Baden-Baden: the spa experience
LIKE BATH, Baden-Baden in Germany, not far over the border from Strasbourg, is a pretty, medium-sized town, full of green- ery and surrounded by hills. And, like Bath, it is renowned for its thermal baths, which have been taken over the centuries by plen- ty of European royalty and aristocracy, as well as literary and musical figures. The lat- ter included Dostoevsky and Victor Hugo, Richard Wagner, who at one time thought of creating his festival home for the Ring Cycle in Baden-Baden (it's much closer to the Rhine than Bayreuth), Verdi, Brahms and Clara Schumann, who had a love-nest just outside the town, and Berlioz, whose Beatrice et Benedict had its premiere in Baden-Baden's charming 18th-century the- atre. Now, with the recent opening of its imposing £40 million, 2,500-seat Festspiel- haus, offering a continuous music festival throughout the year, and its absorption of Herbert von Karajan's Salzburg Whitsun festival, the town is poised to regain its prominence as a cultural centre.
Physical culture has always been provided by the thermal baths in Baden-Baden, and today there are two main bath establish- ments in the centre of town. The original one, housed in a sober and imposing rococo building, is the Friedrichsbad, dedicated to `Beauty, Truth and Health' and offering the public Roman-Irish baths — I never did find out what the Irish aspect was. The other baths are far more modern and are called the Caracalla Spa, containing 900 square metres of indoor and outdoor activi- ty. As well as offering the pursuit of health, Baden-Baden is adept at providing the need to seek it, being gastronomically supe- rior to most German cities I know. Thus, before my mid-morning visit to Caracalla I decided to fortify myself in the nearby smart patisserie, Café Beeg. After some excellent iced coffee — mit Sahn, natiirlich — and a delicious strawberry tart, I advanced upon Caracalla.
Alas, I had misjudged the situation. Arriving at the modern building, I paid my DM19 fee for two hours of treatment and moved on to the changing cubicles, expect- ing to find towels and bathing costumes provided or for hire. Finding no such facili- ty, I advanced, clad only in my boxer shorts, upon the spa to make enquiries. The woman who had shown me to the cubicle explained that nothing was provided, but that I could buy such necessities in the shop downstairs. On my replying that I had no desire to do that, she observed that I would be better off at the Friedrichsbad: 'They bathe nude there.' Before recovering my clothes and money I had a brief look at the Caracalla and was not sorry to be leaving. It looked like a theme park of the Alton Tow- ers variety: full of sky-blue tiles, spraying jets of water, fountains, odd-shaped pools and happy, swimsuit-clad families with noisy children running amok.
Before moving on to the Roman-Irish establishment I visited the city art gallery rather a good exhibition of 20th-century art lent by The Hague — and after that pot- tered through the attractive park to a nice, old-fashioned-looking hotel called the Atlantic which had a splendid yellow- awninged terrace, to have a spot of lunch. The Atlantic, which used to be the Hotel d'Angleterre, did me proud. Sitting on the terrace beside a stream, looking across at the 18th-century theatre where Beatrice et Benedict was first performed, I ordered the Sunday special. This consisted of marvel- lous, fat, pale German asparagus, accompa- nied by impeccable sauce hollandaise, per- 'Is that the minimum wage, then?' fect parsley-sprinkled new potatoes and some excellent smoked Black Forest ham. For just DM29 (£10) it was a treat and a bargain, and with some excellent local dry riesling it left me feeling at peace with the world. Mindful of the need to set the baths a proper task, I completed lunch with an excellent combination of yoghurt ice cream, lemon water ice and fresh kiwi fruit, and coffee, and left feeling greatly comforted.
I was welcomed to Friedrichsbad, having paid DM36 for three hours (£12.75), the time the treatment is supposed to take. A young man handed me a kind of cotton winding sheet as my towel, offered me a pair of white, plastic sandals, as the floors are hot, and explained that I should make my naked progress through the baths in a dozen stages. He also told me that there was no soap and brush massage or 'cream service' on a Sunday, so these practices remained undiscovered. The first stages were sauna-type, dry heat baths of increas- ing degrees of heat, the last being almost insupportable to my ill-conditioned frame. Each bath proclaimed on the wall its tem- perature and the recommended time to spend in it. I confess that I spent less than my companions, but they were younger and fitter than I. From dry heat one moved to Turkish-style, steam baths, again with increasing degrees of heat, and again sitting on benches in beautifully Romanesque- tiled chambers.
Once again I moved ahead of the crowd, having lower resistance to heat. I was just reflecting that although I had been told that Sunday was a mixed-bathing day I had seen only men around me when I arrived at the first of the bathing pools of modest temper- ature. As I descended into it I noticed a recumbent, stark-naked and highly attrac- tive female in the corner. When I moved on to the next, hotter pool she was there again, this time in the arms of a young man who had earlier been alongside me in the Turk- ish bath. They were looking blissfully happy, and giving the impression of Tamino and Pamina reunited after their ordeals. There was also another young couple of more energetic disposition, the lady frolick- ing with her man like a large, friendly dol- phin. When I moved to the next, smaller, hotter pool there were just two men in it, but within seconds we were joined by no fewer than six stark-naked Japanese women, two of whom began to massage each other. At this point, like the man from the Sunday newspaper, I made my excuses and withdrew.
Apparently it was a German priest called Sebastian Kneipp who framed the Frei- drichsbad's motto of 'Beauty, Truth and Health'. When in Rome. . . , could be the answer, but I can only observe that in Lon- don the place would probably face proceed- ings for keeping a disorderly house. It was great fun, though, and I certainly felt better for the treatments and had a good appetite for dinner that evening. I could not swear that I lost any weight.
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