Much of my interest for what I’ve grown to call “no man’s lands” is devoted to small, sleepy villages. As a habit I shun away from those hamlets which happened to become tourist destinations, sprouting an ugly collection of mansions and restaurants featured on Condé Nast Traveler, for they no longer are the real deal.
Magyarpolány, a few kilometers off Veszprém, is one such place. 1100 souls nestled between the rolling hills of western Hungary, it is a quiet, harmonious place with beautiful historic houses lost between orchards, dominated by a steep hill adorned by a via crucis.
We walked along the peaceful roads, past a thatched roof school and a few, howling vizsla dogs, until we climbed up the hill. Below us another quiet day draw to an end, smoke slowly rising from the village’s chimney.