29th-30th August 2014
Late Summer Light: Dumesti & Trascău Fortress
At the end of August, as summer quietly began to soften into early autumn, I returned once more to the enchanting hills of Dumesti. There’s something about that place that keeps pulling me back—like a familiar melody that never sounds the same twice.
This time, the landscape wore golden hues. The grasses swayed dry and tall, the sky was wide and clear, and the little wooden shelters that dot the hills still stood with that quiet grace, as if waiting for the next dance of sunrise light. It felt like the final verse of summer—warm, crisp, and calm.
But the trip didn’t stop there.
The second part of our trip took us toward the Trascău Mountains, where we planned a hike to the ruins of Trascău Fortress, chasing one more golden moment before the day ended. We timed it just right, climbing as the sun began its slow descent, the path still lit by warm afternoon rays.
Reaching the top, the view opened up in a way that made us stop and breathe slower. From the edge of the crumbling fortress walls, the entire valley spilled out beneath us—patches of forest, meadows, quiet villages tucked between the hills. And then the sun began to set.
The sky burned softly at first—pale pinks and mellow blues—but soon deepened into a rich orange glow that bathed everything in gold. The stones of the fortress warmed in color, and the shadows stretched long across the valley. It felt ancient and alive at the same time, like we were watching the land exhale.
There was silence, just the wind brushing past and a quiet awe settling in our bones. We didn’t speak much. We didn’t need to. That kind of light doesn’t need commentary—it just needs to be felt.
And as the sun finally dipped behind the hills, leaving a memory of color in the sky, I knew this would be one of those sunsets I’d carry with me. A moment where time stood still, framed by the rugged stones of a forgotten fortress and the endless sky above.
This time, the landscape wore golden hues. The grasses swayed dry and tall, the sky was wide and clear, and the little wooden shelters that dot the hills still stood with that quiet grace, as if waiting for the next dance of sunrise light. It felt like the final verse of summer—warm, crisp, and calm.
But the trip didn’t stop there.
The second part of our trip took us toward the Trascău Mountains, where we planned a hike to the ruins of Trascău Fortress, chasing one more golden moment before the day ended. We timed it just right, climbing as the sun began its slow descent, the path still lit by warm afternoon rays.
Reaching the top, the view opened up in a way that made us stop and breathe slower. From the edge of the crumbling fortress walls, the entire valley spilled out beneath us—patches of forest, meadows, quiet villages tucked between the hills. And then the sun began to set.
The sky burned softly at first—pale pinks and mellow blues—but soon deepened into a rich orange glow that bathed everything in gold. The stones of the fortress warmed in color, and the shadows stretched long across the valley. It felt ancient and alive at the same time, like we were watching the land exhale.
There was silence, just the wind brushing past and a quiet awe settling in our bones. We didn’t speak much. We didn’t need to. That kind of light doesn’t need commentary—it just needs to be felt.
And as the sun finally dipped behind the hills, leaving a memory of color in the sky, I knew this would be one of those sunsets I’d carry with me. A moment where time stood still, framed by the rugged stones of a forgotten fortress and the endless sky above.
