A cruise down the river that shaped European history for centuries
A case of this, a carton of that... most of the time, a gentle bribe, discreetly executed, greased our journey seamlessly from one country to the next. But not at Mohács.
“We will need to gather for a face check at 10pm,” said our cruise director, JJ. “Feel free to come in your bath robes.”
Mohács is a checkpoint on the Danube, where the river leaves Hungary and flows on to form the border between Croatia and Serbia. Along with 168 other passengers, I was on a cruise on this most international of waterways, that passes through 10 countries along its 1,780-mile journey from the Black Forest to the Black Sea. I was looking forward to floating through the cultural and scenic beauty of historic lands once contested by the Empires of Persia, Greece, Rome, Turkey and Austro-Hungary – and more recently riven by the bitter Yugoslav conflict of the Nineties – in the serene comfort of a luxury ship.
My nine-day journey would begin about halfway along the course of the Danube, where it is known as the Duna: in Budapest. We found the sleek profile of the Scenic Jade – easily the prettiest craft on the water – moored opposite the neo-gothic Parliament building. After a couple of free hours to wander, with strict instructions to be back on board by a certain time, dinner was served.
Seated between three Australians, two Americans and a couple of Canadians – a fair representation of guests’ nationalities – and over dishes of Hungarian langos, red bean soup, pike perch and apple Calvados sorbet, I was able to survey my fellow passengers. With few exceptions, the youngest appeared to be in their 70s – a much more mature profile than on ocean-going cruises. Few, I guessed, would be availing themselves of the e-bikes carried on board.
We set off on a scenic night cruise of this fairy-tale city, the famous castle, churches and bridges that link Buda and Pest at their illuminated best. It was also our first opportunity to test the clever gizmo each passenger is given, which locates sights as you pass them, and offers a running commentary – until supplanted by a real-life guide, whose words of wisdom are then amplified through the earpiece.
The town of Kalocsa – once on the river shore until its capricious meander left the town stranded some 5km away – was our first port of call. Here we explored the puszta – formerly a land of gypsies, folk music and horse rustlers.
Comfortable air-conditioned coaches transported us through the microclimate of the Carpathian basin, past lush fields of paprika, to Bakod horse farm – the gift of an archbishop to the executioner in his employ. A display of the skills required by a horse thief, and of traditional horsemanship, culminated in a man astride two magnificent greys driving a team of 10 Arabian-Mongolian Hungarian half-bloods. It would prove a highlight of my trip. “Each rider trains his own horses,” the commentator explained, when asked about the discomfiting prospect of the rider doing the splits. “The trust between man and horse is absolute.”
After Mohács (the site, incidentally, of a famous battle in 1526, at which Suleyman the Magnificent routed the Hungarian army, initiating 150 years of Ottoman rule) the river, now flanked by rich forests, becomes known as the Drava. We reached Osijek in Croatia – a city of baroque churches, whose citadel was built by the Habsburgs, somewhat after the horse had bolted, to protect against further Ottoman attack.
During a coffee break in the Old Town, I made a dash for Europska Avenija, famed for its Art Nouveau buildings, magnificent and dilapidated, and returned in time to catch the last movement of Chopin’s 4th Ballade, issuing from the open window of the music school. Options for excursions ranged from gentle walks (designated as “hikes”) to even gentler ambles, the pace sometimes frustratingly slow, and led by local guides of variable talent. In Belgrade I opted for a city tour which included a visit to the Mausoleum of Marshall Tito – a controversial figure still, in former Yugoslavia.
At his wish, Tito lies buried alongside his wife in the courtyard of their last home. Guarded by the army until 1994, the grave is now, bizarrely, part of the Museum of Yugoslavia. There is something sad about the place – a model of Tito’s hi-tech Blue Train with a carriage made specifically for De Gaulle (who never graced it) and a silver desk set, a gift inscribed “from John F. Kennedy October 1963,” among the objects on display.
After the heat and traffic of Belgrade (cars, triple-parked on pavements, hug trees and fire hydrants, so that tow trucks cannot get at them) the prospect of a day sailing held no small appeal.
