I can finally feel my toes again (Ice Hotel: Part I)

I think the highlight of my weekend getaway with David was this morning, at breakfast, when we decided that we both smelled like chain smoking sheep.

Prior to this discussion, we had just survived a night sleeping in a hotel made entirely out of ice, in the middle of a blizzard. The outside temperature was 5 degrees Celsius, which should have made the inside temperature of 28 degrees seem positively balmy, but it didn't, because 28 degrees, any way you spin it, is really very cold.

This trip was a 30th birthday present to my dear husband, who had wanted, (more than any other possible present, including a whole host of really nice ones I could order on Amazon.com) to toast his 30th birthday at an ice bar, with an ice glass. He even went so far as to threaten me that my 30th birthday wish (and at that time I hadn't even considered what that would be) was contingent upon his ice bar wish coming true.

I began researching traveling to Sweden. The ice hotel there sounds amazing: the arctic circle, northern lights, dog sled rides, and lots of pickled herring. Unfortunately, the price tag and travel time made it all too impossible. How lucky we were to discover that my wild Eastern European country has its very own ice hotel. In fact, it's the only ice hotel in all of Eastern Europe. Imagine that.

The hotel is located at a very interesting resort, located at the top of a mountain. A number of years ago, Romania's former dictator decided that it would be a fun idea to build a road that traverses a particular mountain range. Instead of the round about, meandering set of switch backs that usually characterize a mountain road, he decided on the straight up and over variety. Balea lake is located at the very zenith of this marvel (some might say insanity) of engineering.

Due to the altitude, there is snow year round. In the winter, there is a lot of snow. Heli-skiers and the adventurous snowboarding types come to Balea for some extreme skiing. Balea lake freezes. Back in 2006, someone got the idea to use some of that nice, sturdy lake ice to build an ice hotel. It has since become a local tourist attraction.

Getting to Balea lake in winter, however, is not easy. Parts of the access road close in winter, meaning that we had to drive around to the opposite side of the Fagaras mountain range to access the lake.

We left early Sunday morning, wearing a lot of warm clothing and having packed two pieces of lemon cake as emergency rations. Bee stayed in the comfort of our apartment in the capable hands of her babysitter. Despite the sadness over leaving our daughter for the night, David and I were looking forward to some time alone.

I enjoy the countryside in Romania very much, even at high speed. There is so much to see: bossy roosters strutting about; women drawing water from wells; men wearing sheepskin hats chatting with other men wearing much the same; massive heavy industry including oil drills (they look like dinosaurs), coal plants, and hydroelectric dams; even a gentleman selling what looked like fat, cuddly, St. Bernard puppies on the side of the road. The puppies were nestled in the trunk of his car, snug in a pile of straw and David had the very good sense not to stop.

The journey took about six hours. Finally, we reached the end of the road. We were hungry (having found nowhere to stop for lunch, we had long since eaten the lemon cake) but in good spirits. We could travel no further by car.

To be continued tomorrow. (Right now, I am off to sleep, with much new found appreciation for a warm bed that is not made out of ice!)