So what’s so great about Budapest, anyhow?

Well, what isn’t? For starters you’ve got therapeutic bathhouses, cozy off-beat pubs, and the mummified hand of St. Stephen — that’s right folks, Hungary’s most famous religious icon now resides in a back room at St. Stephen’s Basilica, where a handful of forints will switch a light on above it to allow you a better view, vending machine style.

Budapest’s been a mainstay of Eastern European itineraries for at least a decade now — and it’s obvious there’s no shortage of reasons why. Between the psychologically-exhausting but brilliant House of Terror, night-tours by lantern of the labyrinths beneath Castle Hill, stunning city panoramics from Fisherman’s Bastion and dozens of other must-dos, this massive city could easily entertain you for a full week without even trying.

But as it turns out, one of the best reasons to explore Budapest isn’t even in the city itself — it’s about forty-five minutes away by bus, deep into the capital’s impoverished preamble. Statue Park, a large dusty yard surrounded by a gated brick wall, hosts a stunning collection of more than forty Soviet-era statues torn down from Budapest in the wake of the 1989 commie downfall, and it deserves at least a healthy portion of any traveler’s trip.

Look, there’s Lenin! There’s the hammer and sickle! Troops standing in formation! Soviet mantras and dedications to the cause and good state workers! Cough up the money for an English-language guidebook to put a story behind the statues — and to put your own memories of anti-communist propaganda and images of the Berlin Wall into context, provided you’re old enough to have them.

After perusing for a while, check out the small store of mementos by the entrance to see how the lion’s share of tourist junk here crosses the line of good taste — could you really buy a coffee mug that ironically declares “Work for the state!” with Hungary’s history of terror and oppression at the hands of the Soviets still so fresh in your mind?

Yeah, you probably could, and you know what? Maybe you ought to. Go ahead and stock up on those chintzy Soviet flasks and motto-laden postcards— I mean, that’s capitalism, right? Statue Park might be impressive but it’s obviously still a bare-bones operation — there wasn’t even a guard on duty when I visited. I dare say that this park will someday have human guides, organized tours and maybe even a turnstile. And if plunking down money on idiotic souvenirs is the only way to help that happen — and to maybe help Hungary out of its chilling poverty, the most enduring of Soviet legacies — well then I say go for it, comrade.

Go for it and be proud.

Want more information? Check out Statue Park’s website.

By now I’ve learned not to give too much credence to first impressions. Though I’ve hung around too many hippies in my life to have high hopes for a band named “Dirtfoot,” and listened to one too many coffee shop crooners to take notice of a song titled “My Girl,” you know what they say about book and their covers.

Here’s their deal: Imagine Nick Cave on a bed of rusty nails, the cover of “Gin and Juice” often mis-attributed to Phish (it was actually the Gourds), some old-timey “Dem Bones,” Old Crow Medicine show culture-clash, and that subtle fecal stench of Mr. Bungle skronk sax craziness: Get theses elements, let them stew in an oaken barrel for a number of years and out comes Shreveport, Louisiana’s Dirtfoot.

I’m glad I got past the fat of their wordy band bio. They should have started their pitch with the Tornado that helped form the band:

Seven years ago when a tornado blew through Shreveport, Matt was standing on his porch, shortly after a tree decided to test the landlord’s homeowner’s policy. J walked up and initiated the conversation, after spotting Matt immediately following the disaster. Amidst cracked countertops and scattered shingles, conversation ensued and the two musicians became friends.

But whatever, it’s all about Dirtfoot’s music, which you can sample here.