I already described and documented photographically the Christmas lights in Târgu Mureș, where I currently live, which got a bit out of hand and strained the national electricity network.
Bogdan Nasca could easily top that because he has a camera which can fly and play cheesy radio music at the same time. Here is his video:
There is no question that I picked a beautiful city for my stay in Romania.
The next train will leave at 10 o’clock, the lady at the counter signals by raising both her hands and stretching out all of her ten fingers, as if a robbery was in progress. The ticket for one of the most beautiful train rides in Europe costs 3.20 Euros (less than 4 US dollars). At another counter, I later discover a handwritten note with the departure times of the most important train connection in former Yugoslavia.
I still have 20 minutes left. The little shop doesn’t have Coca Cola, but Cockta, a Slovenian Cola substitute which tastes more refreshing, but doesn’t inject any caffeine. And a chocolate bar for the train journey. On the platform for track 3, there is a man with a chainsaw. That one must be the right track for the train into the mountains.
From Podgorica, the capital of Montenegro, I want to go to Kolašin, a small town in the mountains. Already before the first stop, still in the outskirts of the city, two police officers on the train are checking my passport as thoroughly as if I was about to leave the country. The route is indeed part of the train connection to Belgrade, but it’s still a few hours until we will approach the border.
Back in 1855, planning began for a rail connection from Belgrade to the Montenegrin coast. Only in 1976, a full 121 years later, the whole 454 km (282 miles) were opened. With 254 tunnels and 243 bridges, it was the most expensive infrastructure project in Yugoslavia. The railroad overcomes a difference in altitude of 1,000 meters (3,280 feet). The train station of Kolašin, my destination today, is the highest station along the route at 1,024 meters (3,360 feet).
Shortly after leaving the capital, the train begins to climb. A turquoise river meanders deep down in the canyon next to the rail track. Rivers in Montenegro display colors which you otherwise see only on postcards from Sardinia and the Caribbean.
My eyes quickly wander back and forth between canyons and mountains. A dramatic landscape with small mountain villages in between, in which the unplastered stone houses can only be told apart from the adjacent stables by the satellite dishes. And tunnels, tunnels, tunnels. A quarter of the whole distance runs through tunnels, the longest of which are piercing into the mountain for more than 6 km (3.8 miles).
Sitting alone in the compartment, I am writing these notes and jump up again and again to rush to the window and take photos. On the right hand side the mountains rise as steeply as they fall down on the left. This train journey has to be made at least twice, because once is not enough to absorb everything. There are not many countries in which one can marvel at the most impressive natural beauty in such a simple, convenient and affordable way.
There it is, Mala Rijeka Viaduct. 500 meters (1,636 feet) long and 200 meters (660 feet) deep. The tallest railway bridge in Europe. I see it from afar, then another tunnel, and immediately as it leaves the tunnel, the train is on the bridge. Fantastic views are opening up. I can’t decide which side to look down first.
The train winds its way across mountain passes, through canyons and across bridges. Building a straight line is impossible in this terrain. The engine takes the enormous ascent impressively easy. At stations like Bratonižići, where one railway employee stands in front of the lonely station building which is surrounded by dense forest, the train doesn’t even stop. It was not only geography which determined the route, but also politics. Before World War I, there was already an international conflict, mainly between Austria-Hungary and Serbia, about the routes of new long-distance railroads to be built. Serbia, which had no access to the sea, wanted to open up an Adriatic port with the rail connection. Austria-Hungary tried to counter with competing routes. It was this conflict over the Balkans, not the assassination in Sarajevo, which lead to World War I in 1914.
But now everything is peaceful. The first snow-covered mountain peaks appear in the distance. Down in the valley, the road winds beside the river, while the train keeps ascending and towers above all other means of transport. As it should.
At the stop at Lutovo, a train which came from the other direction is waiting. Nobody lives around here. Maybe the stop only serves the purpose of allowing the trains to pass because the line is mostly single-track. The railway staff working up here can only get to their place of work by train. That way, the company creates its own demand.
The river has dwindled to a trickle. Caves have been blown into the rock, maybe by partisans during World War II or maybe there was some dynamite left from building the tunnels. Fall-colored foliage, steep granite walls like in Yosemite, a lonesome wooden hut in between. The fir trees on top of the Ostrovica tunnel are already wearing white. It is October. I would like to make this journey once more, but in wintertime.
The journey to Kolašin took only 78 minutes, but it was 78 minutes of great natural cinema! Leaving the train, I see one of the police officers stretched out across three seats, sleeping, his shoes removed and his tie loosened.
