We find ourselves in the summer of 1988, in Romania, under the communist dictatorship of Nicolae Ceaușescu. Angelo and I, rockers (today known as 'metal' fans) – a crime in the eyes of the regime. We were practicing karate, even though it was forbidden – an even more criminal act! At 18 years old, young and carefree, we suddenly decided to visit the Retezat Massif. Retezat changed us forever; much of what we have become and achieved in our lives stems from there, from Retezat. Read the story of a mountain expedition that transformed us forever.
Back row: Angelo (second from left), George (first from right)
The situation in Romania
Romania in 1988 was a communist country under a severe dictatorship with Ceaușescu as the absolute ruler. Compared to him, Franco, Pinochet, and even Mussolini seem like angels. He could be likened to Cambodia's Pol Pot. There was nothing to eat or wear in the shops. Officially, Romania claimed to produce as many goods and as much food as France, but this was a huge lie; in reality, it didn't even produce 30% of what was claimed, with most of the production being exported. Why? Dictator Ceaușescu was obsessed with the idea that Romania should have no foreign debt whatsoever. As a consequence, store shelves were generally empty, and private property did not exist in any form. To survive, people had to rely on the parallel market or 'black market', which was the only functioning economic activity at that time.
Nicolae Ceaușescu, our dictator (left), standing in line for meat (middle), and queuing for gas (right).
Going to the mountains
It is summer: no more school, no rock/metal concerts—no entertainment whatsoever. We're incredibly bored in a gray city, surrounded only by countless ugly and hideous blocks. Plus, numerous factories pollute the air to a degree that would render today's environmentalists brain-dead. And we're young—athletes and rockers—our blood boiling in our veins. We dream of doing something different, something special; we dream of our mountains. Then the idea of a mountain expedition seems excellent to us. But where? Romania has many mountains, even if they aren't as high as the French Alps. Looking at the map, we choose the Retezat Massif. The name sounds exotic to us: Retezat (Severed/Cut). And because it's about 500 kilometers away from the capital Bucharest (where we lived), it's even better, and more adventurous.
The team and the equipment
Originally, only two of us were supposed to go: Angelo and George, possibly joined by our friend Tom. However, Tom couldn't resist inviting his friend Cătălin along. He was insistent on not coming alone but bringing two more friends, Gigi and another whose name I've forgotten. For Tom's sake, we agreed, though in hindsight, it was a big mistake. So, we ended up with a team of six, and later, a seventh member, Dan (a classmate), joined us.
As rockers in Romania, we had to improvise our equipment. Army uniforms, stripped of insignia, became our attire of choice; leather outfits favored by metal fans were unavailable in communist Romania at the time. Therefore, we turned to our 'official' supplier, an officer from the paratroopers, to procure the necessary gear for our mountain expedition—clothing, tents, sleeping bags, rucksacks, and boots. The military equipment we obtained was of excellent quality, although the military knapsacks caused us considerable discomfort. On the other hand, the paratrooper boots were ideal for the long hikes in the mountains, contributing significantly to the success of our first expedition.
Ranița (knapsack), travel backpacks, similar (left, center) and delicious fruits from the town of Carnic (right).
The food and food rations
In 1988, Romania exported most of its food products, leaving only rationed supplies for the population (remembered today by those aged 50 and older as the famous 'ration'): adults were entitled to 10 loaves of bread per month, half a liter of oil, 10 eggs, and a kilogram of flour. Fortunately, some of the intended exports ended up on the black market due to widespread corruption in communist Romania (which will be extensively covered in a new section of this blog). As a result, Communist Party leaders and political police enjoyed ample daily meals, while those less privileged dined every two, three, or even four days.
We managed somehow. Cătălin, grandson of a somewhat famous actress, and Gigi, son of a director, purchased canned beans with small sausage bits. George and I found canned fish in oil (so diluted that it could be mistaken for water). Our dessert, called "dulceață," shared only its name with today's version; the fruits used were more green than ripe, as waiting for them to ripen meant risking their seizure by the state. Sugar was replaced with a substitute closely resembling saccharin. I only had real cakes, chocolates, and other sweets for the first time after the Revolution.
