Since the Roman emperor bathed in the mineral waters of Baden-Baden, this town has welcomed those in need of a good soak.
I told the guide that it was a great opportunity for her group to enjoy the spa. 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. Then — we eased up, and got naked.
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. 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. I got the coarse, Brillo-Pad scrub-down, but it was still extremely relaxing.
