The Eighth Tribe, 1978 (5. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1978-05-01 / 5. szám
Page 4 THE EIGHTH TRIBE May, 1978 A HUNGARIAN RIDING TOUR By Mollie E. C. Webster Illustrations by Harold Berson WE had heard rumors about long-distance riding trips through romantic regions of Hungary accessible only on horseback. The thought of riding Hungarian horses descended from the famous eighteenthcentury English Thoroughbred stallions Furioso and North Star and their Arab antecedents, through a country with such a history, not to mention the prospect of sampling a fascinating cuisine and unique wines, was spinetingling. I telephoned the Hungarian consulate in New York only to learn that the tours were run by Ibusz, the government travel agency of the Hungarian People’s Republic, which has no offices in the United States. There are offices all over Europe, however, and in London I quickly located one at Danube Travel on Conduit Street. Rather bewildered, I sat reading the brochures; there were six tours, each looking equally attractive. I finally selected the Danube Bend ten-day tour. It sounded as if it went through the most diverse landscape, and it included a visit to the one-time capital, Esztergom. It could be enjoyed in part by non-riding companions in horse-drawn carriages, and I could some days, I thought, drive with them. We eventually left London on the hottest day in June. It was a great relief to be sitting in the air-conditioned jet of Malév Hungarian Airlines. We heard the pilot speaking in Hungarian, that unfamiliar Finno-Ugric language and one of the few European tongues that is totally unrelated to English. The steward served us Badacsonyi Szürkebarát; he explained that it was a strong dry white wine produced in the volcanic vineyards around Lake Balaton and one of the best of the country's whites, adding that Hungary enjoys a viticulture of two thousand years, which, combined with its diversity of terrain, favorable climatic conditions, and an abundance of sunshine, produces a spectrum of wines that delight any connoisseur. Meanwhile the stewardess served generous plates of Hungarian charcuterie—debreceni sausage, paprika-spiced salami, gyulai sausage—local cheese, and good bread. Refreshed and mellowed by several glasses of wine, we felt our adventure had truly begun. As soon as we landed in Budapest, the immigration and customs officials checked our visitor’s visas. An Ibusz guide then whisked us into a taxi and through the dark streets of the capital to the Royal Hotel. Upon learning that we were members of the Danube Bend riding tour, he asked if we had brought our saddles. I heard the air going out of my lungs, waited what seemed an age, then heard my husband say, “Well, we came from New York; our commitments involved previous travel; it would have been inconvenient to carry them.” I gulped. That sounded like the truth. For a brief moment I wondered what was expected of us. I recalled that the brochure stated, “The tour requires genuine sports efforts from both riders and horses .... participants cover 160 to 300 kilometres in 6 to 8 days, with 3 to 5 hours riding a day .... Riders are expected to be able to walk, trot, and canter; they are divided into groups depending on their skill and guided by Masters who speak several languages.” That didn’t sound beyond my capabilities. I had ridden a great deal