Bread rationing card, personal archive (left), grocery store without food (center), beans and sausages in a jar (right)
Memories from the future, my own production (not Erich von Däniken)
In June 2012, during a vacation in Paris, I experienced my first culinary orgasm while eating pastries at one of those typical French shops called a 'boulangerie'. The second time was when I tasted biscuits from Bretagne (a province in western France, on the seashore, approximately 300 kilometers from Paris in a straight line; for the French, it's something akin to the Maramureș region for Romanians). I, Angelo, who has been living in France for almost nine years now, enter a 'boulangerie' or a 'biscuiterie' from Bretagne like believers entering a church. Sometimes, my wife teases me that we chose to live in France because of these pastries.
Boulangerie in France (left), abundance of products (center), contrasting with Communist confectionery store (right)
In the train
On the train journey to Retezat, we naturally opted for the train. Fast trains were few, and seats were secured through acquaintances and favors. Therefore, we boarded a local train that crawled along at a 'fantastic' speed of 40 km per hour, stopping at nearly every station en route. Departing at noon, we expected to arrive at our destination the following morning. The train was packed, leaving us no choice but to stand for the entire journey. Naturally, we hadn't purchased tickets, relying instead on 'arrangements' with the 'godfather' (a symbol of those times in Romania). For a significant bribe in those days—two cans of beans and two jars of preserves—he also offered us his bunk. This allowed us to rest and prepare ourselves for the mountain ascent.
Communist trains (left), Subcetate railway station (centre) and the Ohaba under the stone bus stop (right)
'My two lions ticket'
Upon arrival at our destination, we disembark in a small town called Subcetate, where friendly locals guide us to the bus stop (referred to as 'the race' at the time) for our onward journey. The bus would take us to a certain point from where we needed to catch another bus to the town of Ohaba below the stone (Ohaba de sub Piatră, in original). As we board, to our dismay, the driver informs us that we must purchase tickets directly from him. Passengers who had already bought tickets at the station protest, but the driver curtly asserts his authority, stating it's his bus and his rules; those who disagree are welcome to disembark. With this being the only 'race' of the day, everyone begrudgingly complies, except for us, seated in the far corner away from the driver. Beside us, an elderly woman attempts to pay for her ticket, but she cannot reach the driver to hand over the money. He instructs someone else to pass the money to him. Now, whether the driver mistakenly kept the money without issuing her a ticket or the intermediary misunderstood and assumed it was a donation, the poor woman ended up requesting "my two lions ticket" (the Romanian currency at the time) for the remainder of the journey.
The official entrance to the Retezat National Park (left) and Halta Ohaba below Piatră (center and right)
Ohaba de sub Piatră – Cârnic
Upon arriving at Ohaba de sub Piatră, we were shocked to learn from the locals that there was no 'race' to Cârnic, contrary to what the Town Hall employee had assured us over the phone. Feeling desperate, we headed to the local pub, the hub of all social activities in the village (as was typical in Romanian villages during those years). Here, a solution presented itself immediately in the form of a horse-drawn cart. We climbed aboard after paying the cart driver in local currency: a litre of 'brandy'. For our part, we had purchased 'Cognac Bachus' (which, apart from the name, bore little resemblance to real cognac and turned out to be brandy). After a few kilometers, the cart driver asked us to disembark and continue on foot because the horses could no longer pull the cart with us aboard. We continued our journey on foot, relieved that at least our backpacks remained in the cart. The cart driver, friendly and informative, regaled us with tales of Retezat's beauty and shared some of its legends along the way.
