I padded up and down the main road. The muffled crunch of my boots on snow breaking the clear blue and white silence. If there’s enough of it, snow makes anywhere seem like a dream with the volume turned low and in Cerna Sat a small village on a lake in the foothills of the Carpathians the snow was plentiful, crisp and powdery like angels dust.
I looked for somewhere to put my tent, or if I was lucky, I hoped to find an old barn or deserted house to sleep in. For some reason I prefer sleeping in building even if its derelict. I’m lazy. I hate taking down tents in the morning.
At the Jesus Icon, I met a man with an axe and a heavy waist coat made from a sheep’s fleece. His bare hands gripped the axe, apparently immune or inured to the incisive cold. He was chatting to a woman, who was wrapped up in so many scarves only her eyes were visible, and if it wasn’t for the sounds and the steam rising from somewhere in the scarf bundle I could have easily imagined that she had no mouth. I asked if there was a shop, using one of my five words of Romanian to strike up a conversation. Cerna Sat looked too small and quiet for a shop, and I was expecting a negative shrug.
I judged Cerna Sat too quickly. It did have a shop and a bar the mouthless woman told me. And I could sleep on the terrace if I liked. A shop, a bar, and a sheltered place to sleep; all three of my favourite things in the one place. I tried not to get my hopes up too much just in case something was lost in the translation.
At the cafe, I drank hot chocolate next to the porcelain stove with Luksa; the owner. Once we had exhausted my four words - I couldn’t ask him where the shop was - we shared collegial nods and a half comprehension punctuated with long periods of silence. He reminded me of my grandad; having a certain and considerate manner and a judicious geniality. It was cold outside and I wanted to sit next to the green tiled stove a little longer so I asked for another hot chocolate. He stood next to me while I slurped. We looked ahead together, and pondered in silence. Both grateful, I think, for the other’s insouciance.
Eventually it came time to move on. Employing the universal if infantile gesture, I asked about somewhere to sleep, pressing my two palms together for a prayer and laying my tilted head against them and closing my eyes. He motioned that there was a pension 300m down the road on the left-hand side. I said an awkward thanks and shouldered my pack, put on my gloves, attempted to zip up my jacket, took off my gloves, zipped up my jacket and put on my gloves again and then left. Lukso patiently watched as I foostered.