Dream Trip--Across Northeastern Hungary by Horseback

I was frightened as I looked at the powerful hindquarters of the Hungarian horses that stood flank to flank, their noses buried in the feed troughs that lined the barn’s long, low-thatched roof.

It was the beginning of my dream vacation, 10 days on horseback across northeastern Hungary, from the grassy plains of Hortobagy National Park to Tokay at the foot of the Carpathian Mountains, about 180 riding miles away and arranged by HunTours.

Riders need stamina and skill for a daily ride of four to five hours at the trot and gallop, including jumping ditches, fences and gates.

I wondered whether I had made a mistake. My companions looked fit and hardy and were at least 15 years younger than my age, 47. Was I really ready for this?

When we were summoned toward the back of the barn it became apparent that the Hungarians had anticipated my thoughts and had the right remedy.

‘Jumping Powder’

It came in the form of a clear liquid (palinka, a Hungarian fruit brandy) dispensed in small-stemmed glasses. “Jumping powder,”Tibor, our riding master, said.

A former steeplechase rider, Tibor assured us that the drink would shrink jumps magically.

It was 9 a.m. when members of the tour--Swedes, Germans, Austrians and Swiss--reached tentatively for the palinka .

We followed the riding master outside and mounted the horses. Mine was a short-backed 6-year-old mare called Gyocka.

She was more than 16 hands--so tall that I needed a hand up. The feel of the saddle restored my confidence, and as soon as Tibor was satisfied that we could handle our mounts, we filed out behind him and Pishta, our guide, across the silver-green flatlands of the puszta or plains.

Immediately Pishta held up his hand and called out the word to trot. He might as well have been speaking to the horses because as soon as his chestnut mare broke into a trot so did the rest.

At a Full Gallop

Minutes later Pishta called “Gallope!” Again the horses bounded forward as if they understood his call. We were off at a full gallop trying to keep the fresh, eager animals under control as we charged across the Tisza River delta.

My Gyocka was not content to run with her nose resting above the tail of the horse ahead. Like a Southern California freeway driver, she insisted on pulling to the side and passing everyone until she was running in front.

She knew what she was doing, because we were soon in marshlands where firm ground suddenly gave way to bog. Pishta’s frequent call for abrupt halts almost resulted in several rear-end collisions.

Hunks of slimy black mud splattered the riders in back while Gyocka, off to the side, had cleverly saved me (and herself) from the bombardment.

As the Swedish women on the tour remarked later, it was easy to gallop after Pishta. He was young and strong, with a full mustache that swooped below the corners of his mouth. His dark brown hair held glints of red, perhaps a result of the large amounts of fiery paprika he heaped on everything he ate.

He rode twisted in the saddle, looking back to keep a vigilant eye on the group galloping along in his wake. A cigarette in his hand, he looked as relaxed as if he were enjoying a glass of palinka at his favorite inn or czarda .

Pheasants and Herons

Thundering through a sea of waving grass, we flushed ring-necked pheasants and snowy white heron from cover.

We skirted the huge fields of potatoes, corn and wheat of the collectives and rode down dirt lanes between thatched-roof cottages, where villagers nodded to us as we passed.

That first day we covered almost 20 miles. We rode hard, maintaining a half-seated balance in the stirrups until our legs felt as if they were on fire.

When we stopped at noon my legs were rubber. We dismounted in a circle and handed our reins to Yoskha, the assistant groom, who tethered the horses csikos -style. Looping a short belt through each rein, he connected the entire herd of 15 horses. Then he stretched out on the grass under the web of reins to read Kafka and whistle softly to calm any restless horse.

At the village school, gleaming silver and china spread on a scarlet cloth beckoned us to a picnic laid out by Antal Agi, the HunTour guide.

We eased ourselves to the ground and reached for the ice-cold wine spritzer as Agi passed plates of crispy schnitzel and potatoes.

Some Wanted a Tan

After pogacsa (a Hungarian scone) and espresso we lolled in the shade of a large linden tree--except for the Swedes, who peeled down to bikinis to work on their tans.

