We like Hungarians, they like us, but why?
That not yet fully conscious sentiment accompanied me already during the Polish October, when as a youngster I proudly wore a small Hungarian flag on my clothing as a sign of solidarity with the nephews fighting in Budapest. I explained this sentiment by a shared recent history and the positive atmosphere and favorable attitude of Hungarians towards Poles, including those from my environment, during the last war.
As my knowledge of the world deepened, I realized that the slogan about brotherhood over a glass and a saber was forged over centuries. Fraternization over tasting aromatic products from vineyards along the Cisa and Danube, destined for noble cellars and alembics, was obvious. With sabers, too, we mostly stood on the same side of the line. An exception in world history is the fact that although neighbors, we never fought wars against each other, and Queen Jadwiga, Władysław Warneńczyk, the brave and self-sacrificing Stefan Batory, General Bem and many others are golden links binding our histories together.
Only recently can one again say that if it weren’t for millions of rounds of ammunition and thousands of pieces of arms that the Hungarians handed to us in the most critical moment, despite the blockade of our borders by neighboring countries and the socialist international, the Miracle on the Vistula would certainly not have happened.
I fondly remember my participation in the “Demolud” competitions held half a century ago near Budapest.
Two years ago, in Ocseny on the Danube during the European Championships, and in July this year during the World Championships in Szatymaz near Szeged, as Sebastian’s assistant, I had the opportunity to refresh these friendly relations.
The atmosphere seemed adapted to these circumstances. A distance of only 500 km, yet a fundamental difference. Fronts related to lows born over the Atlantic mix effectively the atmosphere of northern Europe, while chains of cyclones drifting from seas around Italy often give us midsummer rains and July floods. Hungarians were gifted with the puszta – a steppe in the heart of Europe. Rain clouds visit there less frequently.
During socialist times, Hungarian aviation operated within the equivalent of our League of Soldier’s Friends. During systemic transformations, pilots’ wings drooped a bit, but activity in the environment is growing anew. The Szatymaz airport was founded by the ever-smiling Geza Molnar, who was bothered by the restrictions resulting from the joint use of the large civil-military airport in Szeged. Together with two other pilots, over 25 years, they transformed a small meadow into a beautifully equipped and perfectly functioning center.
Everything needed is here: a well-maintained runway, rich airport infrastructure, a swimming pool with sauna, a comfortable campsite in an oak grove planted along the takeoff field, and even a cool cellar for wine lovers. The airport’s comfort, family atmosphere, and favorable attitude attract more and more Hungarian and neighboring countries’ pilots.
A reflection arises at the chapel dedicated to those who never returned from the air routes.
The air ocean is unfortunately not a natural human environment. During the competition, a Hungarian pilot Viktoria Vadaszi joined the ranks of those lost when her glider disintegrated in the air for unknown reasons.
Class 13.5 m
Glider production has been dominated by German companies. After the fall of our SZD, they practically have no competitors except the Jonker company in South Africa and Lithuanian LAK. They favor building massive but costly machines. That is why in 1994 a world class was created with the main assumption of fulfilling the Olympic idea of universal availability (low price) and equality of opportunity guaranteed by flying the same type of glider. The beneficiary of this contest was our PW-5 “Smyk.” However, the fathers of the project mistakenly assumed that a glider in this class does not need to have good performance. This caused the glider not to gain popularity among competitors used to flying machines with better parameters, but over 300 “Smyks” perfectly fulfill the role of recreational gliders in many countries around the world.
From the beginning, Germans boycotted the competing product and contributed to the elimination of this class from the FAI championships. However, the costs and cumbersome maintenance of machines weighing up to 800 kg have created a demand for cheaper and lighter gliders. Thus, the class of gliders with a maximum wingspan of 13.5 meters was created. New designs emerged, and Italians took a shortcut by shortening the wings of the “Diana2,” which has Polish birth metrics. It is still excellent despite this mutilation.
Sebastian flew the “GP 14 Velo,” created by the family company GP Gliders from Krosno.
The glider weighs only 130 kg empty but meets all strength criteria. It can fly at speeds up to 270 km/h. Ease of handling, decent performance, and electric propulsion enabling self-launching are additional advantages of the design. The designer is Grzegorz Peszke – a multiple world champion in modeling.
The curse of these championships was the poorly thought-out FAI rule limiting wing loading to 35 kg/m². The propulsion system and all unnecessary elements had to be removed, and Sebastian lived on grasses for several months to lose about 7 kg. The Indian diet didn’t harm him. In the first event, he crushed his competitors, but the score gain was small because only five competitors reached the finish line. He led undisputedly from the first day to the end of the championship. Of course, there were adventures.
The smooth course of the races encouraged the organizers. A 500 km route was set.
The day was long. The sky was quite densely covered with cumulus clouds with bases around 2000 m and lift about 3 m/s, so icons showing the positions of individual competitors quickly reshuffled on computer monitors. It was visible that Sebastian coped well in the leading group. About 40 km to the last turning point and 100 km to the airport remained when the lead group slowed and started making some strange maneuvers. A look at satellite images, radar indications, and web cameras in the region explained the situation. A secondary front quickly descended from the Alps, and the beautiful cumulus clouds turned into a storm wall blocking the pilots’ further way. A mass retreat to the airport began.
