Vörösmarty Ház Kapolcs

This 200 year old cottage is in the shade of a huge old tree. This is a fully renovated cottage decorated with traditional peasant furniture collected from the village. You are surrounded by a garden and orchard. There is a grill where you can prepare your el-fresco meals and enjoy the many choices of local wines.

The tiny and picturesque village of Kapolcs is hiding at the foot of the Bakony mountains, along the northern curve of the Balaton highlands. As if protected by the loving arms of a mother, it is embraced by the slopes of Kecskekõ (Goat stone), locally called Kali Puszta (plain).
The view is breathtaking with a backdrop of a never-ending concert of birds. Apart from the standard performance of the birds' choir, every summer Kapolcs is the site of the annual Kapolcs Cultural Days, which is one of the biggest festivals of music, theatre and art in the country. Kali puszta is the entrance to a vast natural reserve, offering excellent opportunities for strolling short and longer distances for those who come to visit this place.
This is the site of a small farm which offers a peaceful and intimate environment for the indigenous Hungarian domesticated animals. Horses and their colts grazing in the meadow enhance the intimacy of this magical place.
Guests who stay in the cottage, called 'Vörösmarty House,' (one of the most famous Hungarian Poets) can take part in the daily life of the nearby farm. For those who arrive on horseback, we offer lodge and feed for the horses. Our pony, Misi, is waiting for your children.

Children think this farmhouse with horses is the best place in Hungary. Slow down, enjoy village life...local wines, fresh baked bread at shops, local produce, fresh from the farm milk, hand made artisans cheese.

Telegraph Travel T 11 about Kapolcs and the „Vörösmarty” house

The carriage began to list like a ship taking in water as the driver inched it down the bank. The two bay mares continuously tested their grip, picking up their feet in dainty steps.
We were crossing a wide ditch, about to join a bigger track on the other side. Flecks of sunlight filtered through the trees, butterflies tottered in and out of the shadows. It was hot and the horses were shiny with sweat.

Around us spread a puffy landscape of soft hills applied in huge arcs of colour – tan, gold and green. Sandy tracks, bright in the sunshine, were scored across the heathy painted villages, with little white churches, lay submersed in trees: dark strokes of woodland were daubed on the hills like caligraphy between fields brassy with wheat .
I had been like this since we left the farm. For an hour we had been driving, ducking under oak trees and jolting over stones. The only other people we had seen had been two men and a women hoeing maize.

It was a scene from Victorian England. At any moment I expected a Thomas Hardy here to come striding in the opposite direction asking the way to Casterbridge. Except that this wasn’t England but Hungary, just north of Lake Balaton, the biggest freshwater lake in Europe.

György Ráth ownes the carriage I rode in and much else besides. He is a musician, spending much of his time conducting opera, but his home is in the village of Kapolcs. It lies on the edge of the Balaton Uplands National Park where cherries grow uncultivated, thyme crunches underfoot and wild boar are still hunted. It has an annual summer arts festival.

On his farm György has lavishly converted an old stone cottage for self-catering.
Stay there and you awake to the gossip of hens and protests of cantankerous geese.