Everything was either damp, such as my sleeping bag and trousers, or actually wet, like my socks and boots. Thankfully after much rain overnight it was no longer falling this morning, instead a low sun lit up wisps of cloud crossing the valley. Ahead of me was the 1440 metre range I was about to climb, over which white cloud was flowing.
First I walked down through trees to Vila Klaus. A strange old building, with a tower at one corner, dating from 1808. Today it was silent and unused. There was a flat lawn in front where I think the Park Ranger was suggesting I should sleep last night. Unfortunately the tap by the foresters' hut, indicated on my map, refused to give me any water.
A long climb followed. Hazy, indistinct tracks and paths, none clear or definite, crossed, which made navigation difficult. Red crosses on trees, marking the route helped, as did my GPS. In especially perplexing places, the path disappeared and I had to push apart the branches of saplings attempting to restrain me, or walk through waist high vegetation in the direction indicated by GPS or red crosses.
People had warned me the path was steep. It was steep for 700 metres of height gain to reach Semenic at 1400 metres, my highest point since Rtanj in Serbia. At the top the trees were replaced by an expanse of rough grass and low blueberry bushes. Beneath a large metal cross a bell was mounted, and in the hollow below there was a spring where I could refill my water bottle. Semenic village had a church at one of its summits, another summit had a collection of aerials. I tried the church door looking for a place out of the cold wind to add a layer of clothing. It did not budge, then the stiff door was opened from inside by a priest who invited me in. After a moment of reflection before the icons of the Orthodox Church, part of a monastery if I understood the priest correctly, I signed the visitors book as requested and left, adding a layer of clothing in the porch. The temperature at this altitude was much cooler.
The rest of Semenic was disappointing. A pack of dogs were the main inhabitants. Google maps promised all kinds of restaurants and accommodation. All appeared closed, their gates chained, I tried the restaurant that looked most open with a banner advertising a brand of beer but was turned away with a definite "nooo". Some of the buildings, erected in a more optimistic time, were now derelict, missing panes of glass. Possibly something was open in the winter, as this was a Ski Resort, there were a few ski lifts, but "resort" seemed a too generous use of the term.
The dogs were particularly annoying, barking and following me. They were joined by a few more aggressive animals and I began to get worried. I shouted at them and swiped the air with my poles in front of them to make them keep away from me until I put a good distance between me and the village at which point they lost interest.
Back in the woods surrounding the bald top of the mountain, I rapidly lost all the height I had worked so hard to gain this morning. I passed my second group of day walkers, out for a Sunday hike. At the bottom of the valley, the large building for the annual Jazz festival looked a bit incongruous stuck in the middle of nowhere. However up a hill was the village of Gărâna, a much pleasanter village than Semenic with neat, single storey houses, and people about, chatting to each other instead of loose dogs snarling at me. A Gasthaus was open so I indulged in a late, large Sunday lunch of schnitzel and fries which I was unable to finish (too much snacking on nuts beforehand). As I arrived at the Gasthaus it was raining with hailstones and thunder, so given the poor weather forecast I asked if they had a room for the night. Despite the keys hanging on a board marked "Reception" I was told they had not and did not know of anyone else who had. By the time I had finished lunch, and then lingered over coffee the rain had stopped. I bought some chocolate from a shop for a later dessert, not having any immediate stomach space for apple strudel. In addition to the "Gasthaus" there were several places with German names. Wikipedia conformed my suspicion that it had been founded by German settlers back in 1828.
At the top end of the village there were a series of sculptures in granite (or more strictly dolerite). Curious for such a small village. In the grassland above the village two guys on scrambler bikes were noisily messing about and a flock of sheep grazed, fortunately some distance away so the sheep dogs did not feel the need to approach me. Beside the track there were more stone sculptures. Vertical, rectangular prisms, angled at the top. The front side was decorated with a motif, such as an angel, different on each column. On each side of the top there was a "T" within a circle coloured orange. This was the symbol, also seen on trees and posts of the Via Transilvanica long distance path, a 1,400 kilometre path across Romania. It was a route the E3 followed for a little way. Personally if I had plenty of money to spend on a long distance path I probably would not have used it for lots of sculptures, focusing instead on the quality and maintenance of the trail.
Thunder started growling at me from the hills. It became very dark. So I pitched my tent among beech trees on a clear patch of last year's leaves just as the rain began. Thunder echoed for hours and rain lashed the tent. The fabric of the inner tent was becoming very wet, which I was sure it should not. However there was little I could do other than prepare for bed and try to avoid touching the sides, impossible in a tent so small.
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