However, the rivalry between Sebastian and Uli Schwenk was too intense. They sought ways to break through the storm wall, hoping to continue flying, but there was no such path. In this situation, the Germans and their accompanying Argentinian Riera decided on a glide flight between the showers to gain a few kilometers and points important for the final score. Sebastian climbed high on the edge of the storm and, flying along it almost to the shores of Balaton, tried to reach the turning point behind Budapest from the back, but the storms were too widespread. He decided to return to the airport, but the storm plumes had already extinguished the thermals. He landed the glider at the club airport in Baja. He was welcomed with honor because a group of airplane pilots were cheerfully saying goodbye after a successful weekend. Meanwhile, I had to hitch a trailer for a longer trip. The talking navigation device, 4 kilometers before the landing site, ordered me to turn left. Initially, it was a street, then a piece of highway, which turned into a narrow asphalt path among reeds. Nothing extraordinary since the airport is located by the Danube near a flood embankment. At the end, there was an embankment. Somewhere there was supposed to be a ramp under the hangar, but the road was blocked by piles of soil brought to raise the embankment.
“What the hell?!” Only 400 m to the glider, and here are croaking frogs, riverside trees, reeds, and a vast expanse of floodwaters reflecting a magnificent moon. Idyllic, but neither to drive nor turn back. I had to unhitch the trailer and turn the whole set on the narrow embankment crown. It’s not easy when you have gray hair. I had to return to the main road and look for other paths.
We flew every day. There were cloudless days and stormy ones.
Among those fighting for podium places were as many as five world championship medalists, so every point had to be fought for fiercely. Sebastian built about 200 points lead over Schwenk and 600 over his namesake from Argentina, so even before the start of the last race, congratulations flowed from many parts of the world. In such a comfortable situation, it was only necessary to safely ride in the peloton not to make a cardinal mistake. The main contenders for medals accepted the fact that the gold medal was out of their reach and stuck to Sebastian flying with the main group. He calmly controlled the situation, staying above the moving swarm.
Strong wind was blowing, and storms were expected, so Lithuanian Motuza, looking for a chance to advance from 7th place, went all in and took off immediately after the start opened.
A vast storm pushed the whole group toward Serbia, so they cautiously slipped between it and the border. They squeezed into a sunny window before the next storms. I couldn’t understand why Sebastian, instead of calmly riding in the group, suddenly took the risky role of a trailblazer. “What does he want to achieve this way?”
Halfway through the second leg of the route, above Szatymaz airport, the last cloud hovered, allowing waiting for the development of another lift drifting towards Romania and extending the distance. Return to the finish from the turning zone was no longer possible due to the race time limit. Meanwhile, Sebastian pushed on. Following him were Uli Schwenk and Sebastian Riera, as this arrangement guaranteed them silver and bronze medals. They landed next to each other. Happy with another gold medal, I went with Grzegorz Peszke and his wife into the field after the winner. We were a bit surprised by his sour face.
It turned out there was a serious reason for this mood and strange tactics. At the most critical moment, the only chance to continue flying was a lift drifting over the jagged border section with Serbia. It required very precise piloting. The navigation computer had to be zoomed in, but it behaved like the “Wawel” receiver from early TV, and the screen filled with flickering lines.
Sebastian wasn’t sure if he hadn’t touched the border line, and just a meter on the wrong side meant that kilometers of the route were only counted up to that point. Quick calculation. If he didn’t violate the zone, every result in the group cemented the medal division. If his distance counter stopped at 60 km and Schwenk’s was above 150–160 km, he would have to swap medals with Uli. For this reason, Sebastian tried to quickly land his competitors. The Germans didn’t know about his dilemmas. They got provoked and sat down in neighboring fields. Preliminary calculations on the way back indicated that even if the border was violated, Sebastian would still have about 30–40 points lead. The surprise was the trailing Motuza, who found a lift that brought him to 2,000 meters and converted it to distance by flying downwind to the end of the turning zone. His result increased the score.
The commission carefully checked whether the judging program made a mistake and recalculated points. Everyone was kept in suspense until the award ceremony, when Bob Bickers officially announced that the results were counted and if someone wanted to change something, it was probably too late. Sebastian, during the unfortunate navigation surprise, crossed the border by 6.5 meters. Uli also had one wing in Serbia, but his glider’s fuselage with the recorder was in front of the line, so he escaped punishment. A 200-point lead meant so much that 3 points remained. Sebastian became the world champion for the 12th time!
The kind hosts, to the astonishment of the participants, honored Sebastian’s triumph, as two years ago in Ocseny, with a full, vocal version of the Polish national anthem, which lasted a good 5 minutes.
To Bob Bickers’ question whether there is a shorter version of the Polish anthem, Sebastian humorously replied: “That was the shorter one, only five verses. The whole one has thirteen...”
Tomasz Kawa
