On the morning of September 4th, I left Albac with a Belgian friend to whom I was showing around Romania, my native country, with the aim of exploring the southern area of the Apuseni National Park in Romania. It is hard to put into words why,but for several months I had felt a burning desire to get to this corner of the country. I had heard that it has beautiful places to visit and old traditions that are still preserved, and something was somehow calling me there. And I did well to listen to that something.
The day before, I was welcomed with “trumpets and spears” in the Land of the Moți (the inhabitants of the Apuseni Mountains area call themselves ”moți”) by a morning storm which knocked down trees on the roads and left parts of the area powerless. So the morning after was serene and still except for the Arieș River which was babbling more now that it was also carrying the new rainwater from the mountains. Albac and the first few villages after it seemed touristic to me, full of guesthouses and with little essence left. Being behind the wheel, I was thinking that if the whole area is like this I will consider changing the route. In general, I avoid as much as possible heavily transited areas to leave room for the less popular, but still special places.
With these thoughts going through my mind at one point, coming out of a curve, I noticed on the left at the foot of the mountain, a peculiar brown house with a beautiful green meadow and the river flowing right in front of it. I had wanted to record a violin video somewhere by the river because this area reminded me of my childhood summers spent bathing in the river, in a small village from a mountainous area, but I hadn’t yet found the right place. Until that moment. Together with the always flowing river the house I had just found created a corner of extraordinary beauty.
I parked the car in the first suitable place, took the violin and started walking back along the road in search of the house. I found the place, which confirmed that my instincts were right and that this was the place I was looking for, I took out the violin and started to record the beginning of the second Romanian dance by Bartok which I felt was a good fit for the gaiety of the river and the very quiet but somehow playful atmosphere of the place.
The whole procedure took at least 30 minutes, if not more, during which I filmed both by the road and down by the river in an attempt to find the angle that would bring out on camera the beauty of the place which was obvious to the eye. Since I arrived I noticed from a distance that there was movement in front of the house: a man, probably one of the owners, came out to hang some laundry, and a little later, while I was filming, a visitor also appeared and sat down at the table in the porch. Just as we couldn’t help but notice what was happening behind us, those behind us observed us with interest, especially because I had in my hand a real “weapon” with four strings which, I don’t know how, always attracts the attention of those around. Feeling this connection, we decided to go greet them, shake their hands and tell them how beautiful their home is and how grateful we are for being able to make this recording.
We found a place to cross the river and arrived at the gate, where the owner of the house, the one we had seen from afar was already welcoming us. We greet each other, he invites me into the courtyard and I find out that his name is Ionel and that both him and his entire family are originally from Scarișoara, and the “star” house originally belonged to his grandparents.
He confirms my suspicion and says, denoting a wonderful sense of humor through the expressive tone of his voice and the use of regionalisms exactly “where necessary”, that he noticed me with the “fiddle” across the river and he was waiting to see what “symphony” I was going to play. I told him that I played something by the Transylvanian Bartok, and following up very naturally from my usual discourse about my violin record in England and the States, he shared that one of his children also resides in the US, in Los Angeles and that he visited him once together with his wife and daughter, who is settled in Bucharest.
Approaching the porch of the house where two people had been quietly observing us since we stepped into the yard, I said hello again, and Mr. Ionel introduced me to another Mr. Ionel (a common name in the village, it seems), a friend , who, I found out a little later, is also an accordionist, and with Marius, the third child of the family, who lives in Hunedoara and was visiting his parents. He also introduced me to the “divas” of the yard, a few goats which I had noticed during the filming from across the other side of the river and to whom, I realized then, I must be grateful for clearing the trees near the river (which they nibbled throughout the visit despite the already obvious bareness of the twigs), which would otherwise obstruct the view of the lovely house from the street.
We accept the kind invitation to accompany them for a coffee (because I was driving, this time I had to refuse the tasting of their homemade “vinars” ” - the regional term used for a transparent alcoholic drink usually made of apples or plums) and shortly after, Mrs. Vetuța, Mr. Ionel’s wife, also comes out of the house. Perhaps feeling a little nervous but with a very warm and sincere smile on her face, she greeted me and shared that she also heard my violin from the house and was curious to meet me. I told her briefly about my musical journey through various parts of Romania and she shared with me that Mr. Ionel is also an amateur musician and that he could teach me Romanian folk melodies by imitation - he sings and I follow him with the violin. Mrs. Vetuța goes back inside the house to prepare the coffee, and the other Mr. Ionel, the family friend, politely excuses himself and leaves, so I am left talking with Mr. Ionel and Marius, mentioned above.
