, leading to tiny motels nestled in the most improbable corners. These mountains hold mysteries—whispers of secret entrances to other worlds. Yet that day, Martha’s mind wasn’t on those legends. She remembered the earthquake.
There is a point, a dot on the map, where the Carpathians bend into a strange embrace, a place where the earth never rests. It shifts endlessly beneath the surface, a quiet stirring that goes unnoticed by most, a constant readjustment of tectonic plates. But every now and then, like a sleeping dragon uncoiling, the ground rumbles. It roars, sending a terrifying cry into the air—a sound no one wishes to hear twice, one that stays imprinted in the memories of those who survive it. It’s as if the earth shoots arrows of raw, unimaginable power in various direction, all released in one furious explosion.
March 4, 1977, 9:22 PM—a moment etched into Martha’s memory forever. It was the night the earth roared. The earthquake struck with the force of 7.5 on the Richter scale, the second largest in Romania’s turbulent 20th century. Martha, just 7 years old, stood frozen in the middle of her room, as the world around her seemed to rattle in a truly horrible way!
Next chapter - The earthquake
Until next time, be well!
One of my dreams is to write a novel, inspired by real events but with a touch of fiction in it. Will it happen? I don’t know! Writing as and when I find the energy and time while navigating the choppy waters of life.
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If you want to read “La Medeleni” in English click on the link. I highly recommend it.
You can read part 4 here
Naked truth chapter 4 - baking is a serious matter
It was one of those October days when the rain seemed to enrage everyone, cloaking the world in heavy drops, clogging the drainage systems, and creating rivers down the street.