THE ROAD TO PIATRA CRAIULUI

In the summer of 2012, together with my eldest son, Radu, and his childhood friend, Cătălin, we formed a solid and reliable team—hardened by numerous mountain hikes and increasingly challenging cycling trips. It was then that we resolved to undertake something memorable, something extraordinary. An adventure that would leave a lasting impression on the children and become a landmark moment in their lives: traversing the Piatra Craiului ridge—affectionately referred to as "the Crai" by mountain enthusiasts.

Such an expedition, however, could not be improvised. It required serious preparation. To this end, we decided on two preliminary undertakings: a long hike across the Ciucaș Massif and a demanding cycling tour. We also engaged in lighter hikes through the nearby hills to maintain our physical condition. What follows is the account of these preparatory stages.

Day One – The Ciucaș Massif

Ciucaș is a relatively modest mountain range, with gentle contours that resemble large hills more than a rugged massif. Yet its charm lies precisely in this accessibility, offering a wealth of landscapes that delight both the eye and the spirit.

Located in the curvature zone of the Carpathian Mountains, the Ciucaș Massif has long been a familiar destination for us. My in-laws live roughly fifteen kilometers away, so the children and I have visited the area many times. We have explored and wandered through it so often that we have come to know its every hidden corner. For our preparatory hike, we selected a demanding ridge trail—physically challenging, with a few technical sections requiring caution and strength.

The trail, marked by a red cross, begins in the tourist resort of Cheia, nestled at the base of the massif, and ascends to Gropșoarele Peak (1,883 meters). The full route requires approximately six hours to complete, including breaks. Alongside the three of us was Maxi, Radu’s dog. “He’ll protect you from wild animals and make sure you don’t lose your way,” joked my wife. In truth, Maxi simply jumped into the car when he saw our gear, barking insistently to make it clear he had no intention of being left behind. Having already accompanied us on many previous hikes, he could justly be called an experienced trekker.

Moreover, with four agile legs to our two, Maxi clearly had the upper hand. He set the pace, which was—let’s say—rather brisk. This kept us moving swiftly through the thick forest that marked the first section of the trail. Once we emerged from the woods, the path continued towards the ridge, now flanked by dwarf pines as we approached 1,600 meters in altitude. Fortunately, the trees grew close enough together to shelter us when a sudden, heavy downpour descended.

The rain made the trail more treacherous—muddy and slick underfoot. What might once have been an unwelcome challenge now served our purpose: it toughened the hike and thus enhanced our training. As we passed a massive outcrop of stone, we burst out with a hearty “Hurrah!”—the perfect excuse for a quick session of improvised climbing.

Knowing that scrambling and climbing would feature prominently in the Piatra Craiului traverse, we welcomed this opportunity to rehearse. As if to reward our determination, what did we find at the summit? Edelweiss—a rare, delicate, and protected alpine flower.

Despite our many previous hikes in Ciucaș, this was our first encounter with the iconic plant. Elated by this unexpected discovery, we pressed on towards the ridge. The path along the crest rose and fell, at times gently, at times steeply. From this vantage point, we could admire the vibrant vegetation, the craggy rocks we hold so dear, and the valleys stretching from one end of the ridge to the other. We spotted Zăganu Peak ahead, marked by a simple pyramid of stones.

We soon reached the trail’s most difficult section, known as “La Lanțuri” (“The Chains”). This portion requires climbers to grip chains bolted into the rock face to make the passage. It presented no difficulty to us, having crossed it before. As for Maxi—unbothered and sure-footed—he trotted across effortlessly, likely unaware of any danger.

As we continued along the ridge, past hikes came to mind—stories for another time. A few stray raindrops prompted us to keep our waterproof jackets on. Eventually, we reached Gropșoarele Peak (1,883 meters), the second-highest point in the massif. Sadly, nothing had changed since our last visit: the summit was still marked by a rust-covered plaque.

Today, however, a new and elegant sign identifies the summit for hikers. The story of this change mirrors that of Romania itself—a country impoverished and scarred by 45 years of communism, struggling but slowly recovering. Here, we took an extended rest, enjoying our evening meal.

The descent to the Muntele Roșu lodge, situated at 1,288 meters, presented no technical challenges—only a 4-kilometre hike that proved tiresome after the long day’s journey. Radu and Cătălin, however, were disappointed that the rain had soaked the grass, making it impossible to roll downhill as they once did in dry weather.

To lift their spirits, I bought them the biggest ice cream cones I could find. They came topped with miniature flags—ours bore the tricolour of France. A symbolic gesture, perhaps, as two years later we would leave Romania to begin a new life in France.

Day 2 – The “Written Stones”

My in-laws live in the commune of Măneciu, in Prahova County. It is a beautiful place, surrounded by hills, meadows, and forests. Together with Radu and his childhood friends, we often go on excursions through the surrounding area—for exercise, enjoyment, and to admire the natural beauty of the landscape. But also to discover places that are somewhat more… hidden.

One of these places is known as the “Written Stones” (Pietrele scrise), and local legend claims it was the site of a battle during the First World War. The truth, however, is slightly different: in 1915, a unit of the Romanian army conducted military training exercises in the area, anticipating Romania’s entry into the war on the side of the Triple Entente (France, Great Britain, and Russia) in 1916. Before departing, members of the unit engraved their names and ranks on three large stone blocks to mark the occasion. Time has passed, but no effort has been made to preserve the site, and it has since become a local curiosity—a topic of conversation among residents, hovering somewhere between history and legend. My children and I have discovered this place, and we frequently take walks there and in the surrounding area.

