The Eighth Tribe, 1978 (5. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1978-05-01 / 5. szám
May, 1978 THE EIGHTH TRIBE Page 11 their bathing suits and went down into the Danube and the horses swam while the grooms guided them by their tails. We were scheduled to try that the next day, but unfortunately it was so hot that we had to ride slowly and returned too late. The following morning, Sunday, we returned to the stable amid a flurry of activity: Horses were cantering around the track; horses with riders were being trained on longes; every jump in two rings seemed to have someone flying over it. Hungarians and foreigners alike had driven out from Budapest to enjoy a day in the countryside and these well schooled horses. Again we rode along the path by the Danube. Pleasure boats with side paddles passed us; a slow-moving tug pulling three barges against the strong current gave a friendly hoot. Families with children left their swimming and paddling to eye our little troop. Across the water we could see Czechoslovakia. At Visegrád we went into a supermarket where I bought Cobetckoe, Russian champagne, and a pair of rudely carved wooden clogs for my little girl, which she and her friends now fight to clump in. Below the charming church with its Baroque spire the ferry and tug plied back and forth. The horses boarded alongside motorcyclists, cars, and buses. They seemed calm, but their veins bulged, showing an inward nervousness. As we took off they flared their nostrils at the tug’s engine, but to our amazement they stood quite still throughout the crossing. As soon as the ramp was down, however, they eagerly walked back to land. On the bank a cluster of women clad in traditional clothes sat with their homegrown wares. My husband presented me with a bunch of mixed carnations. Ernő bought cones fashioned from fresh leaves; some contained perfect raspberries, others held the best cherries I’ve ever tasted. We climbed the rocky hillside until we reached the spot from where we could see the entire Danube Bend vista: The outlines of forests, hills, grotesquely shaped cliffs, and castle ruins were reflected in the shimmering water. Before reaching Esztergom the Danube flows eastward; after that it flows between the forest-clad peaks of the Pilis and Börzsöny mountains, then it widens, sweeps round in a huge bend, turns south, widens further, and flows between Visegrád and Nagymaros on its way to Transdanubia on the Great Plain. We made our way back to the river. The horses rested under the trees; any boy who wished was given a bareback ride. Ernő’s eyes gleamed as he taught these youngsters the rudiments of riding. One little twelve-year-old with his straight black hair cut at ear level looked as if he had been bom on a horse. The ferry returned, and sadly we rode our steeds back to the stable. We said good-by to each horse, which over the days had become so much a part of us and our lives. Somebody popped the cork from a bottle of champagne; I spilled some of mine on the ground for good luck and in hopes of returning one day to ride on the Lippizaner horses. Not looking back, we bundled into the bus. Our spirits were lifted as we crossed a bridge and found ourselves at the Pokol Csárda, an outdoor restaurant set on an island. The moon was full, and we sat at a table under flowering horse chestnut trees looking at the Danube and the outline of a small eleventh-century basilica and the buildings of the village of Vác. It is the sort of place one dreams of visiting yet is surprised to actually find. We watched the dancers in their colorful homemade costumes and high red boots. (Hungary is a rare country; a daughter is often preferred because she can wear and show off the family costumes and exquisite regional embroidery.) They performed the csárdás, the most typical of the Hungarian folk dances. Dancers touch only each other’s shoulders for the greater part of the dance, and only at high points does the man lightly grasp the girl’s waist to spin her round and round to reveal her twenty petticoats. Most of the dance is slow and dignified, but the quick gyorscsárdás demand rapid movement. The dancers’ movements seemed to express the quiet joy of life, the highlights of exuberance, and the melancholy. Gypsies played on as the halászlé, a fish soup of perch and carp was served in a gulyás pot hung from a decorated wrought-iron stand, which allowed the palate-teasing aromas of fish, onion, tomato, and paprika to permeate the air. Next came serpenyös rostélyos, which is made from the rump of well fattened beef. After a light pounding, the meat is braised with a pinch of paprika and thinly sliced onions and carrots; one hardly needed a knife to cut it. With it came flaming pancakes stuffed with ground liver, then paper-thin flaky pastry filled with cherries that had been picked that day. We drank Kövidinka from the Great Plain. We were as melancholy as the music, which played out the emotions evoked by the old Hungary and the effects of the new land. I wanted to join in the dancing, but everyone else sat composed. *
