Bottled red, riding good
After leaving Budapest we headed north following the Danube up to the town of Esztergom, right by the Slovakian border, where we visited Hungary's biggest church. You actually see the immense basilica a long time before you reach it. It's difficult to know how to describe the size of the place. Huge doesn't quite cover it – it's unnecessarily big. You could fit a whole normal-sized church just in the porch. You feel like you've been shrunk. But then, weirdly, once you step inside all sense of scale disappears
and it feels like you're just in any other cathedral. It's like a reverse Tardis. There are some odd relics on display inside too: the skull of a former bishop who died at the hands of the Communists in 1951; some more bits of poor old St Stephen (a skull and possibly a thigh bone). How would he have felt knowing he was going to be dissected and distributed about the country?
Looking out from the enormo-church over the lovely town below, and seeing the forest of uninviting concrete high-rises on the Slovakian side of the river, we decided to stay in Hungary and drive back down the river. We went to Visegrad, home of some great medieval ruins, and then Szentendre, a wonderful little cobbled town that used to be a hang out for artists. Now it's a hang out for Japanese tourists and antique shops but it still holds a certain charm.
As we drove the back roads towards Eger in the heart of wine country, we spotted Hungary's equivalent of Poland's "forest tarts". Claire was desperately trying to photograph them plying their trade as we drove past but some of them seemed a bit aggrieved about that. At around the same time, the Ebay van had started chugging again and I was in fear of breaking down and, more worryingly, breaking down near a disgruntled prostitute. We nursed it along and manag
ed to get to Eger but now had to find a campsite. Another campervan with GB plates overtook us, so at the next set of lights Claire leapt out and accosted what turned out to be a lovely Australian couple, asked if they were going to a campsite and if we could follow them. They were and we could. And very fortuitous it turned out to be.
The owner was a guy named Janos who insisted we call him Johnny. We told him about the chugging van and asked him if there was a garage near by and he said he'd take us to one in the morning – at 7am. I'd forgotten there was such a thing as 7am! So, the next day, bleary eyed, we met him as arranged and followed him to a garage where he gets his Chevrolet fixed. The garage owner was, according to his name badge, called Zsabo Gabor. Of course, we instantly started calling him Zsa Zsa – we couldn't help it! Upon seeing the age of the van, Zsa Zsa went and fetched his oldest mechanic. This guy was like Yoda. He started the engine, listened for about two minutes and immediately diagnosed the problem. He whipped off the engine cover, disappeared inside and re-emerged, like a pearl diver, clutching a bit of cable. It was apparently what linked one of the spark plugs to the… er… engine? I'm no expert. None of the cables they had to hand would fit our van so a new cable was sent for and arrived from who-knows-where about 20 minutes later. After some plier-based modification, it was installed and we took Yoda for a test drive to make sure everything was hunky dory. We were back at our campsite by 9.30am in a contentedly purring van. Johnny had been asking us all sorts of questions about the van (how much had we bought it for, how many miles had it done, did everything on it work) and when we returned to camp he came over to make sure we were ok… and then said he'd buy the van off us for 2,000,000 forint! I nearly sold it to him there and then but Claire explained that we were still touring until September to which he said, "Fine. Bring it back in September." Now we just have to work out if he's serious or not – and if the van will last that long.
Eger itsel
f is lovely. It has a castle which, they proudly tell you, was defended by a handful Hungarians against a bazillion Turks for X number of years. There's a lone minaret, a rare relic of when the Turks eventually did take control. There are plenty of lovely churches, one of which claims to be the second largest in Hungary but having just seen the mothership of all churches in Esztergom we were left unimpressed. The highlight of Eger for me, though, has to be Szépasszony Völgy – the Valley of Beautiful 
Women. Nobody is sure why it's called this but it's certainly not because of the local talent who all look a bit like bricklayers in drag. Szépasszony Völgy is a series of wine caves, some of which are nothing more than a door in the cliff while others have been turned into full-on theme pubs. Mary and Chris, our new Australian friends, joined us as we went from cave to cave sampling their wines at between 100 and 300HUF (30p to 90p) per glass. Then, when you find one you like (I was particularly taken with Bikaver – "Bull's Blood"), you present them with any available vessel which they then fill with wine for you. A 1.5 litre plastic water bottle cost a paltry 950HUF (just under £3) to fill. Amazing.
After the vine-covered hillsides of "wine country" (my nirvana) we headed for the flat, grassy plains of "horse country" (Claire's nirvana) and the town of Bugac. Set in the Kiskunsag National Park, Bugac is home to a museum dedicated to the traditional local horse-ba
ck herders of yesteryear – kind of like Hungarian cowboys. It is also the setting for a twice-daily show of horsemanship by traditionally-clad riders. This got Claire very excited. We were taken by horse and cart to the stables just outside town and allowed to mingle with the horses before their performance. Then some rousing music blared out from the Tannoys (at one point it was the Can-Can) as the bare-back riders entered the arena, cracking whips and whooping. Then, bizarrely, the riders took turns 
to show us different ways to stand, sit and recline on a prostrate horse. This was followed by a man stood on the backs of two galloping horses while driving three other horses around the arena. Then, and I'm not making this up, two of the riders took turns to whip each other before all five riders galloped around holding pint glasses of Ribena. I'm not sure how any of the those skills can be applied to herding. Claire loved it though, especially when they let her ride one of the horses after the show. For me it was all a bit bewildering but great fun and I caught myself singing the theme tune to Rawhide as we rode the horse and cart back to the van.