The communist cognac Bachus (left) and images of a special archaism from Cârnic (center and right)
We learn the first 'laws'
It's worth noting that in 1988, Cârnic consisted solely of a few barracks for workers in the forestry industry in the area. From there, the path leading up to Pietrele cottage, marked with 'blue band' trail markings, began and is still in use today, despite the construction of an asphalt road since then. Setting out on the trail, we were forced to stop less than an hour later due to hunger. Inexperienced, we resumed our trek immediately after finishing our meal—a big mistake. We struggled along the gently ascending path, which posed no technical challenges. It was then that we learned a crucial lesson: after eating, it's essential to take a moment to rest before continuing. Cătălin and his friends started drinking, believing it would give them strength and endurance. Instead, they became intoxicated, stumbling around just as the trail became more difficult, with boulders requiring careful navigation. We were forced to stop and take a break so they could sober up. This taught us another unwritten rule of the mountains: alcohol is strictly prohibited while hiking, especially uphill.
Pietrele Inn
Upon arriving at the Pietrele inn, we finally had the relief of removing our backpacks, which had nearly broken our backs. We were unaccustomed to such weight, as in those days we typically carried handbags to school. The innkeeper directed us to a spot where we could pitch our tents and requested that we come talk to him about our plans. However, we disregarded his request and stayed near our tents. Eventually, he approached us to inquire about our purpose in Retezat. Understanding it was our first mountain expedition, he began imparting essential rules: always check the weather forecast (rain or sun) and the trail conditions (estimated duration and any dangerous sections). In 1988, with no mobile phones available, getting lost in the mountains meant having no means of seeking help. He advised us to inform someone of our departure and expected return times. He also recommended starting with easier routes before attempting more challenging and perilous ones.
The goal of the first day: Lake Bucura, through 'Gențiana'
The goal for our first day was Lake Bucura, situated in the heart of the massif and touted as a must-see for anyone visiting Retezat. The innkeeper attempted to persuade us to start with an easier route, but our youthful, stubborn belief in our invincibility prevailed. Seeing he couldn't sway our plans, he resigned himself. He imparted crucial mountain hiking advice: to stay together as a group and techniques for navigating stones, ruts, and rocky terrain. With his guidance, we successfully reached Lake Bucura and returned safely to our tents. Eagerly setting off, our enthusiasm soon waned as we ascended through dense forest on an endless, steep slope. Finally, we reached a clearing at a place called 'Gențiana,' marked by a spring and a wooden bench. Reflecting back from the future: in 2010, my eldest son Radu and I discovered that the wooden bench had been replaced by a cabin—Cabana Gențiana (as recounted in 'In the Heart of the Retezat'). However, in 1988, sitting on that bench, we debated whether to continue our journey. While Cătălin and his friends suggested turning back, George and I insisted on pressing forward; giving up was unthinkable to us. Eventually, the others yielded to our determination.
Signs to Poiana Carnic (left), Cabana Pietrele and Cabana Gentiana (center and right)
And we discover the Mountain
As we continued to climb, the slope gradually lessened. Over time, the vegetation changed; the fir trees grew smaller, and suddenly, we beheld them: the stones, the rocks, and in the distance, the peaks. The true essence of the mountain revealed itself before us. George and I were captivated; the sight was awe-inspiring, and we instantly fell in love with it. Never before had we imagined or believed in something so magnificent. The stones and rocks spoke to us, their grandeur filling us with wonder. However, the others failed to grasp our experience. They couldn't see the mountain's majesty, its wild beauty, its proud stance as we did. We attempted to explain our feelings and to open their eyes to the breathtaking spectacle, but in vain. Instead, they became even more convinced that we were 'strange'. Yet, we were too enraptured by what we saw to care about their opinions. We continued along the path as if in a dream; it grew more challenging, with more stones and small rocks to navigate than solid ground. Our companions complained loudly about the difficulty and fatigue of the journey, urging caution with each step. I heard their discontent as distant music, but George seemed oblivious, already transported to another realm. He leapt from stone to stone, scaling every rock in our path or nearby.
