Hubertus kilátó (that’s “Hubertus Lookout Tower” if your Hungarian is a little rusty) is the kind of place you stumble upon in guidebooks, but which truly comes to life when you wander out to see it for yourself. Tucked away in the green, rustling forests of the Sopron region, it feels like a secret you’ll be let in on the moment you begin walking beneath the dense canopy. The route there is gentle, paved with bird calls, the crunch of twigs, and the hopeful feeling that perhaps nobody else knows about this exact path. You’re surrounded by the rolling hills of the Lővérek, a forested wonderland beloved for centuries by those seeking fresh air and a splash of natural tranquility.
The tower itself rises modestly—this isn’t one of those steel-and-glass observation decks jostling for the highest selfie in Europe—but that’s part of Hubertus kilátó’s charm. Constructed in 2000 from weathered larch wood and stone, and topping out at just under 11 meters, the lookout has a warmth about it, almost as if it were grown from the forest instead of built. That’s no accident: the structure’s lines echo hunting towers, with a nod to Saint Hubertus, the patron saint of hunters. Climbing the wooden steps, you pass carvings and gentle reminders of the region’s deeply-rooted connection with the land and its wildlife. There’s always a breeze here—even on still days in the rest of Sopron—which seems to usher you upward, toward that spectacular upper platform.
As you step out onto the summit, you can see why so many locals and visitors alike carve out time for this relatively humble tower. The view is instantly breathtaking. The green waves of the Sopron Mountains roll away to the horizon, and on a good day you’ll catch the neat patchwork of Austrian meadows and the sleepy roofs of border villages stretching away toward Eisenstadt. Exploring this borderland, it’s hard to miss just how much history has unfolded beneath these trees. Sopron itself was the site of a pivotal plebiscite in 1921, when its people—surrounded by the tensions of a rapidly changing Europe—voted to remain part of Hungary. From the tower, you can almost imagine those uncertain days, with the region poised between Hungarian and Austrian identity, the forests quietly observing as always.
The hubbub of the city is left far behind as you stand among the treetops. If you arrive early, you might have the entire tower to yourself, sharing it only with a red squirrel or a solitary woodpecker hammering in the distance. If you come at sunset, the landscape goes molten gold and peach, and the city’s twinkling lights come into view—a perfect moment for contemplation, or maybe just an Instagram story or two. The experience is surprisingly intimate. Even at busy times, the setting encourages hushed voices and slow breaths. There’s a picnic bench or two if you fancy bringing along a flask of coffee and a fresh pogácsa (the local savory pastry, flaky as a summer cloud) to linger a bit, as you watch the undulating woodlands below.
Getting to Hubertus kilátó is part of the charm. There are several scenic footpaths, such as the blue-marked hiking trail from Károly kilátó or the paths meandering up from Lővér Szálló. Cyclists can join in too, spiraling through shady lanes that seem tailor-made for slow discovery. And if your sense of direction is lacking, don’t worry—Hungarians love peppering their forests with helpful signs, so you’re never more than a few cheerful arrows from your destination. 🗺️ Along the way, you might even catch sight of mushrooms peeking through leaf litter, or hear groups of local walkers exchanging news.
All in all, Hubertus kilátó is far more than just a tower with a view. It’s an encounter with the landscape, history, and heartbeat of Sopron’s woods. Spend a little time up there, let your gaze drift out to Austria and beyond, and it’s easy to see why this lookout—quiet, wooden, endlessly green—is so beloved by locals. It’s less an attraction to tick off a list, and more a place to let the world slow down as you climb the steps and become, if only for a while, part of the forest itself.
