Christmas. Usually I'm not a fan of the flimflam and overspending, but that's urban living and TV. In Magura, the build-up to Christmas was flimflam free, but very white. Snow up to our uxters and the scarlet knickers of Woody Redkecks (Greater Spotted Woodpecker) flashing against the icy background of the mountains.
I had thought I'd got away with Christmas and was planning on a bowl of pasta, a few DVDs and curling up with the cat - but my lovely neighbours weren't going to let THAT happen. I could easily have been given six Christmas dinners on the trot had I not been flinty-hearted and refused all but the smallest glass of palinca or visinata at each house as I went up the hill with my bag of tiny gifts. By the time I got to the car I was pie-eyed, facing the perilous drive over packed snow and ice, down the steep hill via eleven hairpin bends, in the dark. I arrived - late but in one piece - in Zarnesti for Christmas celebrations with Luminita, Dan and family. Charcuterie and appetizers followed by sarmale and mamaliga, then cozonac - all with more delicious alcohol, and I was facing an even woozier drive back up the hill. Luckily there weren't many cars on the road (ie none) and no wildlife, so I slithered my way home unscathed. Grateful for my friends' generosity, I saw the rest of the evening out with Hobbs snoozing in my arms. A good Christmas. Very good.
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