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Source from:
(Tribune Media Services) -- On a
recent trip to Europe, I spent an afternoon relaxing at the German spa
resort of Baden-Baden. In two hours, I saw more naked people than I've seen
in the last two years. Since the Roman emperor bathed in the mineral waters of
Baden-Baden, this town has welcomed those in need of a good soak. And it's
always been naked. In the 19th century, it was Germany's ultimate spa
resort, and even today the name Baden-Baden is synonymous with relaxation in
a land where the government still pays its overworked citizens to take a
little spa time. I happened to be here when one of my company's tour
groups was in town. I told the guide that it was a great opportunity for her
group to enjoy the spa. She said, "No one's going. They can't handle the
nudity." It's long been a
frustration for me as a guide -- the difficulty of getting Americans into
spas with naked Europeans. Whether on a Croatian beach, in a Finnish sauna, a
Turkish hammam, or a German spa, it can be a fun and liberating experience
to go local, leaving your swimsuit behind. For me, enjoying the baths at Friedrichsbad in
Baden-Baden is one of Europe's most elegant experiences. Wearing only the
locker key strapped around my wrist, I started by weighing myself -- 92
kilos. The attendant led me under the industrial-strength shower -- a
torrential kickoff, pounding my head and shoulders and obliterating the rest
of the world. He then gave me slippers and a towel, ushering me into a
dry-heat room with fine wooden lounges -- its slats too hot to sit on
without the towel. Staring up at exotic tiles of herons and palms, I cooked.
After more hot rooms punctuated with showers, it was time for the massage. Like someone really drunk going for one more glass, I
climbed gingerly onto the marble slab and lay belly-up. The masseur held up
two mitts and asked, "Hard or soft?" In the spirit of wild abandon, I said
"hard," not even certain what that would mean to my skin. I got the coarse,
Brillo-Pad scrub-down, but it was still extremely relaxing. Finished with a
Teutonic spank, I was sent off into the pools. Nude, without my glasses, and not speaking the language,
I was gawky. On a sliding scale between Mr. Magoo and Woody Allen, I was
everywhere, careening between steam rooms and cold plunges. In the end, it all led to the mixed section. This is
where the Americans get uptight. The parallel spa facilities intersect,
bringing men and women together to share the finest three pools. Here, all
are welcome to glide under exquisite domes in perfect silence, like
aristocratic swans. Germans are nonchalant, tuned into their bodies and
focused on solitary relaxation. Tourists are tentative, trying to be cool
... but more aware of their nudity. Again, there's nothing sexy about it.
Just vivid life in full flower. A beautiful woman glided in front of me. Like a female
flotilla, her peaceful body creating barely a ripple. It occurred to me that
I wouldn't mind talking to her. But you don't really just start up a
conversation with a naked stranger. Then she started walking into the men's
section. Perfect. I whispered to her, "Excuse me, that's the men's section."
She was from Texas ... and appreciative. The climax is the cold plunge. I'm not good with cold
water -- yet I absolutely loved this. You must not wimp out on the cold
plunge. Then, the attendant escorted me into the "quiet room"
and asked when I'd like to be awoken. I told him closing time. He wrapped me
in hot sheets and a brown blanket. Actually, I wasn't wrapped; I was
swaddled. Warm, flat on my back, among 20 hospital-type beds. Only one other
bed was occupied; he seemed dead. I stared up at the ceiling and some time
later was jolted awake by my own snore. Leaving, I weighed myself again: 91 kilos. I had shed
2.2 pounds of sweat. It would have been more if tension had mass. Stepping
into the cool evening air, I was thankful my hotel was a level two-block
stroll away. In my room, I fell in slow motion onto
my down comforter, the big pillow puffing around my head like the Flying
Nun. Wonderfully naked under my clothes, I could only think, "Ahhh,
Baden-Baden." Don't Miss
In Depth: Rick Steves' Europe Rick Steves writes European travel
guidebooks and hosts travel shows on public television and public radio.
E-mail him at rick@ricksteves.com, or write to him c/o P.O. Box 2009,
Edmonds, Wash. 98020. Copyright 2008 RICK STEVES,
DISTRIBUTED BY TRIBUNE MEDIA SERVICES, INC.
/travel
American prudes and European nudes
By Rick Steves
Tribune Media Services
At the elegant baths in Baden-Baden, Germany, the dress code is nude.
My first time was with my wife and
some German friends -- a classy, good-looking young couple. We were
swept into the changing area with no explanation. Suddenly they were
naked and I felt like the Road Runner just beyond the cliff's edge.
Then -- we eased up, and got naked. It's not sexy ... simply open
and free.
Source from:
http://www.cnn.com/2008/TRAVEL/getaways/11/13/baden.baden/