and it feels like you're just in any other cathedral. It's like a reverse Tardis. There are some odd relics on display inside too: the skull of a former bishop who died at the hands of the Communists in 1951; some more bits of poor old St Stephen (a skull and possibly a thigh bone). How would he have felt knowing he was going to be dissected and distributed about the country? Looking out from the enormo-church over the lovely town below, and seeing the forest of uninviting concrete high-rises on the Slovakian side of the river, we decided to stay in Hungary and drive back down the river. We went to Visegrad, home of some great medieval ruins, and then Szentendre, a wonderful little cobbled town that used to be a hang out for artists. Now it's a hang out for Japanese tourists and antique shops but it still holds a certain charm.
As we drove the back roads towards Eger in the heart of wine country, we spotted Hungary's equivalent of Poland's "forest tarts". Claire was desperately trying to photograph them plying their trade as we drove past but some of them seemed a bit aggrieved about that. At around the same time, the Ebay van had started chugging again and I was in fear of breaking down and, more worryingly, breaking down near a disgruntled prostitute. We nursed it along and manag
ed to get to Eger but now had to find a campsite. Another campervan with GB plates overtook us, so at the next set of lights Claire leapt out and accosted what turned out to be a lovely Australian couple, asked if they were going to a campsite and if we could follow them. They were and we could. And very fortuitous it turned out to be. The owner was a guy named Janos who insisted we call him Johnny. We told him about the chugging van and asked him if there was a garage near by and he said he'd take us to one in the morning – at 7am. I'd forgotten there was such a thing as 7am! So, the next day, bleary eyed, we met him as arranged and followed him to a garage where he gets his Chevrolet fixed. The garage owner was, according to his name badge, called Zsabo Gabor. Of course, we instantly started calling him Zsa Zsa – we couldn't help it! Upon seeing the age of the van, Zsa Zsa went and fetched his oldest mechanic. This guy was like Yoda. He started the engine, listened for about two minutes and immediately diagnosed the problem. He whipped off the engine cover, disappeared inside and re-emerged, like a pearl diver, clutching a bit of cable. It was apparently what linked one of the spark plugs to the… er… engine? I'm no expert. None of the cables they had to hand would fit our van so a new cable was sent for and arrived from who-knows-where about 20 minutes later. After some plier-based modification, it was installed and we took Yoda for a test drive to make sure everything was hunky dory. We were back at our campsite by 9.30am in a contentedly purring van. Johnny had been asking us all sorts of questions about the van (how much had we bought it for, how many miles had it done, did everything on it work) and when we returned to camp he came over to make sure we were ok… and then said he'd buy the van off us for 2,000,000 forint! I nearly sold it to him there and then but Claire explained that we were still touring until September to which he said, "Fine. Bring it back in September." Now we just have to work out if he's serious or not – and if the van will last that long.
Eger itsel
f is lovely. It has a castle which, they proudly tell you, was defended by a handful Hungarians against a bazillion Turks for X number of years. There's a lone minaret, a rare relic of when the Turks eventually did take control. There are plenty of lovely churches, one of which claims to be the second largest in Hungary but having just seen the mothership of all churches in Esztergom we were left unimpressed. The highlight of Eger for me, though, has to be Szépasszony Völgy – the Valley of Beautiful 
Women. Nobody is sure why it's called this but it's certainly not because of the local talent who all look a bit like bricklayers in drag. Szépasszony Völgy is a series of wine caves, some of which are nothing more than a door in the cliff while others have been turned into full-on theme pubs. Mary and Chris, our new Australian friends, joined us as we went from cave to cave sampling their wines at between 100 and 300HUF (30p to 90p) per glass. Then, when you find one you like (I was particularly taken with Bikaver – "Bull's Blood"), you present them with any available vessel which they then fill with wine for you. A 1.5 litre plastic water bottle cost a paltry 950HUF (just under £3) to fill. Amazing.After the vine-covered hillsides of "wine country" (my nirvana) we headed for the flat, grassy plains of "horse country" (Claire's nirvana) and the town of Bugac. Set in the Kiskunsag National Park, Bugac is home to a museum dedicated to the traditional local horse-ba
ck herders of yesteryear – kind of like Hungarian cowboys. It is also the setting for a twice-daily show of horsemanship by traditionally-clad riders. This got Claire very excited. We were taken by horse and cart to the stables just outside town and allowed to mingle with the horses before their performance. Then some rousing music blared out from the Tannoys (at one point it was the Can-Can) as the bare-back riders entered the arena, cracking whips and whooping. Then, bizarrely, the riders took turns 
to show us different ways to stand, sit and recline on a prostrate horse. This was followed by a man stood on the backs of two galloping horses while driving three other horses around the arena. Then, and I'm not making this up, two of the riders took turns to whip each other before all five riders galloped around holding pint glasses of Ribena. I'm not sure how any of the those skills can be applied to herding. Claire loved it though, especially when they let her ride one of the horses after the show. For me it was all a bit bewildering but great fun and I caught myself singing the theme tune to Rawhide as we rode the horse and cart back to the van.
take the money!
ReplyDelete