Reaching the base of the ridge
Finally, we reached the base of the ridge known as Curmătura Bucurei. Without waiting for us, George began to ascend the heights as if drawn by a supernatural force. I followed him, expecting protests from the others who might not want to continue. To my surprise, they too succumbed to the allure of the stones and rocks surrounding us, joining us in the climb despite their fatigue from the journey. Upon reaching Curmătura, we stood transfixed, gazing in every direction. The view surpassed all expectations: below us lay Lake Bucura, shimmering in the most beautiful shade of blue we had ever seen. Further ahead, other lakes dotted the center of the massif. To the left, the peak of Peleaga (2509 meters, the highest), and to the right, Retezat Peak (2454 meters, the third highest), dominated the landscape. With wide eyes, we surveyed the ridges leading to these peaks and the steep slopes strewn with boulders. The rocks displayed a magnificent gray hue, interrupted by patches of green grass peeking through shyly. George began descending towards the lake, but our companions opted to stay atop the ridge to rest—a wise decision to regain strength for the return journey. However, I couldn't resist the allure of Lake Bucura's waters, which beckoned me to quench my thirst. It was the most refreshing water I had ever tasted!
The route to Lake Bucura (left), the most beautiful lake of Retezat (center) and the surrounding ridges (right)
Life is truly beautiful!
We briskly return to the Pietrele Inn, mindful of where and how we step; the innkeeper's warning about the increased risk of accidents due to fatigue is fresh in our minds. Fortunately, everything goes smoothly, and we arrive back at Pietrele even quicker than our initial journey. It's a natural outcome—we're elated and continuously marvel at the beauty of Retezat's rocks and ridges, reflecting on our adventure. We pushed our limits and discovered magnificent places. Life is truly beautiful!
The failure of the hike to Tăul Galeș
The next day, George and Tom set off for 'Ohaba under the Stone' to fetch Dan, our friend who was joining us later. I proposed to the remaining group that we hike to Tăul Galeş, another glacial lake in Retezat—a route recommended by the cabin owner as a warm-up for hiking in the area. They agreed, and we began our journey. The path gently ascended through the forest, and we meticulously followed the 'red triangle' markings. Unfortunately, at some point, we somehow lost track of the trail and couldn't locate it again. To compound our situation, we couldn't even find our way back to the lodge. Consequently, we wandered aimlessly through the forest for a long time until we finally spotted the cottage in the distance. Growing increasingly frustrated and tired, the others expressed their desire to abandon the expedition and return to the base. Despite their insistence, I disagreed and argued for continuing, but no one budged from their position. Feeling uncertain, I sought refuge in the tent, contemplating how to salvage the situation. Unexpectedly, a solution emerged from a different source: the mountain fairies.
The landscape so similar, with rocks, rushing streams and sparse vegetation, offers plenty of opportunities to get lost
The mountain fairies
Three beautiful girls were packing their tents and belongings to head towards the center of the massif. Cătălin and Gigi, self-proclaimed 'Don Juans' (soul conquerors), approached them to chat and court them. Apparently successful, they parted with many hugs and promises to meet again soon. Upon returning to our tents, the two announced their decision: early the next morning, we would depart for Lake Lia, where the girls had agreed to meet them. We needed to start packing immediately so that we would only have essentials in our backpacks by morning. Upon hearing the news, George, Tom, and Dan cheered. Thus, in the mountains, we learned another 'law': girls possess a special power and, with a little skill, can make boys do whatever they desire. We set up camp early in the morning and departed without even stopping for breakfast. The innkeeper watched us with a wide smile, offering final route tips, marching advice, and a crucial piece of information: Lake Lia is the only lake in the center of the Retezat massif shaped like a triangle.
As we began our trek, the Don Juans surged ahead like rockets, no doubt thinking of the 'reward' promised by the girls. However, the ascent to "Gențiana" with heavy backpacks proved too challenging at their brisk pace. They collapsed onto a wooden bench, beginning to worry aloud: what if they couldn't last until Lia?
