Dots on the Map

Unlike France, Italy and Spain, Hungarian wines may be unfamiliar to many non- Europeans, but Hungary's viticulture has a long history. Like an episode from James Michener's novel 'Poland,' the Hungarian wine was said to have become a favorite for the toasts of European royal courts by the 16th century. The 'Bull's Blood' (from the region Eger) and amber- colored Tokaj wines are the famous ones. Because of our short stay in Budapest Rick and I had to give up on a trip to those wine regions After searching for a nearby winery from Budapest on the internet at the 11th Hour Hostel, we came to find out about this small town called Etyek which was located 25- 30km from Budapest.

I cannot recall the name of the bus terminal we had to get to from Pest side, but we got on a bus as a staff at the tourist information center directed. From that point we had to get on a "yellow bus" as a lady at the bus terminal said. We were wandering around the terminal and hoping that a "yellow bus" would show up soon- it was fall and the daytime was short. Then this energetic middle- aged man showed up from nowhere and asked us where we were going. He called himself a "private tour guide" and offered us a ride to Etyek for $34EUR. It was already afternoon and we had no idea when the yellow bus would come. By all means no one or guidebook would recommend doing this, yet with a silent and prompt eye- to- eye agreement between Rick and me, we decided to accept his offer.

We sat on the back seat. In his car, there were some faded- colored tour brochures covered with dust. On the glove box, a photo of an elderly lady who I assumed was his mother was displayed. Soon after he started driving, the left side of the back window started rolling down, and the man stretched his big arm and pulled up the window. He told us that a huge bodyguard he gave a ride to recently slammed the door so hard that the window got broken. Every 5 km he drove the window rolled down, and he stretched his arm to the back and pulled it up, and doing so while driving almost made the car get off from the road sometimes. We told him that our purpose to go to Etyek was for wine cellars, but for some reasons he insisted that we go eat first, and he was determined to find the best restaurant in town. He drove around and around as if he didn't know where he was going, and as we passed by the "to Etyek" sign a couple times we looked at each other. We both were thinking the "what if" scenario- if we got mugged how we would fight with this guy who was bigger than both of us combined together. Though we kept our guard tight, my intuition was that he was not a bad guy. It was a day before the Hungary's 1956 Uprising national holiday. We thought about checking out the holiday's ceremony on the next day, and when we mentioned this to him he clearly advised us not to go to certain locations in Budapest since demonstrators could get out of control sometimes. Such consideration he gave us for our safe trip made me think that he was just an odd "tour guide." While we started getting anxious about whether we were ever going to get to the town, he started asking the residents in the streets and drivers of the passing cars from the other direction, "Where is the best restaurant in town?" Every time he did so he slammed his brake so hard that our bodies got sprung forward in the backseats.

After asking a few locals, we finally got to the "best restaurant." Since it was a small town I didn't believe there were many restaurants to begin with. We were safe, and we paid him $34 EUR and tip and thanked him. At the restaurant we had a big plate of different meats that were cooked in different ways.

After the quick lunch, we walked to the first wine cellar we found, or should I say the only wine cellar that was opened on that day: BORHAZ. Besides a lady who ran the place, there was a couple tasting wines over a plate of cheese. The three of them were chatting, and during such slow business time associating with the owner could become homier. We exchanged our smiles as we entered. We walked around inside the cellar and talked quietly. The wife of the couple heard us talking and said something to us in English. What? Did she just speak English to us? As we conversed she told us that she studied English in Florida, and without a question she became our translator who helped us enjoy the intimate time at BORHAZ.

Well, we managed to get there but the question was how we were going to get back to the city of Budapest. We found a bus stop nearby but there was no bus schedule. Conveniently across from the bus stop was a bar that was filled with local workers who probably stopped by everyday before going home. It was like a scene from Hungarian filmmaker Vera Tarr's 'Werkmeister's Harmony.' We were certainly outsiders in their eyes, and almost everyone in the bar looked at us as we entered the bar. After a second of the silence that confirmed we weren't the buddies they knew, the clock started moving again and they went back to their conversations. No gaze of wondering about us at all. We got beers and asked the bartender if the bus stop was for Budapest. We kept our eyes on the bus stop while drinking, and we left the bar to wait for the bus when we saw a couple of locals started waiting for the bus. We expected they would know the bus schedule. We waited and waited and waited, and it started getting dark- I thought we should just sleep inside the church if we got stuck there. The bus came. The bus was employing a peaceful country styled system. There was no machine to insert money in; we handed the fees to the bus driver and he just put the money in a wooden cigar box attached to the side of him.

