The Eighth Tribe, 1978 (5. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1978-05-01 / 5. szám
May, 1978 THE EIGHTH TRIBE Page 7 ashamedly stretched out in the sun, and the next thing I knew the Master was tapping my shoulder and telling us to remount. On this occasion I rode immediately behind him and followed in his carefully chosen path. At times we were told to spread out and cantered in a formation like an advancing brigade; at others we made curving movements like a snake, exercises designed to give us understanding and control of our horses. Atop the Vértes mountains we reached a plateau that stretched seemingly without end, and we galloped for about two hours. The Master turned back to see if I was all right, and Marianna made sure I understood the Hungarian riding aids. It was fabulous; Sobri went like an excited rocking horse the whole way. At one point my husband thundered past and said, “If your English riding instructor could see you, he’d have a fit.” However, I was in control and riding the way the horse had been trained to expect a rider to behave. My legs were straight, the reins were crossed double and held on each side of the horse’s neck about a foot in front of the saddle, and I leaned forward and kept the weight off his back. The other riders, too, were growing accustomed to their horses’ idiosyncrasies and enjoying a glorious afternoon of riding. Eventually the horses walked along a high embankment that transected a lake; they stepped blithely but kept in the middle of the path and their bits jingled. I held mine in carefully; the steep banks on each side stretched a long way down before they joined the water. On the other side of the lake I could see a gaggle of geese intermittently strutting or lazing in the sun; it was as though a painting of a seventeenth-century farmyard scene had come alive before my eyes. The geese, I knew, would provide foie gras, Hungary’s greatest delicacy. A libamáj (goose liver) generally weighs about one and a half pounds. In most countries it graces the table as a first course, but in Hungary it is served as a main course, hot or cold; used in stuffings; cooked with carrots, onions, and parsnips or with paprika in a sour cream stew; braised with veal; or even added to a beef stew with wine. Hungarians claim that no goose liver in the world equals theirs. At the village of Várgesztes we passed a laughing family riding on top of the hay they had made that day. Their horses neighed (as did every horse we encountered), and ours neighed back. I soon understood the horses’ eagerness. Ahead was the stable. As the gate was shut behind us my husband slid off his horse. A shout went up; apparently we had been told in German that anyone who fell from or got off his horse before the word was given had to buy a round of drinks. From a row of whitewashed peasant houses a woman with a crease-lined face, dressed traditionally in a long black skirt and blouse, her head covered with a black kerchief, heard the laughter and greeted us with her hands. Miklós signaled me to dismount. I did so and carefully pulled the reins over my horse’s neck, held them together under his chin, and stood quietly until I understood what to do. We were assigned a stable up through the orchard. I walked Sobri up the slope, found his allotted place, and removed his saddle while András Bácsi checked him over. The groom put on the halter and tied him to the stall while I fetched a bucket of water. Aside from this small gesture on my part, which kept a communication between horse and rider, all the work was done by the grooms. Before we left they had started their work, checking each horse again to see that there were no saddle sores, lameness, or other disorders. Then the horses were washed down, groomed, and fed energy-giving oats—a necessary diet on this type of ride. The stable management was of a high order and so adroit that I was convinced their performance was based on stringent army training. It was thus no surprise to learn that both Ernő and András Bácsi had served with the Hungarian cavalry. As soon as we settled into the bus, the other riders, chatting gaily, pulled out their bootjacks, struggled out of their boots, and made themselves comfortable for the return journey to the hotel. We sat in silence gazing at the green hills that led up to the Gerecse mountains. We were invited to borrow a bootjack but decided to wait until we got back to the hotel where we would use the large standing one. “But they don’t have one,” our companions said. I stared in disbelief; who ever heard of a riding tour hotel that didn’t have a bootjack? We each tried pulling off the other’s boot by the heel thrust between legs astride, but of necessity riding boots fit well, and particularly well after Have mercy upon Thy people, oh Lord, stretch forth Thy arm upon the Hungarians of Transylvania! six hours’ riding. I slunk down the corridor and borrowed the portable jack. We were the last to board the bus before it left for the swimming pool at the Pálma Hotel in Tata. As we turned off to the pool we passed an unusual black wooden clock tower; dating from 1783, it is the oldest in Hungary. My husband asked if he might stop at a drugstore for some Band-Aids; he had lost the skin from his mid-thumb knuckle down as a result of his horse’s bad habit of constantly throwing his head. Sári said they could only be bought from the State Pharmacy; she thought there was one in a village close to Várgesztes, where we had left the horses, and we would stop for any necessities in the morning. On her first tour Marianna had had to rely on other riders. This time she came fully prepared and provided Band-Aids and sundries. Later, when I developed an uncomfortable saddle sore, she administered deer fat, pure sheepswool, and sympathy. I learned the hard way that special underclothing should be worn on such long treks. Then, as we did each evening, we jumped into the natural thermal water and joyfully watched the sun go down. Swimming the breaststroke will always keep riding stiffness at bay, although some nights it seemed as if the froglike thrust could not be achieved. Alinka, who had suffered the bad toss, said she felt much better after the water therapy. The Pálma, like many places we visited, had an air of neglect; yet the lady at the bar was charming. She introduced us to the Hungarian vermouth Márka and served it with a twist of lemon in fine gold-rimmed glassware. It revived us before we set off back to the Diana and dinner. We changed into informal clothes and went down to the dining room. Deer and boar heads hung from the green walls, and the Tata pottery—green plates decorated with a floral motif— adorned not only the wall behind our table but the orange tablecloth as well. We looked around at the other guests: There were local men out for a meal, a Dutch family surveying the scene as eagerly as we were, and families from East Germany and other Eastern European countries relishing the food and wine. We waited, as we were to do at each meal, until the group assembled. Hungarians enjoy conversation and have extremely good manners; the famous Hungarian gallantry is not lost, but more formality exists than in most Western nations. When the ice is broken, however, this formality gives way to reveal