Taking charge and saving the day
It was time for us to take charge, ensuring that the others listened to us and followed the lodge owner's advice. First and foremost, we enjoyed a hearty breakfast followed by a brief siesta. Well-fed and somewhat rested, we set off in single file, alternating between leading—sometimes me, sometimes George. We maintained a deliberate pace, ensuring we didn't exhaust ourselves prematurely, knowing we had the entire day ahead of us. Initially, Cătălin and Gigi were restless, urging us to go faster. However, as we progressed, their demands lessened until we reached Curmătura Bucurei. It was here that they truly panicked upon realizing the considerable distance still remaining between Bucura and Lia—an insight they would have grasped had they paid attention to the lodge owner's earlier briefing. Worth noting: in the heart of Retezat, there are eight glacial lakes connected by a route known as the 'Circuitul Lacurilor', marked with red dots and taking approximately five hours to complete (including photo breaks). Our plan was to follow part of this circuit, stopping at Lake Lia.
Desperate friends
Our friends were in despair, overwhelmed by the weight of their backpacks. Tom, though not faring any better, attempted to lighten the mood with his jokes—a specialty of his. George and I took it upon ourselves to address the situation. We began with an extended break at Curmătura, allowing us to once again admire the breathtaking scenery of the surrounding ridges and peaks. After replenishing ourselves with a good meal, we resumed our journey towards Lia, having redistributed most of their burdensome packs between us. Previously heavy, our backpacks now felt almost unbearable. Progress was slow and arduous, yet we persisted. Mentally, I silently thanked our sensei and his assistants for the rigorous training sessions that had prepared us for such physical challenges. Gradually, the rugged beauty of the mountain and its rocky terrain captivated us, overshadowing the strain on our muscles and the weight on our backs. The refreshingly cold water of Bucura Lake infused us with renewed energy, its surreal blue hue inspiring us to surpass our physical and psychological limits.
'The dispute'
As Bucura vanished from view, we turned our attention to the other lakes, each seeming more stunning than the last. I thought the next lake surpassed the previous one in beauty, but George disagreed, steadfast in his belief that Bucura remained the most exceptional. We debated amiably; he argued that Bucura's size made it unparalleled, while I contended that other factors, like the rocks' number and arrangement along the shore, should also be considered. Analysing the lakes' beauty, their shapes, the striking contrast between the water's blue and the shore's gray stones, and the grandeur of the encircling mountains, time slipped away unnoticed. Suddenly, Lake Lia appeared before us. It was unbelievable—we had achieved our goal. And there were the girls' tents, directly in front of us.
The wisdom shared by the girls around the campfire
They await our arrival, observing our fatigue, and offer assistance with setting up camp. Cătălin and Gigi play the brave ones, insisting we can manage on our own. Politely yet firmly, the girls impart another 'law' of the mountain: camaraderie prevails here, and we must greet fellow hikers respectfully on the trail. If asked for information, we should kindly share what we know; if invited to join someone on a shared route, we should readily accept. Helping those in need is a must. Later, gathered around a campfire, we engage in conversations ranging from the mundane to the profound. At one point, George and I retreat to the lakeside to admire our surroundings and escape the relentless courtship efforts of Cătălin and Gigi. To our surprise, two of the girls join us shortly after, eager to hear about our lives as rockers.
The girls are choosing
We're baffled now: Cătălin and Gigi, self-proclaimed experts with girls, portray themselves as 'good guys,' while we, viewed as 'enemies of the people' due to our anti-communist stance, are sidelined to prevent our so-called dangerous ideas—like freedom, honor, and the right to free expression—from contaminating others. Initially reserved, we gradually open up as we notice the genuine interest the girls show in us. We discuss our music preferences, the atmosphere of concerts we attend, and even mimic the guitarists' stage performances—music playing only in our heads. In essence, we offer them a vivid depiction of a 'metal' concert experience without any actual music. However, seeing the girls paying them no heed, Cătălin and his friends decide to put on a 'special' show: stripping down to their underwear and announcing a dip in the lake. Hastily, one of them plunges into the cold water, only to quickly emerge shivering. We promptly dry him off, dress him in our warmest clothes, and offer hot tea to prevent what we later realize could have been hypothermia. The whole spectacle concludes abruptly when the girls bluntly declare their lack of interest in 'skeletons'.
