Msts Romania May 2026

Today was the "Train of the Witches," a Halloween-themed run from Câmpulung Moldovenesc up to the painted monasteries of the Bucovina region. The carriages were packed. Not with tourists with iPads, but with locals.

Andrei drained his țuică , tapped the pressure gauge, and whispered to the old Resicza: "Not bad for a dead railway, eh, girl? Not bad at all." msts romania

"Pită, Andrei?" shouted Măria, the conductor’s wife, shoving a loaf of warm bread through the cab window. "You can’t drive on holy water alone." Today was the "Train of the Witches," a

"Măria!" Andrei shouted down the side of the train. "We need a glass of țuică ! The bride has decided to live!" Andrei drained his țuică , tapped the pressure

The rain over the Carpathian foothills had turned the narrow-gauge tracks of the Mocănița into twin rivers of rust and mud. Andrei, a driver for the CFF (Romanian State Railway) for thirty years, watched the water bead on the brass of his pressure gauge. The locomotive, a veteran Resicza from 1952, breathed steam into the cold air like an old dragon dreaming of fire.

The Cailor Tunnel was 980 meters of absolute darkness bored through living rock. As the locomotive swallowed the light, Andrei did what his father had taught him: he turned off the single bulb in the cab. For thirty seconds, MSTS Romania vanished from the world.

When they burst out the other side, the sun had broken through. The monasteries of Bucovina—Voronet, with its famous blue; Humor, with its reds—stood on the hillside like toys. The teenagers gasped. The old man started the cimpoi drone. And the bride, looking at the fresco of the Last Judgment on the monastery wall, suddenly smiled.