|
www.2travel.info Following in the hoof-steps of Attila the Hun, Jim Whyte finds himself out on the wild Hungarian Plain, among an elite band of legendary horsemen
Sixteen centuries ago Attila the Hun swept out of the grasslands of eastern Hungary. Like a whirlwind, his barbarian army of mounted archers smashed into the borderlands of the Roman Empire, plunging the continent into chaos. Today much of the Hungarian Plain remains wild and untamed - the realm of the csikos, the horsemen whose mastery of horsemanship would have rivalled that of Attila's dreaded cavalry. So what better way to explore the culture of the csikos and the Hungarian Plain than on horseback?
The morning was cool and still as we approached the stables just south of Tokaj. This winegrowing region, 150 miles north-east of Budapest, is famous for its sweet Aszu wines. Its vineyards cover the slopes of an ancient volcano, the last piece of high ground before the hundreds of miles of flat open plains that stretch to the south, giving way to the puszta - the wild grasslands from whence Attila sprang. As we took in this view, the silence was broken only by the thud of giant hooves coming from the stable. Janos, our guide, introduced me to my horse. Paloma, "the Dove", seemed a hopelessly inappropriate name.
There was no denying that the horses were truly magnificent, just as an erupting volcano is magnificent. My discovery that riding hats are regarded as unnecessary in Hungary hardly helped to settle my nerves. Thankfully, we rode at a slow pace, away from the roads and out among the tobacco fields and the dried sunflower crops that rattled softly in the easterly wind. From my precarious vantage point, I watched as a farmer herded his cattle with the help of several Hungarian poolie dogs - small bundles of dreadlocks with a pink tongue to identify their front end. However, my lack of riding ability hadn't escaped Janos's expert eye. He suggested that I might be better suited to the horse-drawn carriage used by the non-riders. It was either the carriage now or a stretcher later and as the riders thundered off, I decided to enjoy the peaceful landscape at a safer pace.
We were travelling along the Tisza river that flows slowly southward from the Carpathians across the puszta. Its murky depths conceal huge three-metre long catfish that draw anglers from across Europe. Some even say Attila is buried beneath the waters. Janos had snorted at my suggestion that there was no proven link between modern-day Hungarians and the Huns. Actually, I couldn't help feeling that the true descendants of the Huns were the mosquitoes. As night fell, our carriage was turned into a mobile buffet with myself as main course, and I sat there ineffectively flailing away just as the sluggish Roman Empire had done.
We crossed the river via a pontoon at Tiszadob and that evening the riders were all smiles, exhilarated by the day's riding. As we tucked into delicious catfish soup, the neon anti-mosquito light outside flashed and blazed under a relentless attack, each crackling death greeted with a cheer from the group. The mosquito barbecue wasn't the only entertainment. The gypsy musicians were hopelessly out of tune but still very enjoyable, and their folk ballads soon had the locals in song. An evening's entertainment was a lot worse in Attila's day. Roman ambassadors to his court reported that nothing was as bad as an evening spent enduring the routines of his favourite comedians.
We reached the edge of the HortobÙ„gy National Park near the town of Tiszacsege and the open fields disappeared into to a sea of grass stretching in every direction. Fortunately, it was still legal to kill mosquitoes in the park. The landscape was more reminiscent of a Central Asian steppe than a Central European one, and it was here in this wild place that I was reunited with Paloma. I would now get the chance to ride out across the grassland, far beyond the few roads, as the great barbarian horde had once done. However, as if staying on the horse wasn't concern enough, there were other dangers out there on the plain.
The isolated, thatched shepherd's huts bristled with lightning rods. "Each year several shepherds are struck by lightning. As there are no trees, they're the tallest things around," warned Marta, our other guide. The tallest thing except, of course, me sitting on a massive horse. We rode among the herds of grey longhorn cattle and the unique Racka sheep; it seemed both had been deliberately bred with spectacular curling horns so that they'd get struck by lightning before their owners. For one brief but magical moment late in the afternoon, Paloma and I were flying across the grasslands. This was followed shortly afterwards by the equally magical sight of me flying through the air. Fortunately, a wet summer had kept the puszta lush and soft. Suffice it to say I was quickly put back in the carriage where, at the very least, there was less chance of being struck by lightning.
As if to reinforce my lack of riding prowess, we arrived at The HortobÙ„gy Club Hotel, the largest riding centre in Hungary. Here, concessions were made for inexperienced riders - their shop even sold riding hats, although only for children.
The next morning, the thunder of hooves announced the arrival of the csikos. These horsemen have developed exceptional riding skills, living out on the puszta among the herds of longhorn cattle. The term "cowboys" doesn't really begin to do justice to this fascinating culture. Every Hungarian schoolboy aspires to become one but there are only a few hundred genuine csikos on the plains. As I'd discovered, the level of horse-riding skill required for this job probably weeded out most of the aspirants.
The csikos were all wearing wide-brimmed black hats, stuck at various jaunty angles, and long blue pleated tunics. Frankly, I wasn't going to tell a csikos armed with a five-metre bullwhip that such a get-up looked rather odd. "It's very good against mosquitoes," said a csikos. "You can try one on if you like." It was momentarily tempting, but then there are limits. As I applied another litre of mosquito repellent, the csikos were busy with various staggering displays of horsemanship culminating in the "Puszta Five" where a csikos rides five horses simultaneously, standing on the backs of the rear two. Show-offs.
That evening, around a campfire out in the grassland, we met Lajos Garai, legendary csikos and, as I understood it, national tripe-cooking champion. He was going to cook for us. Fortunately he wasn't cooking his award-winning recipe. Over some delicious slambuc stew, Lajos told us of life as a csikos. Like all romantic existences, the reality was far tougher than daydreaming schoolboys might imagine but the csikos wouldn't change it for anything. Lajos was now semi-retired and had arrived on a bicycle rather than a horse. A very sensible choice if you ask me. Nevertheless, his skill with a bullwhip was remarkable. I took up his offer to have a try and nearly strangled myself with it.
Our group rode on across the puszta the next day covering another 50km. Our weeklong trip had covered about 250km in total, which would be impressive by anyone's standards - anyone, that is, except Attila, whose cavalry managed to average up to 160km a day over open terrain like this. No wonder they were bow-legged. We had reached the end of our journey, and were once again on the banks of the Tisza. Travelling with such beautiful horses had given us an insight into a unique part of Europe where the horseman still reigns supreme just as he did one and a half millennia ago. "Hungary and the horse go together," said Janos. I had to agree, even though the horse and myself are not always so closely attached.
Way to go
Getting there: Malev Hungarian Airlines (0870 909 0577) operates daily, scheduled flights from Stansted to Budapest from £84pp return and double daily flights from Heathrow to Budapest from £88pp return.
Horse riding tours: "Experienced and skilled" riders could do no better than to ride with Janos Loska. Contact Marta Jokai (00 36 20 9118 275). Similar one-week tours between April and October are available from Ride Worldwide (01837 82544) from £985 per person.
Where to stay: The 4-star Hortobلgy Club Hotel (00 36 52 369 020) has rooms from €64 per night.
Further information: The Hungarian National Tourist Office (020 7823 1032 or freecall from the UK 00800 36 000 000). |
