The alarm goes off at six, which is earlier than I intended, but the light through the window is doing that thing where it makes the room look like it's been dipped in honey. Today is the day I finally go looking for the bison. Yesterday was about rain and museums, and while I love a good ethnographic collection, I came to the Őrség for the forests. I pull on my boots, grab the backpack, and check the weather one more time. Fifteen to twenty-four degrees, a few showers, but the forecast says the afternoon clears up. Good enough.
I have my coffee on the little porch of the guesthouse, listening to the birds and the sound of the village slowly waking up. Fecskefészek Vendégház is about as quiet as it gets, and for about seventeen and a half thousand forints a night, which includes the breakfast spread, it feels like a steal. I check my phone, and I'm reminded that in two days, this whole quiet little region is going to erupt for State Foundation Day. But that's for later. First, the bison.
The Körtike nature trail starts right by the national park visitor centre in Siskaszer. It's a loop that winds through the kind of forest that makes you forget you're in a country of eleven million people. The trail is well-marked, and you can do it on foot or by bike. I'm told the bison are often visible near the feeding areas, but they're not a zoo exhibit. You have to be patient, quiet, and a little bit lucky. The trail itself, though, is the real gift. It climbs gently through oak and pine, and every so often, the trees part and you see the valley below, with its patchwork of meadows and orchards.
About an hour in, I see them. A small group of European bison, dark shapes moving through a clearing maybe a hundred metres away. They're enormous. I stop dead, not even daring to breathe loudly. There's a moment where one of them lifts its head and looks in my direction, and I feel like I've been seen by something ancient. Then it goes back to grazing, and I just stand there, grinning like an idiot. This is why I came to the Őrség. Not for the ruin bars, not for the Duna, not for the gulyás, but for this. A forest, and wild animals, and the feeling that you're somewhere real.
I spend another hour on the trail, walking slowly, soaking it in. The trail eventually loops back to the visitor centre, and I take my time. There's a study trail called the Rezgőnyár, named for the quaking aspens, that meanders around the park plot. The leaves were already starting to turn a bit, and the sound of them in the wind is like a soft applause. I'm not going to pretend I'm a botanist, but there's something deeply calming about a place where you can just walk and look and not have to be anywhere else.
Back at the visitor centre, I stop for a water refill and check the map. I've been hearing about the Szöce peat bog, which is apparently a protected wetland about a half-hour drive from here. I'm told it's one of the few places in Hungary where you can walk on a boardwalk through actual peatland, with carnivorous plants and whatnot. I decide to go. I get my bike from the guesthouse, and I cycle out of Őriszentpéter, past the church, past the houses with their thatched roofs and kódisállás porches, and into the countryside.
The road to Szöce is quiet. I pass maybe two cars the whole way. The landscape is the Őrség at its best: low, green hills, forests, and this feeling of space that you don't get anywhere else in Hungary. A few kilometres in, I see the sign for Lápok Háza, which is the visitor centre for the bog. I lock my bike and walk the last bit. The boardwalk starts at the edge of the woods and immediately the ground changes. It's spongy underfoot, and the air smells different, cooler and earthier.
The bog is like another world. There's a stillness to it that's almost unsettling. The water is dark and still, the sphagnum moss is a deep, wet green, and there are these small, pale flowers that I'm told are carnivorous sundews. I walk the loop slowly, taking pictures, trying not to fall in. The boardwalk is well maintained, but I can see where the bog has tried to reclaim it in places, with water creeping over the edges. It's a strange, beautiful, and slightly melancholic place. After the excitement of the bison, it's a different kind of encounter with nature, one that feels more introspective.
I cycle back to Őriszentpéter feeling hollowed out in a good way. My legs are tired, my stomach is growling, and I know exactly what I need. The Bognár Étterem, over in Kovácsszer, has been my go-to for the past couple of days. They've got an all-you-can-eat buffet for about three and a half thousand forints, which, given the quality, is an absurd deal. Today, they've got a pörkölt with dödölle, those little potato dumplings that are the Őrség's comfort food, and I pile my plate high.
I take a seat by the window, and I watch the village go by as I eat. The pörkölt is rich and smoky, the dödölle are soft and buttery, and I wash it all down with a local cider. I think about the day, about the bison, about the bog, and about this whole region. The Őrség is the kind of place that makes you want to slow down, and that's not a bad thing. The cost of living here is a fraction of Budapest's. A night in a good guesthouse, a hearty meal, and a day of nature, it all comes to around twenty-five thousand forints, which is maybe seventy dollars. For that, you get peace, quiet, and a chance to remember what your own thoughts sound like.
In the afternoon, I decide to walk off lunch by exploring the Templomszer district. The main church, St. Peter's, has been here since the thirteenth century, which puts it right in the heart of the Árpád era, when this land was guarded by the free border guards who gave the town its name. The church is built in that sturdy Romanesque style, and it's been fortified, with a moat still visible around it. It was sacked by the Ottomans in the 1600s, and standing there, you can feel the weight of all that history. It's a small, quiet place, but it's a powerful one.
I walk back towards the centre, and I pass the Szikszay Edit Néprajzi Gyűjtemény, the local history museum. I went there yesterday, but I find myself stopping in front of it again. It's a reminder that this is not a place that has been frozen in time for tourists. It is a living, working community that happens to have an incredible heritage. The museum was founded by a local teacher in the 1960s, and it's full of the tools and textiles and photographs of daily life in the Őrség. It's worth the visit, even on repeat.
Back at the guesthouse, I'm starting to plan the next couple of days. Tomorrow is the eve of State Foundation Day, and the whole country is gearing up. I'm told that while the big celebration is in Budapest, with the fireworks over the Duna, every village has its own thing. I'm half tempted to stay here and see what the Őrség does, and half tempted to try to make it back to the city. I'm leaning towards staying. The idea of watching a small-town celebration in this corner of the country feels more my speed. And the food will be better.
As the sun starts to lower, I head out for one more walk. The evening light is doing that golden hour thing, painting the wooden bell towers and the slate roofs in soft colours. I'm going to walk to the edge of the village and find a spot to just sit and watch the sunset. I'm not going to think about the podcast, or the plan for the rest of the journey, or the fact that in three days I'll be back in Budapest. I'm just going to sit here, in this quiet corner of Hungary, and count myself lucky to have found it.
And if you're thinking about coming out this way, you should. The bison, the bog, the thatched roofs, the endless quiet, it's all here, waiting. Just remember to book your stay before you arrive, especially around August twentieth, and think about whether you want a car or if you're okay with the bus and the bike. The guesthouses fill up fast. I've put everything I've talked about, and a few more practical details, in the episode notes, so you know where to look. Jó napot, and good night from the Őrség.
That's all for today. I'm going to try and get a good night's sleep before the celebrations begin. Thanks for listening, and I'll talk to you tomorrow. Szia.