Perhaps one of those children, now an adult, has taken the initiative to bring the site back to life and place it on the map. Today, the stone blocks have been cleaned and restored, and a marked trail—indicated by a yellow dot—connects the Măneciu Pământeni railway station to the location of the stones. There is also another trail, marked with a yellow triangle, which traverses several hills in the region and passes by this site, allowing hikers to discover the engraved stone blocks along their journey.

The Carved Stones - as they are today.

This time, it is just the three of us—Radu, Cătălin, and myself—accompanied, of course, by Maxi, our dog, thrilled to be on another outing. The sun blazes overhead, so we choose a winding path that keeps us mostly in the shade of the trees, protecting us from the heat and extending the length of our walk. This serves our dual purpose well: continuing our training while also delighting Maxi, who dashes joyfully around us.

We ascend a gentle slope and delve deeper into the forest, where the trees grow taller and more imposing. Though the forest is state-owned, local residents are permitted to forage for mushrooms, berries, and fallen branches for personal use. When Radu was younger, he used to claim he was wealthy because his grandfather "owned" the forest; every time they ventured out together, they would return with some gift from the woods.

We follow no marked trail, heading instead directly toward the site known as the “Carved Stones.” We navigate with ease; the terrain is intimately familiar, having traversed it many times across all seasons. We rely on our own landmarks—distinctive trees, recognizable bushes—that guide us while allowing us to remain in the shade for most of the journey.

Upon arrival, the first order of business is a photo session. Then we lay out a picnic—it is past midday, and we are hungry. A quiet siesta follows, under the trees, as we wait for the sun’s intensity to wane before returning home.

As always, Maxi ignores his dog food and gazes longingly at our meal until we share it with him. After all, he has accompanied us on countless hikes and is almost one of us. Still young and close in age to the boys, it’s no surprise they have formed such a strong bond. On the way back, the three of them play with a rubber ball, chasing it even on the steeper sections of the trail.

For our return, we choose a different path, leading directly into the village. It’s true that this walk is much shorter and less physically demanding than our trek in Ciucaș, but it brings us great joy to roam once again the hills surrounding the village—landscapes we hold dear. Moreover, the walk confirms that we are in excellent shape and capable of marching for long periods. We are ready for the ridge of Piatra Craiului.

Day 3 - By Bicycle

Today’s excursion takes us over the hills to the commune of Cerașu, up to the village of Slon, and beyond, in the direction of Tabla Buții. From there, we descend toward the Măneciu dam and finally return home—completing a circular route that is both challenging and exploratory. Beyond Cerașu, the terrain is unknown to us, so this outing serves as both a training session and an adventure into uncharted territory.

Departing from Măneciu Pământeni, we descend to the Teleajan River, then pass through a tunnel carved through the hillside that connects us with the road to Cerașu. Passing through the tunnel is an adventure in itself: it is primarily used for maintenance access to the riverbank infrastructure and not for pedestrian traffic. The darkness is total, but we are well prepared, equipped with headlamps and familiar with its length and conditions.

The children are delighted, imagining themselves as cave explorers—spelunkers on bicycles! Emerging from the tunnel, we follow the road through Cerașu, admiring the well-kept houses and greeting the villagers. As we continue toward Slon, we observe several unusual karst formations dotting the landscape.

Once in Slon, we ask for directions. Locals suggest two routes: a stony track and an earthen path, which has become muddy after recent rains. We choose the muddy trail—it promises greater difficulty, and we are here to train for the demanding terrain of “the Crai.” But the locals’ description proves to be an understatement: we soon find ourselves in a veritable swamp, our feet sinking to the ankles—or deeper—with every step.

Stubbornly, we press on, dragging our feet through the heavy mud as though weighted down with lead. All the while, we push our bicycles by the handlebars. At least the bikes do not sink as easily as we do. In short: we asked for a challenge, and we got one.

More than an hour—and several hundred grueling meters—later, we finally reach solid ground. Our first task is to clean ourselves off. Once “clean” (a term used very loosely here), we remount and begin climbing toward the intersection with the road that, from the opposite direction, leads down from the Măneciu dam. According to the locals, this junction should be “not too far” from where the muddy trail ends. Again, they were wrong: we have already ridden for several kilometers, still climbing rather than descending, as they had claimed. Cătălin jokes that he enjoys “descending uphill.” Still, the scenery around us is breathtaking. The natural beauty distracts us from the pain and fatigue. The slope is gradual, but our muscles—already punished by the swamp—feel the effort acutely.

At last, we reach the intersection. The road we have followed thus far continues toward Tabla Buții, but the view ahead is discouraging: it climbs relentlessly across bare hillsides, nearly devoid of trees. To reach Tabla Buții, where a commemorative ceremony is planned for early August, we clearly need to take a different route (see Hike to Tabla Buții). On the other hand, the road descending toward the dam is lined with trees and dotted with simple wooden hunting blinds.

Radu and Cătălin enjoy scrambling up and down these structures, inventing a game of “prey and hunter.” Once their game ends, we speed downhill on our bikes. But not for long—the landscape once again demands our attention. At a lookout point known as “Belvedere – Măneciu Dam,” we stop to admire the sweeping view of the dam and its reservoir. A photo session is, of course, obligatory—both to capture the splendid scenery and to commemorate our outing.

The circuit ends a few kilometers later as we arrive back on our street in Măneciu Pământeni. We are tired but deeply satisfied, confident now in our ability to tackle the ridge of Piatra Craiului.