There was not much going on in the town of Etyek, at least at that time of the year, yet it showed us a small town's humble life. They may not get many foreign visitors but they didn't mind us being there at all, and the impression of them letting us become a part of their environment made us fall in love with this little town and its people. Even now after over three years have passed by since the trip, we feel nostalgic about the whole experiences of Etyek.

As if hiding from the rest of the world, this small and old village of the inner land Gratallops is located in near the Serra de Montsant in the Priorat region. This geographical reason and lack of touristic information makes it a hidden gem, and without reading the driving trip reference in the National Geographic Traveler's 'Spain' this precious region of Catalonia would have been still unknown to me.

From the city Tortosa it was about a 2- hour drive to Gratallops. It is located in farther outside the 'Around Tortosa' map we got at the hotel, so a lady at the front desk gave us the rough direction for our excursion. Every trip we had taken was unpredictable, but this road trip of Portugal- Spain- France gave us many challenging opportunities of an independent traveler. Though GPS isn't always accurate it probably could have saved out frustration of the navigation and traveling time. Instead of adding such convenient technology to our Peugeot Europe Car Lease, we used good old maps for the entire trip. By the time we took this day trip to the mountain village, we were used to managing the shuffling around of the big Michelin map of Europe and free local region maps, reading road signs and asking locals for the directions to go from point A to point B.

The views of the mountains were pleasurable, but driving a stick- shift over the meandered uphill of the mountains required good driving skills like my husband's. After passing the ruin of Templar castle of Miravet that still stood strong even after centuries like it did in its sublime days.

With a careful attention to which direction the Ebre River ran from the road we were on, we followed the hand- written map and kept driving. We passed through the first village, where there were young people hanging out at the restaurants and kids playing. I wondered how it would be like to live there. Though the scale was small, it seemed to be the liveliest part of the mountain regions. To avoid driving after dark on the mountains where the weather changed constantly, we hurried on our way.

Unlike the last village we drove through, Gratallops was quiet as if no one was residing there. After we parked the car, we started walking around and hoping we weren't visiting at their inconvenient time. When we got to the front of the church nearby, we saw a van with several bicyclists. Crazy. The village was so small that it was easy to find a couple of wine cellars and tasting spots.

One of them served wines from different makers, but they were closed at that moment- Siesta. The other one was a private cellar called Celler Cecilio. On their door a sign hung that said, "ring the bell for the tasting." my husband Rick was a little bit hestated to bother them, but I was a woman with a mission... 'We didn't drive for two hours for nothing!' Spain seemed to follow the Siesta religiously and it kept screwing up our plans and stomachs.

After ringing the bell for a couple of times, a man responded from the interphone. We certainly were unexpected visitors. With a surprised look in his eyes the owner Auguste warmly welcomed us; he knew we came from far away. After a little chat the tasting began. He showed us the lists of different contests and informed us the positions each of his wines had received as he poured his productions in our glasses. After tasting four different wines Rick asked him if we could see the cellar, which he accepted. Auguste opened the door to the cave where the barrels of French oaks slept, and as soon as he started the tour, he stopped like he realized he had forgotten something important. "We need music." He walked back to the entrance area and reached his stereo. Gregorian music, the religious piece that became popular years ago was in the CD player, and with a charming smile on his face he said how similar he thought this old Christian music sounded to the Buddhist temple music. He was like the wine that cultured flavors as it was aged. With the dignifying songs echoing in the cellar, Auguste answered all of our questions. He was kind and told us there was no obligation to buy any wine, yet we of course purchased one- we had visited different wine makers since the trip began and purchased their products.

We asked if he also made olive oils. The answer was no but his friend who lived 3 km farther up the mountain did, and he wrote a little map on his friend's business card and gave us the direction. Yes, another hand- written map. Although we were worried about the cloudy weather we decided to go for it. We were so close to it anyway.

We got lost and went around and around the same roads like we had done so many times during the trip, but we found the olive production factory, Moli d'Oli. A man on the tractor passed by, who fortunately was the Auguste's friend. Great timing. We showed the card Auguste gave to us which he then began to chuckle, "Ah, Auguste!' He invited us inside the building and offered us the olive oil tasting. Wow, how savory and aromatic his olive oils were! In the shop there were many olive products, and we added a few bottles of the olive oils and olive paste to our trunk.

This excursion is one of the most memorable experiences in Spain for me; the mountain sites never made me bored and those refined residents who let us acquaint with their own significant culture.