We’re in Maramureș, Northern Romania, close to the border of Ukraine. I need to go to sleep, but I’m overstimulated by the memories of the dancing and singing from today’s Hoteni Festival. The festival is a sort of agrarian fertility rite, a celebration of the first man to plough his field. The man is brought in by procession on a chariot covered with tree branches and colorful streams of paper, pulled by young guys. They douse the winning farmer with water and then around goes a bottle of brandy—now let the music begin!
We’re sleeping in the village of Breb for a few nights and since there are no restaurants, we ate dinner at the house of a neighbor lady. Everything she served us, including the wine and butter, was made by her from her own garden and animals.
The stove in the house of the charming neighbor lady, who is well aware of what a wonderful cook she is.
I’m overwhelmed by this trip. In terms of cultural immersion, on a scale of 1 -10 we’ve already hit 15. Naturally, I want to post a gazillion pictures, but that will have to wait until I have a faster WiFi connection.
P.S. in keeping with my oversharing habit of telling you about my bathroom experiences, I feel entitled to tell you that there were no bathroom facilities whatsoever available at the festival. I peed in the woods. Twice.
How we got to Hoteni: Florin from Casa Muntean drove us.
Where we slept: Village Hotel. Price: €30 for a double. Recommended: yes.