I was never a great one for walking for the sake of walking. I’d happily walk to a pub or a shop or a church or a ruin or something. But walking for the sake of walking? That took time to get my head around.
When himself and our mate HC decided they were going to do the Kéktúra, Hungary’s Blue Trail, I said, have at it. Enjoy. I’ll help with logistics.
But then I saw he got the book.
And when I dropped him off in Austria at Írottkő and watched him stamp the first page, I was jealous. Yes. Jealous.
Stamps! Yey! If I did it, I’d get to collect stamps, too!
I could see mam rolling her eyes wondering when, if ever, I’d grow up.
Walking along the longest single continuous signposted hiking trail in Hungary is perhaps the most challenging challenge of a hiker’s life. The Blue Trail, which is divided into 27 sections, each of which lasts several days, can be completed by anyone in any length of time: the point is to enjoy regular hiking and discover the country’s natural and cultural attractions. […] The 1,183 km long route runs through the northern part of Hungary between Írottkő and Hollóháza, passing major mountain ranges, the capital and Lake Balaton. So wonderfully varied is this part of the country in its topography, atmosphere, geology and culture that every stage, every day spent on the Kék is an unforgettable experience.
I’m not a hiker. Or a runner. Or a hillwalker. I like flat ground. A snowmachine accident many lifetimes ago left me with one leg slightly shorter than the other and problems with my lower back. On a fitness scale of 1 being couldn’t walk upstairs to 10 being could run a marathon, I’m a 5.
Average. For my age. And weight. And all that.
I’ve been working on it this past year and am making progress. I’m way fitter than I was but I’d still not say I was fit fit.
Anyway, back to the Kéktúra.
We three set a date to do a local stage. From Vállus to Keszthely one day and then from Vállus to Tapolca the next, thus completing Stage 4 – Keszthely to Tapolca.
But the weather being what it was and there being snow in them there hills, things didn’t go to plan.
I was like a kid at Christmas when I got to stamp my book. My first stamp. I was pumped.
We were stamped and ready to roll by 8.10. The 13.5 km was to take 3 hours 40 minutes with a climb of 225 m. I figured that was gentle enough to ease myself into it.
As we walked up through the village of Vállus, all was well in my world. I was excited. I’ve not been excited by anything in so long that it took me a while to identify the feeling.
The thoughts of seeing new places, exploring new villages, walking new paths all jumbled together, competing with anxiety that I wouldn’t last the pace. Sure, I’ve walked more than 13km in a day – many times – but around cities, on the flat. Not out up hill and down vale. I was sure I could do it. I would do it. There would be no turning back.
But would I do it again the next day?
I decided there was little point in worrying about tomorrow. I had today to get through first. The song, One Day at a Time, went round and round in my head on a loop.
All went well for the first hour or so.
It was like a treasure hunt of sorts as we looked for the signs that marked the trail. There were lots of trails – the red, the green, the blue, and the Camino. Countless thousands had walked this path before me. Mine were just another set of footprints.
We talked.
Or we didn’t.
We walked together or fell out of step.
I said my rosary on the flat and counted steps on the climbs. I pushed myself to walk 200 paces before I stopped, gasping for breath at times but feeling a sense of accomplishment each time we crested another hill.
Then the rain came.
The slow, relentless kind that takes a while to make itself felt.
I made a note to myself to invest in proper rain gear. And a better backpack.
My boots and socks and layers were doing their job, but after another hour, the misery set in.
Some of the climbs were so steep that there was a pulse check at the top, a large billboard advising hikers to check their heart rate.
We were making good time, though. Not that it was a competition or that anyone was waiting for us with a timer. But I wanted to do it in the time recommended.
The last stretch, when we hit Keszthely, walking along the road, that was dreary. By this stage I was dragging ass.
Wet. Cold. Tired. I wanted nothing other than a coffee and a cigarette. My reward.
Mad, I know.
We’d driven over to Vállus, making the rookie mistake of leaving the car at the start of the hike rather than the end.
We’d learn.
Our bus back to Vállus left shortly after noon. We had time for that coffee.
Every bone in my body ached. My back was killing me. I was cold. And wet. And buzzing. I gave my book to the lads to stamp. I was too knackered to add the extra steps.
And, of course, we hadn’t brought dry clothes.
The bus ride was subdued. The drive home was even more so. We decided to hit the thermal baths at Kehida that evening to get warm. I needed a water massage on my neck and shoulders.
I was so disappointed when the snow fell, and we couldn’t walk the next day. Truth be told, I wasn’t physically able. It took three days before I could get up without the sound effects.
And, to cap it all, my stamps were on separate pages, so I didn’t even get to knock one stage of my list!
But I was hooked.
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