huhhhhhhhhh

That's a sigh. In 2.5 hours a taxi should roll up at my door to whisk me off to Manchester Airport. While typing this I'm listening to Radio 7's Ladies of Letters Go Global, in which Pat Routledge's character Vera is crossing the Carpathians on a donkey with a Transylvanian villain called Roman. From the sound of it the writer hasn't been lucky enough to visit the region in person, or she'd write something a bit more credible. It's funny, though.
I'm not now going to meet the author as promised earlier. Grr. He read his readings on Saturday (ie this evening) in Sibiu, and is leaving (on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again) at sparrowfart on Monday. And my abode is a good 2 hours drive from his. So that's that, then. What a shame. I'd virtually written the piece for the Times Lit Supp.
The weather's been glorious, apparently, but it's due to change tomorrow, about the time I touch down. Hey ho. So I don't know whether to take weatherproofs, snow shoes or shorts. This time last year there was a big and very sudden freeze (down to about -20C overnight) which burst pipes and cut the village off again for another few days.
When I come back, I will have 10 days of Carpathian gossip to relate.
La revedere

Six month exile almost over

I'll soon be back on the spine, at the edifice officially named Orchard House, although the sum total of the trees on my plot are four mature cherries, another three cherry saplings, a leggy silver birch (no, I didn't back the Grand National winner yesterday, dammit), wild roses, a wind-pruned lilac bush, lots of hazel trees and the odd wild raspberry cane. But sooner or later there will be more cherries, at least one walnut (walnut trees grow like weeds on the top there), and lots of apples. I'm told bears will come and steal my apples, but I'm prepared to fight for them. I have saucepans to clash. (Of course it's well known that a 7ft brown bear is always brought to heel by an Englishwoman banging pans at 2am.)
Above is what I see from my back door. That's the corner of the stable, and beyond is the ridge of Piatra Craiului, the Gorges below, and the road to Pestera. 'Road' is a bit of a grand word for the track-cum-river bed that is fine for mountain bikes, hooves and walking boots, and fun for large 4x4 vehicles, but a bit dicey for anything in between. Worth the effort, though, as the long and winding route to the next village and on to the Bran-Rucar corridor below provides a succession of glorious views. Best to stop the car if you're driving, as gawping at the panorama whilst driving is likely to land you 1000 feet down the 60-degree slope.

This is the view up to my nearest neighbours. This was taken in June, when the dandelions had all gone to seed and the grass was a bit too long to see all the red clover, St Johns' wort, alchemilla, sorrel, wild mountain thyme, etc – but believe me, if you chew your way through my lawn one summer, you'll be so full of healthgiving phytochemicals that every ill and lurking inner menace will be banished.