Tuesday, August 4: Lacu Ursu (Wolf Lake), salty, brine-colored and surrounded by pines, is the centerpiece and (along with other lakes) the reason for being of Sovata, a Romanian resort town par excellence. A central three-level complex of restaurants, showers and changing rooms, built mainly of wood in a vague pagoda style, is surrounded by a sprawling wooden pier on which sunbathers plant themselves and others stroll among them, looking for an open spot. The lake water is deep, but salty enough so that swimmers can float on the surface without moving, á la the Dead Sea (I am repeatedly told that the water has powers to cure a wide variety of ills). Most of the lake is undeveloped, but one section is fenced off with rough logs for the more timid bathers, resembling a human version of a Maine lobster pound. After paddling around, salting ourselves to a turn, we rinse off in surprisingly hot outdoor showers, then sunbathe a bit before the next round.

After "trust falls" in a park (corny but strangely exhilarating, especially the backwards fall off a high stone fence), and some silly group-spirit games last night with ropes (don't ask), Sovata is more of what I came here for. Examples of living folk culture line the streets: elaborate carved wooden doorways (a local trademark of the Székely people [pron. SAY-kay], what Transylvania's ethnic Hungarians call themselves), wooden churches (ditto) and crafts galore at a fraction of even Hungary's modest prices. Love it.

America, or the idea of it, seems to be Romanians' ultimate fantasy, and they're not subtle about expressing it: storefronts have names like West Dream, and an incredible number of people here -- peasants and students alike -- wear baseball caps and T-shirts boasting of the wearer's affinity with "USA" or an imprinted logo of an American sports team, real or imagined (I see one T-shirt sporting the name of that killer squad, the Colorado Babys). They're outward signs of a transitional, ever-struggling society dreaming constantly of America as the great, good, far-off land of freedom and bliss, and wearing clothing evoking its distant promise since that's as close as most expect to get to it. I'm fitting in as well as I can in my own Colorado Condors baseball cap (I have never heard of the Colorado Condors), bought on the cheap in Ljubljana; the cap will serve me well, but I'll lose it towards the end of the trip.

During my entire time in this country, I don't see one person wearing a T- shirt emblazoned with "Romania." When I mention the USA fixation to Leo the Czech, he responds with, "You must understand that this was forbidden!"

Sovata's fame as a resort town dates back to at least the 19th century, and large hotels on the surrounding hills testify to its continuing popularity with Romanians, who come from up to 100 km (60 miles) away. It's a place where vendors sell soft drinks from atop car roofs, and where a few men make a living of sorts toting around a small stuffed bear, or a goat, or a deer, or even a plastic stork, setting it up on a sidewalk covered with a dropcloth until someone wants to pay to have their kid's picture taken with the animal.

To this day, I regret not purchasing an oversize T-shirt in the Sovata marketplace with the following text on the front:

FUTURE/Encourage Yourself to Challenge the next phase of your fitness goal [etc.]

Extra High Quality Garment
Super Amusing Hit Brand for You
1953
EXCITING STAGE
SPARKLING

It's nice to be 16 again, but we'll see how I feel in a couple of weeks.