A Hungarian man at my hostel in Budapest told me how to approach the city’s many bath houses. First, I needed to sit in a dry sauna for as long as I could stand it. Next, I was to plunge myself into a pool of cold water. Then, I would soak in lukewarm water for about seven minutes. The man promised me that if I did this cycle seven times, I would be immune to cold for a few days.
Budapest, I learned, is the city of spas, having over 120 bath houses — more than any other city in the world. The city sits atop a natural reservoir that produces 70 million liters(!) of thermal mineral water every day. It was used as far back as the first century CE by Roman settlers. Today, spa culture is part of life in Budapest, with therapeutic visits subsidized by the Hungarian health service, and with 1.7 million people visiting the city’s largest bath house, Széchenyi, every year.
The thermal water is said to offer many health benefits, from improving circulation to curing arthritis. While science has not confirmed or denied these purported benefits, one bath house, Szent Lukács, features marble plaques bearing thankful words from bathers who credit the spa with improving their chronic ailments.
So, wearing borrowed rubber slippers and athletic shorts that doubled as a swimsuit, I crossed the city to Rudas Thermal Bath for its special Friday night bathing.
The main chamber at Rudas contains one large octagonal pool surrounded by four smaller pools of various temperatures. A cold immersion pool sits tucked behind a wall on its own, probably so no one mistakenly climbs into it expecting a warm bath. Two side chambers host a sauna each: one wet, one dry. The spa’s squat stone pillars and domed roof give the appearance of an ancient temple, which isn’t too far off, given that the bath house was built in the 16th century by Ottoman Turks.
Following my prescription, I beelined for the dry sauna. A sign advised me to remove my slippers, which I did, and immediately regretted. The floor was protected by a rubber mesh to prevent slipping, but stepping on it barefoot felt like walking across burning Legos.
I didn’t know exactly what it meant to stay in the sauna for “as long as I could stand it,” but I supposed that I’d know the time when it came. Two flights of wooden chairs flanked a blisteringly hot oven, the source of the room’s heat. I took a seat and winced as the hot wood touched my bare skin. I perched on the chair so my swimsuit provided a protective barrier.
A minute in, I began to sweat. Another minute more, and I was sweating a lot. The hot air hurt to breathe, and so I took slow, shallow breaths. The time trickled away in an hourglass on the wall.
After a while, I shifted absentmindedly and leaned against the armrest of my chair, only to realize that the heat didn’t bother me anymore. Maybe my sheen of sweat provided as decent a barrier as my swimsuit. Regardless, I leaned back and made myself comfortable.
Not long after, though, comfort became discomfort. I didn’t quite feel nauseous or woozy, but I did feel a little funny. Recognizing that I had withstood the heat for as long as I could, I pranced back across the floor of burning Legos, then found my way to the cold pool.
I dipped in a finger. The water felt like melted ice, and I shuddered. But I had my orders. Before I could change my mind, I waded into the water and dunked my whole body into the pool. The cold entered me like a knife. I shrieked, but fortunately my head was underwater, too, so no one could hear it. Or at least, no one could hear it very well.
Taking full advantage of the fact that I only had to do a quick dip, I scampered out of the cold water and dove into one of the warmer baths. I practically felt steam rolling off of me. I released myself with a sigh and let my body go weightless. This part, I could get behind.
Then, I remembered I had to do the whole cycle over again.
I didn’t quite complete the seven circuits I had been assigned. The spa had a rooftop pool, and I wanted to see the skyline before the lights of the city winked out to conserve energy. On the roof, steam rolled off the warm water into the cool air, the pool packed with other bathers eager to see the same view.
Finally, I left the bath house, layering back into my sweatpants, my long sleeves, and my thrift store parka. When I reentered the cold night, maybe it was just my imagination, but I thought I felt the chill a little less.
Steamy! ;-)
aaaahhhh!