I used Eger as a stopping point between Hungary and the Maramures region in Northern Romania. I had heard of Eger during my last visit to Budapest, a wine making area in the Northeast of the country. The specialty there is a vintage called Bikaver, or ‘Bull’s Blood’, taking its name from the now legendary Turkish invasion of 1552. The Turks were sweeping north through Europe, kicking ass and taking names. They reached the base of the Eger Castle, 100,000 strong, ready to roll over the 2000 men defending the castle. Under the command of Istvan Dobo, the Hungarians did what they thought best to prepare for the invasion... they drank. They fought off the Turks for over a month, sustained by the endless supply of the Bikaver, which began to coat there beards red. Perhaps embarrassed and trying to justify this unlikely resistance, rumors began circulating among the Turkish soldiers that the Eger defenders had taken to drinking ‘Bull’s Blood’ for strength and stamina, and the legend of the ‘Bull’s Blood’ was born. Unfortunately for Eger, the persistent Ottomans returned in 1596, and eventually captured the castle, sticking around for the next 100 years.

I rolled into town a 7:30, the sun having been down for hours now, and walked a couple of km into town from the train station. Eger is a picturesque place, with a small square under the castle walls, joining the city’s large square by a small bridge over the Eger Stream. I had spent the last few weeks living out of hostels, so I decided to shell out the $30 for a nice bed in a private room. Money well spent.

In the morning I visited the northern most Minaret in Europe, 97 clausterphopia inducing steps up the toothpick sized spire. Going back down proved a lot more difficult than the walk up. I strolled the castle grounds, taking in the views over the city.

After lunch I set out for the main attraction, a visit to the Valley of the Beautiful Women. A horseshoe shaped cradle of earth surrounded by hills, with 40- 50 caverns extending back into the hillsides. The caverns are all occupied by different winemakers int he area, the valley offers a place to try the different vintages of the Bull’s Blood, and other varietals. While I didn’t hit all of the cellars, I gave it an honest shot. It is an interesting name: The Valley of the Beautiful Women, so I took to asking the different vendors where the name comes from... and I got a lot of different answers. One theory has it that it is an offering the the pagan goddess of fertility, in hopes of bountiful harvests... another gentleman said it was in reference to the women of Eger... I saw the women there, and I wasn’t buying it... so who knows what it means, but if they decide to rename the place, I suggest ‘The Valley of the Intoxicated and Very Jolly American’.

At the end of the evening, I decided to venture down a set of steps at Cellar #2. Nondescript from the outside, a neon ‘NYITOTT” sign (Hungarian for ‘OPEN’) flickering on a and off, I wandered down the stairs into the dark cavern, with coins sticking in the grooves of the gummy walls. I was recognized by a couple of folks I had seen at a previous cellar, and they invited me to join them. Aniko and Zoltan were friends from the southern Hungarian town Szeged, here to visit the cellars and taste some wine. This was by for the most fun, most engaging and lively cellar I had visited all day, and I settled in for a few hours with my new friends, enjoying stores from the entertaining owner. Here cellar was the personal favorite of the National Water Polo team coach, and we she shared his special vintage with us, using a sort of glass pistol, shooting wine into our glasses across the table with pinpoint accuracy.

I must of been there for a few hours, and the night gets a little hazy, but i tried everything the place had to offer... the whites, the rose’s, the reds and the bulls blood... I stuck a coin int he wall for good luck. I took part in some traditional Hungarian dancing with a beautiful woman, and before stumbling out, was sure to fill up my 2 liter water bottle with some Bulls Blood, straight from the tap... this would prove to be and important acquisition for the following day, a Thanksgiving train ride into rural Romania.