The battle, the separation and the dispute on the lakes
Boom! It was a revelation for both us and them. Despite our limited experience with girls, we're not oblivious. So, we inform them that we practice martial arts, specifically karate, and they eagerly agree to see a demonstration. Stripping to the waist, we begin with kata, imaginary combat exercises against multiple opponents, to set the mood. Then we proceed to something more serious: kumite, a rigorous sparring session between me and George. Strikes and blocks flow back and forth; what seems spectacular to others is routine to us, part of our daily training regimen. We emphasise that there's no winner or loser—our aim is simply to stay fit. However, the girls start debating among themselves, each convinced her favorite emerged victorious. Eventually, they abandon their dispute and leap into our arms, eager to reward us for the performance. Let's just say I didn't get much sleep that night.
Come morning, we bid them farewell; their vacation is ending, and they must return to their city. There are no promises to keep in touch or exchange addresses—we're in 1988, where letters take days or even weeks to arrive, if they do at all, in the paranoid communist Romania under Ceaușescu's rule. Email, SMS, and social networks exist only in science fiction. However, we make a solemn pledge to them that we intend to keep: to conquer the Retezat Peak, as they passionately advised. We prepare for the trek and urge the others to decide quickly whether they'll join us. They agree, bewildered at how we still have energy after a 'wild' night with the girls. Yet, we're young, athletic, and living an extraordinary adventure. "It's the mountain, it's Retezat," we try to explain to them, though it seems our words fall on deaf ears.
The friendly dispute
And so we set off, following the "Circuitul Lacurilor" route until we intersect with the Bucura-Retezat trail marked by a yellow stripe. Our journey leads us to Tăul Agățat, a glacial lake nestled against a mountain wall. Here, George and I engage in another friendly debate; I argue that Lake Lia, with its triangular shape, is the most spectacular, while he contends that Tăul Agățat holds a special charm. Cătălin announces that he's had enough of our banter and no longer wishes to continue with us—a jest, of course, as our arguments are more playful than serious. Each of us sings praises for our favoured lake, even going as far as claiming that the water from one lake tastes superior to the other (a fanciful notion, as water tastes the same everywhere).
The Scientific Reserve
The others return to camp, while Tom, George, and I continue towards the summit of Retezat. After a challenging and perilous climb, we finally reach the ridge overlooking the lake. Before us unfolds a magnificent sight: the Scientific Reserve with its majestic cliffs and stunning lakes. Down below, the Twin Lake, surrounded by rocks and partly embraced by the forest, captivates us with its blend of colors—the gray of the stones, the blue of the water, and the green of the forest. This picturesque image accompanies us as we trek towards the summit of Retezat, bolstering our resolve against the dangers of the route. These dangers are numerous; the path often narrows along the ridge with sheer precipices on either side or becomes as thin as a beam. Many times, we must cling to the rock for stability and progress. Undoubtedly, it's the most challenging route we've tackled thus far, and at times fear grips us. However, we persevere, driven by the promise of witnessing the untamed beauty of the rugged cliffs that justify the mountain's name: "The Cut". Upon reaching Retezat Saddle, we face one final ascent before reaching the summit. Though less perilous, it demands tremendous physical effort, leaving us breathless upon arrival. Yet, the view from this vantage point is nothing short of breathtaking.
Up at the summit of Retezat - the revelation
From the peak named after the mountain itself, we behold the splendid ridges and peaks of the massif, the lakes of the Scientific Reserve, and even a small wooden cabin used by researchers. We believe we can discern Peleaga (2509m) and Păpușa (2508m), the highest peaks in Retezat. We linger in awe, admiring the rugged rocks with their sharp edges and the sporadic patches of greenery that defiantly flourish in this harsh, rocky environment. And here, at this pinnacle moment, we experience our epiphany. On the summit bearing the mountain's name, Retezat, we finally grasp what perhaps was apparent since our initial journey to Bucura: we have fallen deeply in love with these mountains, and particularly with this one. This revelation crystallizes our profound connection with Retezat, now and forever. I realize that Retezat has become "the mountain of our soul," an indelible part of who we are. Our lives, with all their achievements and successes (as documented in this blog), our current locations and future paths (I, Angelo, now reside in France and George in New Zealand)—all these are overshadowed by the enduring presence of Retezat in our hearts and souls. Despite our weariness, we return to camp without incident, almost floating on a cloud, our hearts brimming with love for the stones and rocks that lined our path. Throughout, I adhered faithfully to another mountain rule: when fatigue sets in, vigilance and caution must increase to avoid mistakes and accidents.
