The Danube, I'm sorry to report, is not blue. That head-swinging waltz title no longer rings true. The great river - broad with a brutish current - slugs through the twin cities of Buda and Pest. The city sometimes adds azure dye on state occasions. Most days, however, it's gray-brown, a toad-tone uninspiring to lyricists, photographers and tourists alike.

Szent Istvan's Basilica honors nation's father & 1st Catholic king.

Everyone tries to like Budapest, though. Eastern Europe is trendy - and the recent EU expansion only added cache. Hungary is arguably the most solid and sane of the former Soviet Bloc countries. The capital has eclectic architecture, a glorious history, 123 hot springs, park swathes and girdling forests: all prime ingredients for a magical destination. So why do travelers sour on the Danube's shores?

The common consensus is this: Budapest is a beautiful city, crippled by the people-handling skills of a Communist thug.

Take the spas, for example. These pleasure domes are legendary for their ornate decor, floating chessboards and hedonistic - excuse me, healthful - pools. I ventured into the gilded heart of decadence, the Gellert Hotel Baths, where Saint Elizabeth supposedly cured lepers.

The building's turrets, soaring ceilings and gleaming wood certainly massed muster. Yet at the elegant ticket kiosk, visitors struggled with the bewildering array of options. Bath and steam? Open-air pool? Locker or bathing cabin? How many forints was that exactly?

Confusion is not chic - and the Gellert was rife with it. The attendants seemed actively malicious, confiscating chits needed farther along (each bather is issued a handful of receipts, all handily labeled in Hungarian, a language kin only to Finnish and famed for its difficulty).

I padded through the labyrinth of changing cubicles, exchanging irritated glances with other guests. Support groups formed, sending out the bravest soul in search of the fabled towel depot. A Canadian girl wept, having lost her camera - and weeks of film - in the scrum. Sharp-tongued staff scolded the customers. What next? Another rant because my receipts were damp (big surprise there)? A swirlie from a scowling, barrel-limbed masseuse?

(CONTINUE...)