We remounted stiffly and wound through the village with a brief stop at one of the old-time sweep-pole wells. Water is drawn with the aid of a heavy rock tied to a long wooden dipping lever that pivots from the top of a tall vertical forked pole.

We met cowherds in baggy Turkish pantaloons and haughty csikos , master horsemen, who carry whips and still wear full-sleeved blouses and skirtlike trousers of midnight blue.

Gypsy shepherd boys with gleaming white teeth and black hair as thick and woolly as their flock came running from their mud hut.

Eager for conversation and mistaking us for Russians or East Germans, they waved and yelled “Zsdraszvyete!” (hello).

That night Gypsy violins serenaded us at dinner in a czarda . As we ate spicy gulyas we smiled at the sunburned faces opposite and felt the rise of friendship that stems from shared experience.

All Spoke English

All of the Swedes spoke excellent English. Their group included a handsome former member of the Swedish Royal Horse Guard. Because the rest of the tour was predominately young, female and single, English, no matter how halting, became the language of choice.

I discovered that I hadn’t been the only fainthearted one in the group. A blonde German girl leaned over and confided that she hoped we would be served “jumping powder” every morning, as she had found it quite efficacious.

It turned out, though, that in this land of endless sky there were no jumps other than a shallow gully or two. But Pishta did his best to liven things up.

One afternoon as we crested the top of a knoll he reined in his horse and stretched his arm to the side, signaling us to form an even line.

Immediately the horses grew uneasy, and when Pishta’s horse sprang forward our mounts leaped after his, barely a step behind as we swarmed down the hill like a Mongol horde.

On the fourth day the horses rested and we visited Sarospatak, a small town close to the Czech border. While some of us soaked aching muscles in warm springs, the rest used the time for sightseeing and photography.

Defense Against Turks

Sarospatak dates from the 15th Century when the castle was built to fend off marauding Turks. Its wide streets are lined with large flat-leafed chestnut trees and stucco houses of yellow ochre.

We toured Rakoczi Castle and the museum that sells majolica-like pottery at irresistible prices.

Because we had completed half of our ride we were transferred from the hotel in Hortobagy to a hotel in Tokay.

It was, as Agi put it, “more elegant,” with balconies overlooking the confluence of the Tisza and Bodrog rivers. Busloads of Russian workers filled the hotel, brought in for a two-day vacation as a reward for outstanding production.

Each morning the bus drove us to the stable on the puszta where we had left the horses the night before. The wetlands disappeared as we neared Tokay, where long levees contain the flooding Tisza.

We galloped across miles of earthen dams, two by two, and waved to farmers forking hay onto wagons pulled by cream-colored, long-horned oxen. In this more mountainous region, storks nest on nearly every chimney, symbols of good luck.

Coins Collected

That evening in a wine cellar as we sipped Tokay, Hungary’s most prized wine, we realized that our days with the hospitable, gracious Hungarians and their stalwart horses were slipping away from us.

We were mollified, though, when Agi collected coins from us and promised to drop them in Matthius Church in Budapest to ensure our return to Hungary.

The last day we clip-clopped through Gavavenscello, a few kilometers from the Russian border, to a hay field on the edge of the village where the grooms waited for us.

The sky darkened and the wind rose as we dismounted. Gentle drops of rain sprinkled us as we held the horses and waited for the van to pick them up.

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Riders can choose either a 10- or 15-day ride from more than eight areas ranging from lakes to mountains. Tour groups number 8 to 14 riders; tours are conducted from May through October.

The puszta tour costs $858 U.S. and includes hotels (double occupancy with bath), full board, transportation, sightseeing and wine tasting.

Accommodations range from the four-star Flamenco Hotel in Budapest to less elegant but clean and entirely adequate facilities in the puszta . Guides will be fluent in the languages of the riders.

An entry visa is required for Hungary.

For more information about equestrian holidays or other tourist programs in Hungary, contact the Hungarian Travel Bureau, 630 Fifth Ave., Suite 2455, New York 10111, (212) 582-7412.