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| The imposing Friedrichsbad, dating from 1877. (Photos are not permitted inside, so all photos are shamelessly stollen from around the internet.) |
Toss off those clothes and get your warm, pink body in a pool
with strangers? If you’re American,
you’re thinking, sure! Just as soon as
Sports Illustrated asks me to be in the swimsuit issue, or The Chippendales
call me to audition. Poor body image or
just unbelievably modest? I think it boils down to mindset.
Europeans simply do not look at nudity the way we Yanks
do. No judgment, just differences in
outlooks. A European says nude and an
American’s eyes pop wide, while the mind screams SEX!
The phobia spills over into every aspect of our culture. Nobody in Germany would consider putting fig
leaves over statues, or hesitate before stepping into a mixed-sex sauna. People don’t protest outside art shows, or
insist that unclothed painting be kept in a back room. Natural to Europeans means natural. Sex means sex, which to them is entirely
different from nudity.
Immediately the question pops like a firecracker: Can’t I have both? See, now that’s the disconnect. You’re still stuck on sex.
I’m not saying that people who also think Italian cars are
dependable, dogs belong in restaurants, and 19% tax should be added to every
damn purchase are always right in their points of view. But, when it comes to
nudity, we need to rethink our outlook.
For Americans, who internalize and dwell on their every
bodily imperfection and “should be ashamed of themselves” for parading around au naturel, the very idea of going to
the huge Friedrichsbad Roman-Irish spa in the Black Forest city of Baden-Baden
becomes a paralyzing hurricane of ethics, morality, childhood fears, cultural
mores, and puritanical religious values.
It’s from the “My mother would be
ashamed of me” school.
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| The entryway to the spa. |
So how, as an American, do you weather that perfect storm of
doubt and fear? Exactly the same way you
overcome anything else that prevents you from trying something new. You close your mind and simply do it. You know exactly what I mean. It’s what you do when you make your first
trip to the gym. Your heart races,
you’re out of shape and won’t be able to do the exercises like an Olympic
gymnist. Damn, you’re fat and everyone
else is perfect. Everybody’s going to stare at you and laugh. Shame smothers you!
Then you get to the gym and the concentrated effort on
meaningful exercise leaps over the irrational walls. Even if you don’t notice, your brain figures
it out. Nobody, but nobody has a perfect
body (without Photoshop and an air
brush), and everybody in the gym feels just as you do and is concentrating on
exercise.
Your next thought: You
lying bastard! Don’t tell me you go in a
nude sauna and don’t notice the tits!
Yep, you do notice, just as you notice the tits on the Venus de Milo at
the Louvre, but I doubt you remember what her tits look like, only that she’s a
very graceful woman missing both arms.
I spent over three hours in the Friedrichsbad with my
traveling companion. I didn’t notice
people staring and neither did she.
Matter of fact, the main thing on your mind is hot, very hot, or cold,
very cold water temps.
First off, this spa, which dates from 1877, is family
friendly, but children don’t go in the baths.
Drop them off in the Kinderpradies (Children’s Paradise), and your child
will be cared for by trained adults and offered any number of amusements. Open to children from 18 mos old. Next door is the huge Caracalla Therme, which
is a separate building, and offers a full family experience, with bathing
attire required.
Why is the spa listed as Roman-Irish? Because it is a combination of the
traditional Roman bathing pools, with steam room features from traditional
Irish baths.
For the Friedrichsbad, here’s the adult regimen (recommended
times are posted on the wall of each stage): You start with a shower, in a
roomful of a mixture of men and women, all naked and all taking showers. Then
it’s time for the warm-air room, then the HOT air-room. Take your time, let
your body adjust. You find yourself
pleasantly melting. From there, another quick shower before getting a full
body, soapy scrub by a masseuse. Hard or
soft brush? Your choice. Either way, you end up pink and
re-invigorated.
Hey, get that soap off with another shower and then, as in
the style of the Ancient Romans, you move to a series of warmer baths and steam rooms.
Following that it’s the cool-down phase that take your body in
stages of water temp, from overheated to comfortable to the tooth-chatter pool.
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| The huge and elaborately domed 'freezing pool' |
After the dental check….just kidding, but I
had to throw that in…you savor a warm shower, and finish with a relaxing
cream-lotion massage. Did I say
finish? I almost left out the best part,
the relaxing room.
Your masseuse wraps you in an oversized towel, about as thin
as a bed sheet, and leads you to a darkened room that has maybe room for fifty. You lay down on a comfortably raised cot, the
towel wrapped around you, and she further wraps you in a blanket. You lay in the dark, so relaxed you’ll
probably take a nap, while the lotion sinks in to leave your skin buttery soft.
Need more rest? There’s a large, airy, window filled, second
story reading room, where sunlight recharges you. Don’t ask me how the hell you ended up with a
book in hand.
Three or three and a half hours have silently slipped away
during the 17 stages of the spa. You’re
still not thinking about sex. Matter of
fact, just getting into your clothes is an effort, with bones that have turned
to rubber and such a feeling of blissful relaxation you’d prefer to stay au naturel for another day or two.
But, for the cowards, there are also days when bathing suits
are worn and men and women bathe in separate sections. As if I care!
I came here to purge mind and body.
Time to wander slowly, but deliberately back to the comfort
of the hotel and another nap. Sex? Who needs it?
Sleep…I need sleep.
