This might be more exciting if I was blogging from Mars

After a glorious seven hours of sleep - which by some magic felt more like nine - I woke up ready to face my first full day of vacation. Speaking of vacation, it's been confusing to explain to everyone that I'm sort of on vacation, sort of on business and when I mean business I sort of actually mean school. Everyone else traveling in late september is on a gap year, so I'm a bit of an oddity. In fact, I don't think I've met even one other short term traveler.

But I digress. After grabbing a treat at a mediocre bakery (which only made me more anxious to return to Germany's delicious ones) I head out to Deak ter (Deak square) to meet up with a bike tour group. Biking is my tour method of choice. No bus windows keeping you in an American bubble away from reality and no sore feet limiting the radius of your adventure. (No, it would be a sore butt limiting me after a few hours on that bike seat.)

I had to search forever for the tour meet site, which was different from the tour store site. But finally I found our Hungarian tour guide Agnes as well as Floridian Patricia and the two other ready bikers. Off we went. First out to Heroes Square to see the monuments to former kings. Basically what you expect in every European city. But the ride through the park behind the statues was divine. Lush greenery, lots of construction, and some castles built as a celebration of Hungarian culture. Okay, that's probably a lot like other European cities as well, but so freeing. One curious piece was the statue of Anonymous - the scribe who recorded Hungary's history but forgot to record his name. Oops!

Back down the sprawling Andrassy utca we went from suburban to somewhat urban to hello commercialism. Oktagon square looks as if America threw all of its fast food monguls onto Hungary in one fell swoop after the commies left. No need to spread those suckers out. Hungarians need their big macs and their KFC now and they can't be forced to walk more than a few steps between the two. I imagine that was the reigning philosophy at the time.

Next onto St Istvans basilica, which is not actually a basilica. We looked at it, acknowledged that it was a church and rode on. Is there really much more to do from the outside of a European church? Similar story for the Parliament, although I did press Agnes for more details on living through the recent transition between Soviet occupation and freedom. She recalled getting her first passport at 12 years old and marveling at the inscription saying it allowed her access to any country. She could actually go to Vienna. Imagine being so enthralled that you can go to a city a couple hours away by train.

The "liberation" monument erected by the Soviets is surrounded by gates and constantly monitored. No shock that some Hungarians are bothered by its continued presence, not as a historical artifact rather than a serious marble ode to communism.

On to the riverfront. I think of Grandmother cruising down the river years before, but the fact that my mom would have been unable to enter the country back in 1980.

Across the chain bridge, and we've left the flat part of the bike tour. Now for a steep climb up to castle hill. My legs thank me for all those treadmill hours prepping them somewhat for this trek. I manage not to embarrass me and am rewarded with a view of a bombed out building? Did I mention Budapest is dark? Most of the hill is beautiful, if touristy, but this one building was left unrestored as a reminder of former days. In the battle for Budapest, the Nazis held the Buda side, facing the Soviets opposite the Danube. Along with blowing out the bridges to create scenes that look straight out an apocalyptic, over-produced Hollywood mess, the occupiers used the Castle hill church as a horse stable.

After some postcard views back to Pest and listening on as lovers are serenaded by a string quartet, we get out real reward. What goes up, must come down. And bikes are no exception. I'm more cautious than the other speed demons in the group, but that Buda air breezing past me and the views of Buda away from the river and away from the flood of tourists - oh they were worth that climb alright.

And back to Pest and some silly statues and big squares. And then the tour ends. Patricia and I makes plans to meet later and then I head to the market.

The market is a mess of stalls for locals ands tourists alike. Produce, kitschy t-shirts, duck liver, paprika, postcards - there's a lot to see here. I like watching the locals survey and buy the foods, as long as they're not buying whole cow liver. That needs to go on a list of things I don't need to see. Cow liver, duck liver and pretty much every other flavor of liver.

I buy a fried dough lunch and remind myself of my travel philosophy when saying yes to a few cucumber slices on top doubles the price of my meal. Whatever, it tasted delicious and the fresh veggies a huge part of that. After some divine little cookies it's back to the hostel for a few moments of respite (did I mention my sore bum?) and to pick up my swimsuit.

Off to the Szecheny baths to meet Patricia. I'm glad she wants my company, because the baths are a must, but the baths alone? In a bikini? With all those scantily clad old men? Turns out the alone part isn't a must. Thankfully.

With the nippy fall air, the hot spring waters are more than heavenly. Especially when you throw in a whirlpool, built in the shape of a whirl. Whimsy, I love it. But most of the bath is not whimsy-centric. Oh no, it's serious business - designed to impress. And it does. We sit around for a couple hours. Shockinly, our foray into the regular swimming pool only lasted long enough for us to swim across to the other warm pool. When a man spends ten minutes leering at us from a far, I thank my luck again that I have a buddy with me.

Afterwards we turn in our 80s fasion watches (these serve as entry and exit passes, as well as locker keys) we head out on the town for a bite to eat. Ending up at a Hungarian place with the word Labor in it (because I can't escape lab), we have an absolute blast. Our conversations range from death missions to Mars (Patricia's end of life plan) to loud exhortations about looking into each others eyes (my joke on German cheers traditions). We'd worried that we had offended our waiter when we scoffed at his initial suggestion of the most expensive thing on the menu, so we left him a nice note and then waited to see him read it. Good thing, because instead of seeing the letter he first saw the jacket I left behind. He was also happy to see the note thereafter and gave us a big thumbs up. So I didn't learn thank you in Hungarian for nothing.

It's a beautiful night only slightly sobered by the lack of open gelato shops and the lack of open metro stations. Hmm. Both scientists, the two of us triangulate the point closest to our two separate hostels and agree to walk each other the mile or so there. From that point its only a couple minutes further to new friends and new hours of sleep to enjoy.

Tomorrow - more outings with Patricia for the Parliament and an evening show. And who knows what else Mother Travel has in store for me. I certainly don't, because I spent time writing this instead of referring back to my guide. So goes life.