My journey into the fairytale world of Maramureș – the Romania time forgot

Cattle are lumbering home in the twilight, horse-drawn farm carts trundle by and shepherds huddle around bonfires. We spy a woman milking her one cow in her garden and another, ancient-looking but upright, strolling back from the field, hoe over one shoulder. Traditional houses are made entirely of wood, roofs included, and many are dwarfed by ornate carved gateways, with tiled roof and massive beam across the top.

We could be in south-east Asia, but this fairytale world of time-honoured custom and lives lived close to the land is a lot nearer home – in south-eastern Europe.

We are in Romania’s Maramureș region, close to the Ukraine border, driving through rolling hills whose gonk-like haystacks give the countryside a cosy feel, as if it’s peopled with friendly long-haired beings.

And we’ll get to sleep in one of those old wooden houses thanks to an energetic pair of German immigrants. Volker Bulitta and his architect wife Lilli Steier came to the area on a hiking holiday just months after the 1989 revolution and fell in love with it. There were no tourist maps in those post-Communist days, and the few hotels were dire, but local people offered a warm welcome, generously sharing their homes and communal pots of stew. They were soon regular visitors to the village of Botiza, and in 2005 bought the land that is now the heart of their Şesuri estate, and an old wooden house to renovate.

A common wedding wish in Romania is Casă de piatră (I wish you a house of stone), because that represents progress and security. For years no one wanted to live in a wooden home like their grandparents, and beautiful examples lay neglected everywhere. Lilli and Volker started buying them and reassembling them on their land – with modern comforts. Lilli became an expert in traditional construction.

Now there are four guest cottages on the 100-hectare estate. Ours is 200-year-old Casa Palaga, which has original ceilings and doors, a huge sitting room with books, art and handmade rugs, and ladder-like steps to two bedrooms and a modern bathroom. A ceramic stove keeps it cosy at night, though the spring sunshine is warm.

The first morning we set out to walk the estate, admiring wild woods of oak and silver birch, a clear stream in its rocky bed and hundreds of butterflies, as well as Volker and Lilli’s organically reared horses, goats, buffaloes and friendly, vocal herd of highland cattle.

The estate meadows are gently mowed with hand scythes, which means in spring they are a riot of rare orchids, marsh marigolds, gladioli and purply-blue salvia that look like giant bluebells. Autumn means wild mushrooms, which guests are encouraged to gather. Lilli, an expert on these as on much else, will advise on those safe to eat. Brown bears, wolves, lynx, wild cats, otters and deer populate the nearby hills. We see no sign of these, but spot what I swear is an eagle high above. We hear a chiffchaff’s distinctive call and listen for hoopoes and orioles arriving from Africa.

The otherworldly nature of Maramureș is underlined by its extraordinary churches and monasteries. With steep roofs and impossibly tall turrets, watchtowers and the slenderest spires – all tiled in wood – they look as if CGI whiz kids from Amazon’s Rings of Power were trying to win a bet with Disney.

Our walk takes us past Botiza’s monastery, a very elvish complex of pointy towers and swooping wooden arcades, and over the following days we take in several more. A short distance east, Leud church is the oldest of the area’s eight Unesco-listed wooden churches. Built in 1628, it has a double-layer roof, and every inch of its interior is exuberantly painted with saints, devils, animals, trees and flowers.

The Maramureș Village Museum in Sighet, about 25 miles west, has a collection of wooden houses from several districts and centuries, rebuilt on site along a winding lane. Hearing that the three-metre-wide oak planks that make up the walls of the oldest house there, from the early 1500s, were from trees planted just as the Roman empire was collapsing puts our short human lives into context.

As does the region’s quirkiest attraction – the Happy Cemetery in Săpânța, farther west again. Death is part of life is its cheerful message. The site is crowded with carved wooden grave markers bearing bright naive paintings of that occupant’s life – weaving, cooking, teaching, bookkeeping, lumberjacking – or death, in a road accident, say, all by local artist Stan Ioan Pătraș. One begs visitors to speak quietly so as not to wake his harridan of a mother-in-law, buried nearby, who will make his life a misery even in death.

That churches are all well-kept and -used tells of the importance Orthodox Christianity has in the area, but this has knock-on benefits for anyone worried that eastern European country food might be stodgy and meat-heavy. Strict fasting rules in Orthodox lent (3 March-19 April this year) prohibit meat for the whole period, and dairy or eggs on many days, which means local food includes tasty vegan dishes, such as zacuscă, a sort of spreadable ratatouille, and spicy red chilli jam.

These are found in home cooking, mostly. The Ceaușescu years are long over, but there’s still no dining-out culture in rural areas. There’s a village shop in Botiza for basic supplies, but no cafe, bar or restaurant. However, we’re cheered to learn that its handful of pensiunea (guesthouses) do dinner for non-residents. At Cretuca, just down the road, we are the only customers in a dining room hung with folk art, and for under £10 a head tuck into a set menu of ciorbă, traditional sour vegetable soup, then tender slices of stewed beef with mash and a big dish of gherkins. And though Romania is a big wine producer, the table is set with a jug of schnapps (“for the man”), and another of blueberry liqueur – for me, apparently.

We don’t stray far from Casa Palaga in our final days: loungers and a hammock slung between trees offer great valley views, hydrangeas and lavender are starting to flower, and wood smoke curls above the village. There’s another pensiunea to try – in nearby Poienile – where we eat festive favourite sarmales (cabbage rolls with pork and rice) and another variety of ciorbă, and we drop in on Maria, who is keeping alive the regional weaving tradition.

“This is winter work,” says the former teacher, showing how she spins raw wool, dyes it with, say, mint, walnuts, red onions, cherry juice or nettles, then uses a hand loom and patterns drawn on squared paper to make blankets, rugs and clothing. “It’s more pleasure than labour,” she adds. “I feel much happier like this – my hands busy with wool and plants, rather than phone and laptop.”

But despite these timeless elements, Romania is far from stuck in the past. Its tech sector is booming, and the country has some of the highest internet speeds in Europe. The cute wooden houses could play a part in its future too. Last year saw record heatwaves in Romania, but a neighbour who has a wooden house rebuilt to Lilli’s specifications is very happy. “When it’s 35C outside, it’s a pleasant 23C inside, as wood is a great insulator. I have fast fibre-optic internet indoors, but people passing by outside with a horse and cart. It’s so cool.”

The trip was provided by Welcome Beyond (welcomebeyond.com), which charges from €99 a night for Maramures Lodges (sleep between two and seven, minimum stays vary by dates). Accommodation in Cluj-Napoca was provided by four-star Hotel Beyfin, which has doubles from €80