Discover Nucsoara: a settlement full of memories and traditions
When I remember Nucsoara, my heart fills with stories about people, about paths traveled through trails among hills and valleys.
The first memory is connected to Aunt Țuta (Elisabeta Rizea), and there was always a whispered conversation about her, even in the early years after ’90.
During winter, Mama Lenuta would stuff as much goose down as she could into a hemp sack tied at the mouth with stitches from a large sack left by Maica Mare, the merchant of skirts, sticks, stitches, and woven shirts.
With the sack ready and the ‘little one’ by hand, we went to get the duck near ‘UMTFeu’. Along the way, she prepared me and told me that if the duck didn’t come down from the hill, I would know we had to walk. I was about 3-4 years old.
This is how many trips were made in Nucșoara, and just as many times, I listened to the chilling stories that Aunt managed to tell through the tears streaming down her face.
That’s how my Nucșoara looked, memories that have been further adorned with visits to Bahna Rusului for cheese and weeks spent camping near their campsite.
Together with Baiazid, Aunt Țuta’s son-in-law, Dad roamed the mountains of Nucșoara, often taking me along. I quickly grew fond of these places and their stories, but when Aunt gave my father ’10 rods’ of land on the farm in Slatina, that’s when we truly connected to this place.


Our Mountain Home
Time and my father’s encouragement led us to expand the ‘garden,’ buying pieces of land bit by bit, including the old buildings of the farm in Slatina, a village in Nucșoara.
The old administrative building of the farm caught our eye, seeming like it could become our mountain home.
I couldn’t tell you exactly how it happened, but the fact that Dad retired and had more time turned us overnight into construction site supervisors.
Challenges were plenty. Converting a building with crooked walls that once housed a canteen, a warehouse, and a few small sleeping quarters into a livable space was not easy at all.

Our Beginnings: Building a Story in Harmony with Tradition
Guided by the enchanting architecture of the old houses in Nucșoara and inspired by visits to the Ethnographic Museum in Câmpulung, as well as by local craftsmen who contributed to our story, we managed to outline the theme and spirit of Guest House Caezu.
We aimed to bring to life a Romanian house from the Muscel area, a comfortable and welcoming home built with specific natural materials from the region, some reclaimed from demolitions and crafted by local artisans.
Petre and Bogdan, ‘Lu’ Lința’s boys, childhood friends, Stella’s grandsons, Mama Lenuta’s goddaughter; Onu; Nea Nica Mamutii, Dad’s close friend; Nel; Tete’s Puiu, Dad’s primary cousin and godson; Nae Balans; Gică Fulga. These are just a few who helped materialize the story. They will always have a well-defined place in our tale.
If the thousands of nails painstakingly removed from old beams that were repurposed were counted…
How many times the old bricks from demolitions were picked up and cleaned by hand.
If the dedication used to split thousands of slate pieces for walls and walkways could be quantified.
How often Didina, Dad’s pickup truck, sighed while bringing the daily construction materials.
Where to find Douglas fir wood, more resilient, to make the troughs for the salt licks?


Caezu: A Nickname and a Meaningful Heritage
I remember that’s how people used to call me, ‘the little one’ of Mama Lenuta from Caezu’s place. I remember crying when Uncle Uca called me ‘Caezule.’
In my mind, the nickname sounded like it was related to something sharp, a piercing thing I couldn’t shake off. Now it seems to hold a different meaning, indeed, it has attached itself to me and all the Vasilescus before me.
But where does this nickname come from?
It’s said that among the first people from Domnești who came over the mountains near Sibiu and settled in our area in the 18th century was our ancestor, Bucur Vasilescu. He was also known as Keizerul because of his Germanic features and sometimes authoritative attitude. From ‘Kaizer,’ there was a rather natural transition to ‘Caezu.’
This nickname seems to have traveled through time, preserving the memory and traits of our ancestor, ingraining itself into our identity and the Vasilescu family’s story.

Rewriting Stories
Caezu’s story aims to revive childhood memories, to bring back the simplicity and comfort of our grandparents’ house, and to uphold the sacred rules that our ancestors considered fundamental in shaping a good person. The wave of beautiful memories always has a focal point: our grandparents’ house, with all its intricate details. How could I forget this place, when it witnessed all our events?
From the aroma of smoked meats roasted in the fireplace because ‘the child had a craving…’ to the baths taken in a bucket by the fire, clothes washed and hung outside to dry better, the bed where we nestled ‘spooning’ to fit all three grandchildren, and the gentle negotiation of morning sleep with Tete, ‘let the child sleep a bit more,’ before heading to Musetesti with the horse.
Then, breakfast served in bed while watching TV and even the daredevil jump from the wardrobe to the bed, defying the warning that ‘we’ll get the plague if we break the springs and leave them there, like Verina of Popa Venescu, hidden in the bed.’ Even Saint Nicholas and Santa Claus found their places there. But above all, a testament to everything that happened there, Her Majesty reigned – the rug on the wall that only came down once a year, before Easter, to be aired.
Among all the intertwined symbols, the tapestry with the raised tail seemed to always follow me, a keen observer of the house and everything that unfolded within it.
