Spa’d for life
John Torode takes the healing waters at Wiesbaden and Baden-Baden It’s not often that you come across a living god while hovering outside your hotel idly wondering — why the red carpet? But there we were, on the steps of the historic Nassauer Hof, Wiesbaden when, sirens blaring, a convoy of people-carriers with blacked-out windows swept up. It was led by armed police motorcyclists, and followed by an ominous, anonymous black truck — the mobile surgery which is always there in case the great and good are gunned down or blown up during an official visit.
Out shuffled His Holiness the Dalai Lama, on a full-blown tour of Germany. (The highlight was — to the fury of the Chinese dictatorship — to be an official visit to Chancellor Merkel.) Surprisingly, perhaps, the Dalai Lama is a regular guest at the luxury hotel. He beamed round vaguely through thick glasses, and stopped to bless a small group of German followers. Then he stroked and, I presume, bestowed his blessing upon a very small white dog. I considered reminding him that we had met, albeit briefly, a quarter of a century ago, at his modest and mildly chaotic Himalayan residence in Dharamsala, north India. Instead I noted that — in addition to his robes, of course — he sported rather scruffy, ill-polished brown shoes, and well worn red socks which drooped over his ankles. Beijing sneeringly describes him as ‘Gucci-shoed’.
More ‘Just William’ style, I’d say.
He smiled in my direction and brought his hands together to make the Namaste, so I, too, consider myself blessed.
Many other important visi tors have stayed at the Nassauer, because it was built to allow our betters access to curative waters discovered by the Romans. Modernised, it boasts an Estée Lauder spa, and a roof terrace with a swimming-pool filled with thick, warm, slightly sulpherous water from the hotel’s own spring. Within walking distance are massive bathing complexes, including the Kaiser-Friedrich-Therme. A batty architectural wonder, it stands on Roman remains, and contains assorted Roman, Turkish and Swedish pools and saunas. Then there is a contemporary centre where you can besport yourself stark naked. And don’t miss the stunning Bauhaus-style open-air swimming-pool — the Opelbad, opened in 1934 — on top of the nearby Neroberg mountain (take the 100-year-old cable car). Throughout the city we found steaming ornamen tal fountains, and bubbling Roman wells at which you can help your self to cups of what looks and tastes like hot, dirty bath water.
If you would prefer a drop of Riesling, the hotel has a thing going with the nearby Schloss Vollrad on the Rheingau. It is the oldest, most beautiful and, many would say, best vineyard in Germany. I enjoyed visiting the fine 13th-century moated tower, and the more modern, château style schloss. The staff make you welcome, there is lots of hearty tasting, and the hotel runs the schloss’s classy, but very German, open-air restaurant. Bliss.
OK, so Wiesbaden is captivating. But Baden-Baden — Germany’s other classic spa resort, in the Black Forest — is posher, prettier, and smaller too. As for bathing, well, the three-and-a-half-hour session at the elegant baths, built for the Grand Duke Friedrich of Baden in 1877, sets you up for the day. Even so, Brenner’s Spa is the jewel in the crown. Set in acres of heavily wooded but immaculately maintained parkland, five minutes’ stroll through the park from the centre of town, it is, quite simply, stunning. And it has a Michelin-starred restaurant.
Baden-Baden also has an image problem. Until recently it was too jolly nice, too staid and too 19th-century for its own good. Now the town permits the local radio station to sponsor open-air pop concerts in the main square, and the sponsor’s alarmingly militarylooking grey barrage balloon hovered over our heads advertising the next bash. Then there was the 2006 World Cup which brought the England team’s notorious WAGs to a stunned Brenner’s. The hotel is still recovering from the publicity circus, but gamely told me the girls behaved immaculately, and would be welcome back.
For me, however, the high spot of the rebranded BB is the luminous new Frieder Burda Museum (designed by Richard Meier). It is a light, airy, accessible and friendly, yet uncompromisingly Modernist pavilion, and it houses parts of the publishing tycoon’s vast private collection of German and American Pop and Expressionist works (including some fabulous Warhols). The gallery is currently little known but, take my word, the building and collection are up there with Bilbao and Barcelona.
Although our two-stop trip merited four or five days, we did it over a long weekend without feeling too rushed. Strongly recommended — though I can’t promise a blessing from the Dalai Lama.
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