I ask, out of curiosity, what they and the residents of the area do for a living, and Mr. Ionel tells me with a visible melancholy in his voice that growing animals is the main activity, but that it is not profitable anymore because there are not many people left in the village, but only empty houses, because most of the elderly have died, and the youth has moved to the cities. He tells me that years ago the village was not so quiet, but full of noisy children. When they returned from school across the mountain, the village would shake with their laughter as they descended running the meadow across the street, now populated by trees. And yet, he confirms to me that they still receive visitors and that the trampoline I noticed in the yard is not for his acrobatic jumps, but for the grandchildren who gather from Bucharest, Hunedoara and, although less often, from Los Angeles, to spend their summers with them filling the house with energy and joy.
On a side note, when asked if I managed to film anything during my cross-country trip I confess that I have long wanted to visit the Apuseni Mountains, at which point I get a concise overview of the history and geography of the area. It is brought to my attention with the same delicious humor that I am in the Land of the Moți and not that of the thieves (in Romanian, the word for thieves is ”hoți” and it rhymes with ”moți” which is why sometimes the Land of the Moți is called jokingly the Land of the thieves) which borders the Lands of the Hațeg and that of the Crișuri (all these are areas situated in Transilvania). Marius shares with us that he is planning to return to the village, this time with this wife and children because he no longer wants the life in the city and longs for the “natural” life in Scărișoara, as Mr Ionel had called it earlier.
I noticed a bottle with pink contents on the table and, when Mrs. Vetuța joins us again with the promised coffee in her hand, I take the opportunity to ask her if what I see is raspberry syrup (I had to make sure because anything which resembles raspberry interests me, because it is one of my favorite fruits). After repeated unsuccessful tries to persuade her to take a seat next to us, when, at the request of the hosts, I began to play the Bartok Romanian dance I had recorded earlier by the river, as if by magic she sat down and we gathered in a circle like a family. One thing leads to another, and before I realize it I was already attempting to replicate “by ear" a ”moțească” (the traditional dance of the region) from a recording found ad hoc by Marius on the internet of a family friend who plays the “taragot”, the traditional clarinet in the region.
It soon became clear that Mr Ionel is a man of many talents. In addition to being a church choir and folk music singer, Mr. Ionel is also an accomplished dancer and in the past he coached the village’s “very well-known” folk dance team. As she goes inside the house again, Mrs. Vetuța states that she is “not into dancing, but that he lets herself be spun by her husband” without any problems. Asking him how he learned to dance, Mr. Ionel tells me without thinking too much that “that’s how it was”, that his brothers also danced and they learned from each other in the village gatherings. His children learned that way too.
After another round of violin music from me, Mrs. Vetuța joins us once again, and Mr. Ionel finally lets himself be convinced and sings for us a wonderful folk song. What a melodious and expressive voice he has - I felt very lucky to be witnessing those moments.
As if the boundless generosity and hospitality showed to us up until then were not enough, Mrs. Vetuța invites us to have breakfast inside, so we continue the conversation in their kitchen. While enjoying the delicious homemade cheese with tomatoes from the backyard garden and some eggs, we covered a range of topics, from the natural beauties of the area that they recommend us to visit
to the almost lost tradition of the “ciubar” ” and that of the homemade cheese.
The almost two hours I spent in the company of this wonderful family felt like 15 minutes and at the same time I lived the experience to the fullest and I remember every moment of our meeting. I will never forget how naturally everything unfolded and how open and welcoming these amazing people were to me. They opened their gate, their house and their soul without a second thought even though they didn’t know me and were completely taken by surprise. They saw me playing from afar and when I approached (a bit shy at first) they welcomed me with open arms.
I still have very clear images in my mind of how I left the house, I crossed the river back to the road and I waved “goodbye” to Mr. Ionel from the other side of Arieș river. He was watching the four-legged “divas” while leaning on his cane, and I observed how he got smaller and smaller the further away I got. I know for sure that, although it was the first, it will not be the last time I meet them. Thank you, Mr. Ionel, Mrs. Vetuța, Marius and the whole family! I wish you all the best and I carry you all in my heart.