Baden-Baden: Life is but a Dream

We've all had those kinds of dreams - the ones that hopelessly mix up the past and the present with the completely wacky. Sometimes I try to remember them and reflect on possible interpretations. Here's an anecdote that Freud would have had a field day with:

I'm swimming with my friend named Jenny, whom I haven't talked to since elementary school. I remember being in our kindergarten production of the The Little Engine that Could together in California. We're in Germany now, randomly, bobbing to and fro in this shallow bubbling pool.  As if to prove to ourselves that we're all grown up, we swap stories of the labor and births of our children. I look from the mosaic ceiling to the edge of the pool and am surprised to see a reproduction of Bernini's Apollo and Daphne, the original of which I had just admired in Rome four months ago. Once again, I marvel at the way Daphne's hair separates into fine leaves as she's turning into a tree. I think that my toes look like leaves on my right leg. As my drifting gaze reaches the clock, I realize that our time is up, and Jenny and I step out of the bath, naked. My hands feel empty without a towel to clutch for modesty. We walk through a doorway and see a bright, magnificent hall with sculpted cherubs ringing the dome above our heads. There is a pool here, too. We slip in and start to swim. A few men approach the neighboring showers, but we pretend not to see them.

If this summary was describing a dream, there would be plenty of symbols to unpack. The long-lost friendship, nudity, and strange surroundings are all classic elements of that "really weird dream last night." As it turns out, though, this was not a dream but something that I experienced last weekend in waking life. 

Baden-Baden (literally: bathe-bathe) is a relaxed resort sporting Parisian architecture and cypress trees. Though it is situated on the northern tip of Germany's Black Forest, it is not far from Alsace and exudes a French je ne sais quoi. Its hot mineral springs were taken advantage of in Roman times, and the tradition of bathing here continues to attract seekers of health and rejuvenation. Baden-Baden is also roughly halfway between our town of Muelheim and the Swiss home of our friends, the Whitakers.

Luke and Jenny Whitaker have a son named Jack, who is Daisy's age. Our reconnection after approximately 15 years began through Facebook; the Whitakers decided that they were moving to Switzerland from Colorado and were searching for tips from other Americans living in Europe. After they made the big move, we began planning the combined-family trip to Baden-Baden, excited to get to know each other again.

What better way is there to break the ice and develop a personal bond with someone than to visit the Friedrichsbad together?

The domes of the Friedrichsbad

The Friedrichsbad opened in 1877 at the height of the city's reputation as the European summer capital. Celebrities such as Dostoevsky, Napoleon III, Queen Victoria, Berlioz, and Brahms stayed in Baden-Baden for its casino, baths, and gardens (Dostoevsky wrote The Gambler after losing all his money here and Tolstoy changed the name of this city for a scene in Anna Karenina.) Steam rises from certain places in the ground and we got to taste some thermal water in its natural state from an outdoor spigot. The baths offer mineral thermal baths of various temperatures, saunas, and massages. There are actually two different baths facing off on the same square: the sporty Caracalla spa, where people wear bathing suits, and the solemn Friedrichsbad...where people don't wear bathing suits.

Why in the world did we decide to go to a nudist spa together? When I read that the Friedrichsbad would be "a shame to miss just because you're intimidated by nudity," it felt like a challenge to me. A line of Mark Twain's (who, coincidentally, was also a patron of the Friedrichsbad) kept haunting me: "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do." Since moving to Europe, I have also become more fascinated by the concept of "separation of nudity and sexuality." Given my experimental inclinations and the daring personalities of the Whitakers (this was probably nothing compared to skydiving), it was a natural decision to situate Jack and Daisy in the spa's wonderful child care service and go ahead and try something new.

Here we go!

You might be pleased to know that we did try to keep some degree of propriety: the baths are completely coed on four days of the week and we specifically targeted Saturday for the "separate" nature of the day: the men and women enter through different changing rooms and wind through 17 stages, only meeting at #11, the large domed pool in the center of the complex. Chris and Luke began much earlier than Jenny and I did, and I think that we were all rather relieved to avoid the group encounter.

Now, I might sound pretty nonchalant about this whole experience, but I admit that there were giggles. For example, when Jenny and I missed something very important on the door to "our" locker room, where we completely undressed and only at the last minute heard voices cuing us to throw towels around ourselves:

The male attendant, alerted to our presence, kept assuring us that it was no big deal as he led us to the correct changing room, since it was mixed most days of the week anyway.

We nervously began the 17-stage, 3-hour ritual, gradually becoming used to the clinical attendants in white and becoming more relaxed. In each room, there was a clock on the wall and a description of the treatment in the room with the amount of time one should stay in there. Looking back on it, I truly felt clean and transformed in a way that would have been impossible if I had been wearing a bathing suit.

The Friedrichsbad is known as the Roman-Irish bath because of its mix of water (Roman) and Irish ("hot air baths," pretty similar to saunas). The stages were frequently broken up by fabulously drenching showers to remove sweat or massage soaps. To summarize the chart above, we began with medium and very hot air rooms, enjoyed a wonderful thermal steam room, got a scruffing soap-and-brush full body massage, floated in a whirlpool bath, swam in a few larger pools (including the famous "mixed" dome) and ended with a cold plunge. "Drying off" with warm barley-corn towels was its own stage (4 minutes). We then promptly disposed of the things and hung out in the mirrored lotion room. My skin felt amazing.

The next room felt like something from a movie: pale yellow and lavender, silent, and circular, with concentric circles of beds. Warm light shone through the curtains. Our attendant motioned for us to choose a bed; when we did, she proceeded to swaddle us with the wide sheets and blankets covering each bed. Even our heads got tucked in. She then asked when we would like get woken up (20 minutes). As I was struggling to sleep, I kept returning to thoughts of people like Van Gogh in sanitariums possibly like this. Even though I liked it, I would go crazy if I had to be in there on a regular basis. Finally, we were given towels to keep, and we luxuriously draped ourselves with them and sat down to some hot tea and magazines in the reading room. That was supposed to be 30 minutes, but by then we were starting to feel the three hours away from Daisy and Jack. There weren't any English magazines, anyway. We finished our tea and got dressed. As we left, perhaps feeling the "five years younger" as advertised, we paused to commit to memory the peace and tranquility of these baths. I think it was a priceless experience and I would encourage any visitor in Baden-Baden to go.

My now very good friend, Jenny

For more on the same experience but through different eyes, you can check out Jenny's blog.

We couples, now reunited, recounted the events of the last few hours: next time I'll choose the hard brush; you would not believe what the woman in front of me was doing; how long did you stay in the cold plunge; what kind of tea did you choose; did you fall asleep in the quiet room; I'd come here once a month if I lived here...

Clean and Serene, Bathed and Bonded