The unpleasant surprise
Regrettably, an unpleasant surprise awaits us there: our food is gone. Cătălin and Gigi swear to each other that they have no idea what happened, insisting it was already missing when they arrived. They express their apologies but admit they have nothing left to share with us. In that moment, rage consumes me, and I lunge towards them. Fortunately, George, equally skilled, manages to restrain me just in time to prevent a serious altercation. They quickly set up camp and leave; Tom accompanies them but not before leaving us the remaining bit of food he had. Tonight, we retire to bed with near-empty stomachs, knowing we must descend the mountain tomorrow and return home.
Flash forward a few months: Cătălin found himself attacked by two individuals he had antagonised with his disparaging remarks. This time, it was my turn to hold George back and prevent him from intervening to rescue Cătălin.
Destination: Buta Hut
Returning to Cabana Pietrele would have been the simpler choice, but George insisted on heading in the opposite direction, towards Cabana Buta, citing his desire to explore this part of the mountain. Much later, he confided in me that he was apprehensive about encountering Cătălin and his friends again and not being able to prevent another altercation. With our backpacks nearly empty, they are easier for us to carry — our only solace. Setting out, we opt to traverse a rocky ridge beyond which we locate the trail connecting Bucura to Buta, marked with a 'red cross'. Following this path leads us to a spacious clearing known as Poiana Pelegii. Twenty-three years later, my eldest son Radu and I embark on a remarkable expedition from this very spot, exploring some of the most spectacular yet perilous routes in the Retezat massif (see 'Retezat 2011 - The Rematch').
The heartfelt tribute
We linger there for several minutes, gazing one last time at the mountains, the peaks of Peleaga and Păpușa, and in our mind's eye, envisioning the magnificent lakes: Bucura, Lia, Tăul Agățat, and all the others. Without needing to discuss it, we turn towards them and perform 'Rei', the karate salute — the most heartfelt tribute we could offer. It's our way of bidding farewell to Retezat. The remainder of the journey is uneventful, leading us through the forest where rocks become scarce and eventually vanish. Arriving at Cabana Buta, less impressive than Pietrele but equally hospitable, the caretaker kindly offers us a few stale biscuits and homemade alcohol, which we gratefully consume despite their condition due to our hunger. Following his guidance, we begin the trek on foot towards the village of Câmpul lui Neag, several kilometers away.
Every end marks a new beginning
We were young, somewhat immature, and lacking a clear perspective on life. As fans of metal music and practitioners of karate, the ingredients were already within us; our encounter with Retezat was the catalyst that brought them to the forefront and laid the sturdy foundation upon which we built our lives and achieved numerous successes. Retezat taught us that we are resilient, and that nothing and no one can hinder us from pursuing our dreams. It showed us that we possess the inner strength and resources to overcome any obstacles and challenges in order to attain our goals—just as we repeatedly pushed our limits, conquered our fatigue, and reached the summits. In just a few days, we transformed from novices who knew little about the mountains into experienced hikers capable of navigating difficult and hazardous trails. Our initial mountain expedition concluded that evening, marking the beginning of another journey—a path toward a new life where we would apply the lessons learned on Retezat. It has been a remarkable journey ever since—a wonderful life that continues to unfold!
Epilogue
George and I have decided to return to Retezat with our children in 2028, forty years after our first encounter with the mountain. It will be a journey to complete the circle, a way to express our heartfelt gratitude to our beloved Retezat.
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