Roumanian Winter 1939-1940
Part 3 of 3

H. G. Watts

Brasov

It was almost by accident that we found out how good the skiing was at Brasov. There had been an explosion in the liquid chlorine tanks of a small paper factory at a village near Brasov called Zemesti, and the War Office asked us to find out what had really happened. The Germans were blaming the ‘English Secret Service’. The chlorine had got into the village and several of the inhabitants had been killed. We thought a skiing expedition would be the best way of carrying out a reconnaissance without arousing undue suspicion, so we stayed the weekend at the Aro Hotel in Brasov, and on the Sunday morning skied light-heartedly into Zemesti and bought a beer at the Inn. From the landlord we got a fairly satisfactoiy account of what had happened, and we got a good look at the works and the chlorine tanks frorn a hill overlooking the village.

Brasov lies north of the Carpathian range, on the edge of the plain and at the foot of the Schuler, ‘Chiistianul Mare’ in Roumanian, a mountain of about 6000 ft where the ski slopes are. The town had two excellent hotels, the Aro, very modem, clean looking and Roumanian; and the Krone, old fashioned and Saxon, with superb food, a snug atmosphere and with what I believe was a quite undeserved reputation for bed-bugs. As we never stayed there we didn’t have the opportunity of finding out.

At night Brasov looks a typical German town of the picture books and fairy tales, with gabled snow-covered houses, each with its archway leading to the “hof’. There is a “Rathaus” with a tall square tower, and an old church, said to be the most easterly mediaeval Gothic church in Europe. In the winter of 1939 the bookshops round the main square were filled with anti-British literature in Gemian and Roumanian and it was evident that the Germans had turned then propaganda machine full on in this part of the country.

The ski slopes start at Poiana Mare, a gently undulating open meadow about a mile square on the side of the Schuler, VA hours’ climb from the town. It can be reached by car except under the worst snow conditions. Poiana Mare is itself a small winter sports centre with two or three hotels and half a dozen restaurants. Our favourite place was a log cabin kept by an old Hungarian couple from Temesvar in the Bauat. They got to know us well and always looked after us, and if we were alone didn’t mind giving us then opinion of the Germans.

It was 2½ hours’ stiff climb from Poiana to the summit of Schuler, where once again we found the usual pan of huts, the S.K.V. for comfoit, and, nearer the top, the T.C.R. for view.
 
The favourite run down from Schuler is known to the locals as “Telegrafenweg”. It consist of 3000ft of continuous fast running down steep narrow glades between trees; most of the time one must either do quick tail-wags or take it straight. There is an easier wood path, known as ‘Tarnihenweg”.

Telegrafenweg starts from the Roumanian hut at the top with 500ft of wood path, then it opens out on to a small meadow, and the steep glade begins on the other side of this. It varies in width between ten and twenty yards and goes on through the woods for 2000ft without a break till it reaches the upper end of Poiana where it finishes with a long straight like the run-out of a jumping hill. It was a tremendously exhilarating run, specially if one had the good luck to find it untracked after a fresh fall. The closeness of the trees on either side enhanced the feeling of speed. On account of its popularity it soon became well tracked and if there was any shortage of snow it was very necessary to look out for exposed patches of rock.

I would hesitate to suggest to a skier from England that he should choose the mountains of Roumania for a winter holiday, specially as the train passes through the whole range of the Alps before half the journey is over. But if ever the Iron Curtain is lifted and peace settles once more over the Balkans, anyone whose job takes him to South-Eastern Europe or the Eastern Mediterranean might well give some thought to the attractions of Brasov or Sinaia. Unless conditions have changed irreparably since 1940 there will be at least some of the comforts which we associate with a skiing holiday. There is a certainty of reasonably good snow, and there is the added spice of exploration, since much of the country must still be uncharted from the skier’s point of view.

The educated Roumanians, when not overburdened with political doubts and anxieties, as they were in 1940, are cultured and companionable. It is to be hoped that they still exist. The most apt description I have heard of the newly emancipated Roumanian bourgeoisie is that they resemble Kipling’s Bandar Log, the monkey folk. When faced with a difficulty they shrug then shoulders and say “Nu se poate”. The mountain peasantiy, like then kind the world over, are rough, hard-working and not over-clean, but kindly and hospitable. They have a ready sense of humour, and we found it an advantage to know enough of the language to be able to appeal to it.