A rock-climbing trip to Baile Herculane

It was in Romania in a ghost town called Baile Herculane. Back in the Soviet Era, it was a popular and luxurious holiday destination. It is a strange town, really. Comprised of tall concrete hotels—relics from soviet times—, even older classical palace-like buildings eaten by rust with broken windows and keep-out signs, wild dogs, rusty bridges over the Cerna river, and aging locals with unmistakable features. It was a slow and isolated microcosm, a place outside of time. Cupped between the palms of enormous stone hands.

We went there on a climbing trip. That day we took it easy. We climbed, we joked around, looked down to this offbeat little town, and over to the surrounding rocky mountain tops. We cooked packaged soup in a cup on a camping stove. Everyone was excited and in a good mood. We were a pack of humans closest to our most natural form. When the sun was about to set over the tall ridges, we packed our gear and descended back to the valley.

The next on the itinerary was a night bath in a hot spring. It was a windy road that took us there carved between massive rock walls. When we arrived it was already dark. The only light source around was a lightbulb that hung on the front of the tiny wood shack and the moon. That lightbulb was only on when someone was looking for their stuff. And to the right, there it was. The hot spring, with two pools, the size of about two humble jacuzzis but the courtesy of mother nature. She figured this out perfectly because the Cerna was right next to it. It was early spring, so the air was crisp, but once you managed to ease into the 60-degree Celsius water everything was nice.

We soaked our bones and tired muscles in the water and tension ceased to exist. I was nowhere else, but in my body and in that moment. Surrounded by my pack, being one with nature. When we felt that our bones and muscles cooked, we went exploring into the river. Exploring is actually an overstatement. It wasn't warm enough to do that. We balanced our way down to the creek. Put one foot after the other into the ice-cold water. We had to go slow to balance on the pebbles and not be overthrown by the drift of the river. When we were about knee deep we took a few deep breaths and dipped. It was the kind of cold water that made your limbs hurt after a few minutes. But I stayed submerged. I held on to a steady rock and let the stream pull on my whole body. I never felt more alive and more primal. When my veins contracted so much it almost hurt I stood up and started balancing towards the bank. And there I was, almost naked, walking in a frosty river and the 7-degree air seemed like a summer breeze. I felt invincible.

There was a natural hot shower where the water escaped from the pools. We ran underneath the hot stream of water. But sometimes we didn't. My blood was circulating my body like probably never before. We eased our way back to the hot water and melted again. We repeated this process several times. I rested my arms and head on the edge of the pool and when I looked up I saw nothing but the dark edges of the pine trees, the moon, and all the stars. I felt so whole and humbled. And just happy to be alive. I am not religious, but at that moment I felt like I was in a puddle of holy water between the hands of God.