Our driver was wearing wide trousers called "gotza". They were so wide that they covered the whole front of his seat. He cracked his big whip over his four small horses, which ran side by side, and we set off on our journey. As we drove along I soon forgot my fears because the scenery was so beautiful . But if I had known the language, or rather languages, which my fellow-passengers were speaking, I might not have cheered up so quickly.

Before us was a green land full of forests and woods, with steep hills here and there with trees growing on the tops. There were farmhouses, the doors turned away from the road. Everywhere there were fruit trees in flower - apple, plum, pear, cherry. And as we drove by I could see the green grass under the trees covered with the fallen flowers. The road ran in and out amongst the green hills of the countryside. (They call this part of the country the "Mittel Land".) Sometimes I lost sight of the road as it went around a grassy corner, or was shut out by the pine woods, which grew down the hillsides like tongues of flame. The road was bumpy and difficult, but still we seemed to go over it at great speed. At the time I did not understand what the hurry was for, but the driver obviously wanted to get to the next stop at Borgo Prund as soon as possible.

I was told that this road is excellent in summertime, but that it had not yet been put in order after the winter snows. This is different from most other Carpathian roads. There is an old tradition that the roads should not be kept too well repaired. In the old days they would not repair them at all in case the Turks thought that they were preparing to attack, and this would start the war which was always likely to happen anyway.