Brașov is set in a topographically dramatic landscape. It’s situated in a small valley ringed by steep hills, the most impressive of which is Mt. Tâmpa to the east. As soon as I laid eyes on it, I knew I had to hike up it. There’s a cable car that runs up to the summit too, but that’s for pussies.
Mt. Tâmpa rises dramatically right up from the edge of Brașov (16 June 2018).
Supposedly, during the Middle Ages, Vlad Țepeș, aka Vlad Dracul, the inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Dracula, impaled (Vlad was also known as “the Impaler”) 40 noblemen on this very mountain. These days, it’s topped by a much less ghoulish Hollywood-style “Brașov” sign.
My weather luck, which held all through my travels in Iberia, began to wane a bit with a few rainy days in Croatia and Slovenia (several in Zagreb), and here in Brașov said luck ran out almost entirely. Aside from the sunny day I arrived, it’s rained every day I’ve been here, at times torrentially. On 14 June, a day it merely sprinkled on and off, I took my first look at the Mt. Tâmpa trailhead.
No cushy paved hiking trail here. This dirt track is best tackled when it’s dry (14 June 2018).
A trail information sign at the start of the trail caught my eye. It’s mostly in Romanian, but the one part in English — “there is possible to meet one of the following species” — is above photos of animals that include a brown bear and a lynx! Yes, I like cities that are close to nature. But that may be too much nature even for me.
14 June 2018
At that point I said to myself, “you know, I think I’ll leave Mt. Tâmpa for tomorrow.” To increase my chances of dry weather hiking the following day, I resolved to get up early on Friday, 15 June, ahead of any afternoon thunderstorms. So at the ungodly hour of 10:30am I rolled out of bed. After getting dressed and snapping a few more photos on my way through town, I arrived at the trailhead at 11:30. It was still slick from the light rain the day before, but I figured this was as dry the trail would ever get. So I headed on up.
During the entire initial part of my ascent through the most thickly wooded part of the mountain, I was still thinking about that sign. “Lions, tigers, and bears, oh my!” I picked up a stick in case I needed a weapon. I pictured a lynx, silent and hidden behind the thick undergrowth, stalking me, getting ready to pounce.
This high fence separates the trail from the backyards of the houses abutting the lower slopes of the mountain. It’s there to keep out the grizzly bears and lynx(es?), no doubt (15 June 2018).
OK. That looks really steep and really muddy. It’s really hard to keep a look out for bears when I have to place every foot with caution, to avoid a Slip-‘n-Slide back down the hillside (15 June 2018).
But at least the trail is well-marked. It was easy to follow the paint (15 June 2018).
Higher up, the trees thinned out and I emerged into an alpine meadow. This was the first point that I encountered any other humans. Potbellied, shirtless older Romanian men seemed to be strolling about without a care in the world. At that point, my fears of the local wildlife subsided.
I don’t have to outrun a bear. I just have to outrun this guy (15 June 2018).
No doubt my mighty walking stick gave all the lynx(es) pause (15 June 2018).
Having emerged from the trees, the sun, where it peeked out from the gathering clouds, was intense. I took the opportunity here to slather on some sunblock. When I went through airport security in Zagreb, they made me throw out my old bottle of sunblock because, at 150ml, it was too big of a container of liquid to allow in my carry-on. So on arrival in Brașov, I bought the smallest (100ml) bottle of Romanian sunblock I could find at the supermarket, hoping the Romanian equivalent of TSA will let me take it with me on my flight to Prague at the end of the month. It was some SPF-50 stuff formulated for babies, but I figured it’d do.
But oh, it was really sticky and streaky! Normally I don’t mind the greasy feel of sunblock, particularly after it sinks in or dries or whatever several minutes after I apply it. But this sunblock wasn’t greasy; it was sticky. This must be why it’s for babies. Babies can’t complain (intelligibly) about how yucky and sticky it is.
I know, I know. White people problems.
Not long after, sticky and white-streaked, I reached the summit.
This is a good illustration of how Brașov is wedged into a narrow valley between the surrounding hills (15 June 2018).
I walked a little further, curious about where the cable car station at the summit was. On my way, I encountered what looked like the backside of an old billboard with big rips and tears in it. I thought, “Oh that’s tacky. At some point some advertiser decided to stick a billboard up here on the mountain, and then he let it rust and decay up here.” Then I took a step back and it dawned on me what I was looking at.
That would be the “B” in the “Brașov” sign (15 June 2018).
Shortly afterward, I found the cable car station and the mountaintop café that my Lonely Planet guidebook accurately described as “drab.”
There are a few vendors up here selling sad little knick-knacks for the tourists (mostly) who venture up here. I bet none of those tourists hiked up the way I did. Pussies (15 June 2018).
On the other side of the cable car station, I found a new hiking path leading back down the mountain in a different direction. I waded through a two-inch-deep puddle and began my descent.
This trail is even narrower and muddier than the one I took up (15 June 2018).
I slipped a couple times, but did not fall (15 June 2018).
Ah! Finally. Stairs. Much better (15 June 2018).
The Mt. Tâmpa trail affords nice views of Brașov’s citadel on a hill across the way (15 June 2018).
I wondered when I would cross paths with the cable car. It’s both fast and silent (15 June 2018).
And with considerably more wandering, I made it back to where I started. Which is good, since during my descent, it started to sprinkle on and off. I did not want to get caught on those trails in a downpour.
Of course, I still had to find my way around the city wall to get back into Brașov. There are fewer openings in the wall than one would expect (15 June 2018).
And that was that! Two hours and 45 minutes, including the sunblock stop and numerous Kodak moments. The segments of trail that go straight up the mountain are too steep for running, but there is a long trail running more or less horizontally around the lower slopes of Mt. Tâmpa that I could incorporate into my running route. If only the rain would stop for a few days.