Despite the noon sun, this highest train station in the country receives me with an ice-cold wind. Except for the treetops’ sough, there is absolute silence. Only a few birds are chirping. Most of them have moved away for the winter, have frozen to death or have been eaten by wolves. In a basin, there is the town of Kolašin, still a considerable march from the station. 78 minutes on a train, and I feel far away from the lowlands and reminded of the opening chapter in The Magic Mountain.
As I look back, the train has already left.
It will continue to Bijelo Polje, deeper into the mountains. Only one row of the chocolate bar is missing because I didn’t have time for it with all that marveling, photographing and writing. Usually, chocolate never survives that long in my company.
Practical information:
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No, I don’t mean wishes like health, world peace or the absence of world peace (for the weapons manufacturers among my readers). Nor petit-bourgeois wishes like a rise in salary, a new car or that the children won’t become jihadists.
What I am rather interested in: What do you expect from my blog in 2015?
This blog recently broke the threshold of one million views, but it is far less often that I receive comments or feedback. Therefore I don’t really know if you actually read parts of my blog, what you like, what you don’t like, what disturbs you.
I posted the same question on my Facebook page and have received the following answers thus far:
It was rather disappointing for me that no one expressed a desire to read more of the articles of which I am really proud:
These are the articles that take me at least half a day to write. These are the articles, due to which I don’t get enough fresh air, the food burns on the stove and neglect my friends. If I don’t receive any feedback after their publication, I sometimes ask myself why I am doing this. Yes, I don’t want to be too critical because I don’t like to read longer articles online either. When I have time to read something longer, I buy National Geographic or of course books. But without your feedback on my articles and without you passing them on, mailing them to your colleagues, sharing them on Facebook and Twitter, neither National Geographic nor publishing houses will ever contact me.
I am curious to learn from you:
Writing is a lonely job. I’d like to learn a bit about those who are receiving and reading some of my writings. Some feedback would be nice, preferably in the comment section below. Thank you very much!
And don’t worry, I will definitely keep my personal style. I will continue to combine seriousness with humor in a way that it will sometimes take a while to find out which is which. And there will still be silly posts. After all, this is a blog and not a book. The book will be written later, when this blog will have enough readers who convince me to withdraw to a remote cabin in the Carpathian Mountains to find the necessary peace.
I wish you a great 2015!
I am glad to see that I am not the only one who appreciates cigars.
This sentence is not poetry.
This
one
is.
We are sorry, Afghanistan, but we are giving up. Good bye.
Not that I have a better solution. – Well, actually I have.
When I first saw the Christmas lights in the center of Târgu Mureș, I felt reminded of Las Vegas. Glitzy, flashy, shining, pompous, they turn night into day. Cheesy Christmas songs emanate from the public loudspeakers which had once been installed for the regular disbursement of communist wisdom. Horse-drawn sledges pull children around Piața Trandafirilor, while their (the children’s, not the horses’) parents get tipsy on vin fiert (mulled wine).
Meanwhile, some villages not too far away have regular power outages or no electricity at all. There, children wouldn’t (and couldn’t) pay for a 15-minute ride with a horse. They have to use them every day, for lack of cars or even roads.
Romania, a country of contrasts. Good that mayors and city councils have got their priorities right. And how convenient that some electricity companies are owned by the Romanian Orthodox Church, so that all the money earned will be used for a good purpose, like building more churches with yet more lights to shine.
I went to the market today to get a Snickers bar. After all this healthy and light food over Christmas, I wanted to celebrate the end of the year with some chocolate.
The lady at the chocolate stand informed me that there was no Snickers this week. Probably the truck had been stuck in the snow somewhere. She asked whether I wanted “a Romanian Snickers” instead. I had never heard of it, but my curiosity was sparked. Emphatically, and tired of one week of salad, rice and vegetables, I said “yes”.
She handed me a huge piece of an extremely dense and heavy combination of chocolate and cake. See the photo for scale.
When I cut off a slice, I discovered that it even had fruits inside. It tastes magnificently! But you can only eat such a small amount of it that it will last for weeks.
It’s a great invention which I am sure will take over the world market soon. When you will see it in stores from Canada to Australia, remember that you first read about it here. And never get the king-size version! It’s twice as long as this one and weighs several pounds.
Please watch this warning message each time you are thinking of giving up your 9-to-5 job, taking a sabbatical, travelling the world or doing something else which would upset your daily routine. In short: don’t do it!
Why? I’ll explain in the video.
(Filmed on Sinis peninsula on Sardinia in May 2014.)
