Eastern Europe, my dear friends, is trying to kill me.

Just two weeks before, I was ensnared in a Georgian death hike, as chronicled here. I thought that’d be it: The universe tested me, and I survived.

Not the case.

I was in Romania and visiting Cluj. My friend Thea was here, who I knew from Brooklyn.

She’s actually the catalyst for why I’m in Romania. One night in Paris we were FaceTiming and I’d mentioned a friend from Romania had visited me. “Oh, I’ll be in Romania in July,” she said. As she said this, it’s like fire shot through me: I thought of my student who lived in Romania, of the Romanian friend I’d mentioned who could visit, and then of Thea being there too.

Romania it is.

I was staying in Brasov, a lovely mountain town in Transylvania. It took a five-hour bus ride to get to Thea, who was visiting her Dad and Grandma, both Romanian. I’d stay in Cluj for two days, then come back.

Our first night was wonderful. I’d been traveling for over three months by then, and it was so refreshing to be with someone from my own culture. It was a familiarity I didn’t know I needed.

But more so, I genuinely enjoy Thea’s presence.

We hung out only a few times before. We met at my moving out sale, she picked up nearly half my apartment. Then she came back days later to buy some more. I was exhausted that day. I laid on my apartment floor as she stood on a chair and cleaned out my pantry for me. It was this sweet gesture where I felt especially cared for, and gave me a glimpse of the type of person she is.

The next day was our hike. It was me, Thea and her Dad. And I was hungover.

We left around 1pm. Thea’s dad was driving, his name is Florin. When Thea said “Romanian Dad,” I pictured a very large, 50ish-year-old man with a fat nose, a rolling neck, and glasses. Instead, Florin looked like he could have been her boyfriend — lean, rugged, lightly shaven, he seemed barely over 40.

We were about twenty minutes into the drive. I asked what Florin did for work — he’s a carpenter — but otherwise, he was pretty quiet.

Then he asked me: “Are you American, like fully American?”

“I am,” I said.

“Like your passport is fully American? Your parents aren’t from anywhere else?”

“Correct.”

“OK,” he said, then paused. “So at the top of this hike, where we’re going, is a band of gypsies. They’ve been known to kidnap Americans. I don’t know why. They take them away, and eventually, they eat them,” he said. “So when we get up there, just let me do the talking, ok?”

He sensed my angst.

“I’m sure you’ll be ok,” he said. “Just make sure you don’t talk, or let them know where you’re from, and you’ll be fine.”

There was a long pause. I pictured the cannibalistic tribes from Last of Us. I saw myself tied up on a stick, hanging like a rotisserie pig, being carried away for consumption.

Florin started laughing.

“My God,” Thea said, “I was trying so hard not to smile.”

Folks, let me state for the record, that I’m an idiot. I’ll believe almost anything people tell me, especially someone with an accent and a straight face.

So anyway, yeah. That’s Florin.

Florin was raised in Romania, then moved to Canada in his early 20s, where he had Thea. They see each other about once a year, when she visits.

“I like society, and living with people,” Florin said, “but in order to do that, I need to go into nature. That’s how I can see clearly, it’s where I can think. It’s what makes me able to live with other people.”

Florin doesn’t just hike, either — he immerses. He’d done the “G-20 Summit,” which apparently is the hardest hike in all of Europe — many days, many peaks, all that stuff.

Today’s hike, as billed, wouldn’t be close to that. Actually, Thea asked me beforehand about my hiking level, and I was clear: I’m in good shape, but nothing close to an outdoorsman. I also shared the recent Georgian experience, and that I preferred something calmer. She relayed all this to Florin, who was choosing the hike.

He started by giving me a hiking pole. This should have been my first red flag. Then, right as we hit the trail, we passed a couple coming down. Florin spoke to them in Romanian about directions. They talked, they pointed, then Florin told us, “They said the way up is difficult, so we’re gonna try a different way.”

This should have been the other flag.

We faced a giant mountain ridge. There were no trees, and now that I think about it, no obvious trail. Just loose gravel, tall grass, and walls of rock.

We started with the gravel. It was thick and slushy, clearly not a trail. I was sliding with every step.

Thea, when I looked back, was red and quiet. “He’s doing it again,” she said to me. “He always does this.”

Florin was far ahead of us, strolling easily and confidently up the gravel as if he were taking a walk in the park.

We got past the gravelly part, which was not easy. At times we needed to crawl, just to have traction. Thea was getting angrier, and I was losing my nerve as well. It was hot, and steep. Glimmers of Georgia came back to me. This didn’t feel safe, nor did it feel necessary. And then came the ascent.

This wasn’t hiking — it was climbing.