And the next morning, the remains of Golubac Fortress, like an apparition from a Gothic novel, loomed past my window, signalling our entry into the 134km of dramatic riverscape between Serbia and Romania, known as The Iron Gates.
Carpathians on the left bank, Balkan mountains on the right, craggy forested cliffs rise to 500m, provided some of the most spectacular views on our journey. Up until 1972, when the first of the two hydroelectric power stations, Djerdap I, was built, this was a treacherous stretch of river. Trajan, in 103AD, built a bridge across it, of which only a commemorative plaque remains. Today, however, the dam has created a 250 sq km lake, drowning the 3km-long rock barrier across the Danube – the original “iron gate”. Apart from the rare protrusion, at times of drought, of ships scuttled downstream by the Nazis to slow the Russian advance, navigation no longer holds hazards.
We were kept well fed and watered, with all-day snacks to stave off hunger between ample meals, and an impressive range of round-the-clock drinks included in the fare. Champagne and cocktails were downed on deck as we passed through the locks, and I celebrated our safe passage through the Iron Gates with a melting massage by a young Serbian therapist, Sanya. Duly relaxed, I skipped the gala dinner in favour of room service (scallops, truffle risotto, seabass – and more champagne) to enjoy the soft evening light and fresh scent of the forest from the tranquillity of my balcony.
The crew were, in fact, uniformly delightful. Serbs, Croats, Bulgarians, Romanians – they offered an object lesson in international relations, and would be joined after dinner by local performers regaling us with rollicking performances of traditional music and dance. We changed our colours, loyally, with each country we passed through, and were soon hoisting the Bulgarian flag.
Arrival at Ruse (pronounced Roussé) entailed further decisions. Walking tour of the town or a day-trip to Veliko Tarnovo? I chose the latter, involving some three hours’ drive south across the fertile Danube Plain to the centre of Bulgaria, through beautiful rural landscape, where horse and cart are still a common sight.
Tarnovo was the capital of the second Bulgarian empire from 1185-1396 – the period between Byzantine and Ottoman rule. Houses hang on steep, forested cliffs, picturesque from afar – but nothing remains of the medieval or Ottoman buildings.
The little mountain village of Arbanassi, feels far more authentic, despite the tour coaches winding through the narrow streets. During the 15th century its residents were wealthy Christian merchants who enjoyed special privileges (such as tax breaks, and permission to wear swords and smoke chibouks, like Muslims) in exchange for services to the sultan.
The result is beautiful museum-houses, Orthodox churches and monasteries. We visited the extraordinary 1597 Church of the Nativity, the oldest in Arbanassi – for all the world a simple barn from the exterior. No dome, nothing. But the interior harbours an explosion of ecclesiastical art, every inch of wall and ceiling covered in exuberant frescos – including an unusual, allegorical Wheel of Life. “The Ottomans decreed no church should be taller or more impressive than a mosque” explained our guide, “which is why the church has such a modest exterior.”
From the port of Silistra, we drove past fields of dazzling yellow sunflowers, red poppies and lilac lavender to Varna – a typical Eastern European seaside town on Bulgaria’s Black Sea – whose Museum of Archaeology is its saving grace. Gold artefacts dating from the fifth millennium BC, unearthed in 1972 from four graves in a nearby necropolis, are on display. For the rest, I was heartened to see posters protesting the destruction of many beautiful old buildings, from neoclassical to art nouveau. “660 protected building [in Varna]” read one, “154 awaiting that status; 80 deliberately left to ruin.”
Our journey ended in Bucharest – a city of a fascination and charm I had not expected.
“The Danube served as the northernmost boundary of the Roman Empire,” our local guide, Adrian, told us. “The exception was Romania: the Romans crossed and fought the Dacians, because they wanted our Carpathian gold.”
I remembered the site of the bridge Trajan built, east of the Iron Gates, across into what is now Romania. And I wondered, once again, at the role of the Danube in shaping the history of these lands.
• Scenic’s eight-night Black Sea Explorer starts from £2,995pp based on two people sharing a standard suite (0808 1592574; scenic.co.uk).
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