Szoborpark

I woke up today and looked at the bike. The bike looked at me. It was then I knew we were off to Memento Park.


You have to really want to go. It's at least 10 miles from my front door, and I'm still not exactly sure how to get there. Go to the southern end of Buda, where the signs say you're leaving Budapest, and find the highest point you can. You'll have a chance.

My route took me through charming southern Budapest and its lovely 1950s apartment blocks. Don't you just want to move in?


Jesus. No wonder people are trying to jump off the Liberty Bridge.

Anyway, I stopped at a Buda pub, ostensibly for a cold Soproni, one of Hungary's many inoffensive lagers. But in truth I was lost and a long way from home. When I asked about Szoborpark, the bartender pulled out the biggest map I have ever seen. Soon, everyone in the bar was gathered around it (well, the bartender's husband, a woman playing darts and a toothless guy.) They argued for many minutes about how to get to this open-air museum. I sipped and awaited the verdict: Three kilometers up the road, take a right, and then another 6K. It's uphill, they warned.

There's no grid system up here. It's not like you take a right on Elm and a left on Main Street. You have to follow the broad directional guidelines and use your wits. I rode on dirt paths and freeways. When the going got too steep, I muled it. At a bus stop, I eyed the route and consulted a crude sketch in my notebook. Two stops away was Balatoni and Haros! Whaddya know.

Hey, Lenin! How's that hopey-changey Communism workin' out for ya?


After Hungary's Communist regime folded in 1989, the city moved many of its associated statues and monuments to this spot. Like this guy, a Red Army souljah.


A Hungarian-Soviet "friendship memorial." At once sickening and fascinating.


Dude's got my hat.


Apparently, you weren't a good party member unless you were waving your arms around.


These things are huge. Below, a puny capitalist gives you a sense of scale.


A memorial to Hungarians who volunteered to defend the Spanish republic from nationalist goons in Spain's 1936-39 civil war. They would have fought alongside Orwell. Not sure why this was banished from the city. They were fighting Franco, for godssake.


More Hungarian-Soviet friendship. Reach for the sky, sisters, or you don't mean it.


Finding my way home was a matter of keeping the sun at my back and riding downhill. Along the Danube, folks were making the most of what might be the last superfine Sunday for the next six months.


Back on familiar ground, it occurred to me this was one of the most memorable bicycle rides of my life. Not because it was all puppies and wildflowers and the wind at my back. But because it wasn't.


Szoborpark
South Buda
Bus line No. 58
10 a.m. to dusk, daily
Admission 1500 HUF