At our first gap, Thea let it out. She started scolding Florin for choosing this hike. Thea herself was fine, she’s obviously capable and comfortable in these situations, but I felt she was yelling on my behalf, which I really appreciated. I too, after all, was cursing Florin internally. Why would he do this? I thought. Didn’t he know my level?

But even more chillingly: Why does this keep happening to me?

Florin waited for Thea to finish. “Once we get up there,” he told us, “it’ll be easy. We’ll walk along the top and then take the trail back down.”

This gave me some relief. At least we could see the end. Yet as I looked up, facing a wall of rock, I had no earthly idea how I would do this.

Florin went first. I watched him and did exactly as he did. I told myself to just stay calm — yet each move sent loose gravel tumbling down. One misstep, I thought, would be a broken leg, at the very least.

Florin called back. “Harris, don’t look behind you.”

We got to level ground, almost to the top. I joined him, with Thea shortly behind. “I told you,” she yelled. “I told you not to do this! I told you to pick an easy hike. Why would you do this?”

Florin again waited. “There’s a difference between a hike and a walk,” he said casually. “This is good for you. It’s good to challenge yourself.”

That was the moment I wanted to punch him.

I stayed quiet. Just do the next step, I kept telling myself, and go slow. The top was getting closer. I started feeling the rush of completion, of survival. I started picturing myself at the top: lying down across that glorious flat piece of Earth, soaking in the sun, then taking the easy way down.

Well. As we got closer to the top, Florin scurried ahead. He climbed the very last part, poked his head over, and got quiet. Then he turned back to us.

“We can’t go there,” he said.

Nobody said anything. We just knew:

We’d have to go back down.

I truly did not know what I’d do. Going up is one thing — your weight is under you, giving you leverage and stability; but most importantly, you aren’t looking down. Going down this same way seemed not only impossible, but downright dangerous.

And the horrible thing — as I stood on this six-inch-wide piece of Earth — was that I had no other choice.

When I turned around to go down, I almost had vertigo. We were practically on top of the town below us. I couldn’t even pull out my camera.

I didn’t say a word. I was beyond anger. At this point, I only cared about one thing: getting down in one piece.

Florin started. Fortunately, he was never more than one move ahead of me. Once he took a step, he’d reach back and help. Thea, bless her, was always right behind, telling me exactly what to do, move by move.

We were making our way down and had to pause. I looked at the town, and my entire body started shaking. This was a fear I’d never felt before. It wasn’t fear in the mind, but real, biological fear — fear in the body.

“Breathe through your nose, out your mouth,” Thea said.

It was good advice. And somehow, inch by inch, we got down.

And Thea exploded.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” She yelled at Florin. “I told you. I told you a million times.”

“Thea, please,” he said. Florin was calm as always, but now, he looked genuinely upset. “I did not know. It was a misunderstanding. I am sorry. Really, I am. But please. Being angry won’t help.”

He turned to me and looked me in the eyes.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know it would be this way, I hope you can forgive me.”

“Thanks for saying that,” I said, and I meant it. I was just relieved to have gotten down. And I shook his hand.

“For your punishment though,” I continued, “you need to pose for a picture.”

*Check me on this — I don’t think you’re supposed to be this vertical above a town*

After that was a breeze. The slippery gravel was no trouble at all. We reached the bottom in about 30 minutes.

I felt for Thea. As an outsider, I could see a glimpse of this dynamic — to me, it was obvious her Dad cared for her, yet also enjoyed teasing or antagonizing her, for whatever reason. Cruel? Perhaps. But malicious? No. Even in the car ride afterwards, Thea told him a story, and I saw him genuinely engaged and listening, even asking great follow-up questions after.

Yet for Thea, this was only one moment after a lifetime of memories that I’d never seen, an entire history layered underneath, and hardly anything is less linear than a parent-child dynamic.

Thea and I finished the hike together as Florin went ahead. As we got down, there was Florin, freshened up and changed in new clothes, sitting casually outside the small restaurant across the road.

Soon, we joined him. My body was shot. I was covered in sweat and could barely walk. Yet I felt calm, happy, relieved. Exhilarated.

Florin got us beers. It was about 5pm. The beer in front of me was cold, gold, bubbly and vivacious.

I took that first sip, and folks, I had never, ever, ever had such a glorious feeling. It electrified my entire being.

And I was giddy.

We talked about the hike. I kept going on about how much I hated the hike itself, but how amazing I felt now that it was over, all that. Florin chimed in.

“I wasn’t worried about Thea,” he told me, “but I was worried about you.”

“You don’t have the skills,” he continued, “but you have a good attitude. And that’s far more important in life, for everything you do.”

Another Eastern European Death Hike

Dmitri the Devil