![]() ![]() We passed by a man in flowing blue robes herding his cattle toward the well. We met the buffalo who were being bred to preserve not only their genealogy, but also the cultural heritage of Hungary as these impressive beasts produced iron-rich meat and high-fat milk. Here we witnessed the csikós, Hungary’s horse-mounted herdsmen, going about their daily duties, herding sheep, repairing carts, taking cattle to the well to drink, the horses an ever-present part of their lives. On his head sat a wide-brimmed hat with a crane feather tucked into the band, a small token of the region’s abundant wildlife.įrom here we boarded a cart drawn by two handsome black horses and embarked on a tour of the surrounding plains led by Adam. ![]() He wore the traditional clothing that generations before him would have also done loose style trousers, a black velvet vest, and beneath this a long-sleeved shirt in blue, the true colour of Hortóbagy. Adam was a young, mustachioed man with the calm, unshakable persona of someone who has worked with wild animals their entire life, but with a warmth in his eyes as he picked up his baby son and placed him on the back of his favourite horse. Dust kicked up and glinted in the low October sun as we pulled up to the 300 year old Máta Ménes stud farm to meet our host Dóri, and walked over to one of the barns to meet her husband. We passed through the town of Hortóbagy, the namesake of Hungary’s first and largest National Park where already market stalls were being erected in preparation for the upcoming festival. This part of Hungary felt decidedly forgotten, more akin to their Ukrainian neighbours than their Western counterparts, with tractors being the predominant mode of transport closely followed by horse and cart even the police rode bicycles as they patrolled the streets. ![]() Their houses had distinctly shaped sloping roofs of either thatch or tile, cracks in plaster exposing brickwork but always vegetables growing in the garden. ![]()
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