The sour and the sweat
The sauna is a place to abandon inhibitions — but boy do they back
S a nation, we’re a pretty prudish bunch. But put us in a European sauna and the gloves (and everything else) come off. As a naive post-teen, my first jawdropping experience of a European sauna came as something of a shock.
In the ’80s, when being naive was cute, attired in a mostly modest one-piece bathing suit, I stepped into an Austrian sauna, only to realise it was full of naked men. Much to my disgust, I was wearing thick glasses, which steamed up terribly and I got to see very little.
Twenty-five years later, I was ready for another sauna experience in Baden Baden, Germany. And by ready, I mean buck naked with a handkerchief-sized towel to keep me modest.
Plus, since I’d had corrective eye surgery years before, my glasses were a thing of the past, so I could fully observe sauna etiquette — all in the interests of research, of course.
The first thing that struck me was that Germans are very polite sauna buddies; they discreetly look away as you enter the sauna in all your naked glory. All good, until you decide to leave … then it’s a different story. With your back turned, all eyes are glued on your rear end, women appraising, men praising (depending on the goods).
Politeness aside, staring is allowed when your back is turned. It’s the same with the jacuzzi walk of shame. Getting in and out is awkward at best, your wares on display at an angle, so casually sinking into the tiny wannabe pond is out of the question. It gets even more difficult climbing the steps out … with your butt the object of everyone’s attention. I chose the option of shrivelling up like a dried prune while I outwitted and out-waited everyone else in the tiny tub. The only things worse than a big butt are the goose bumps that accentuate it.
Body issues aside, it is truly a liberating experience sweating up a storm in a sauna with open-minded foreigners. The fact that none of us will ever see each other again counts as a big plus, so judgment is not a big deal in tiny spaces. Or so, that’s what I thought.
Baden Baden is not a very large town. In fact, calling it a village would be a stretch. You are likely to run into familiar faces all over town and it’s too far a drive to the next little town for a meal. After spa-ing up a storm, a good meal is also a necessary evil.
As I sat down to a lovely schnitzel and glass of local vino, a friendly elderly couple sat next to me and smiled politely. The husband felt the
Worse than a big butt … the goose bumps that accentuate it
urge to say hello — a mistake! Before I had the good sense to ignore him, it dawned on me slowly we had tried to outwait each other in the jacuzzi. I’d won: his butt had lost!
Before I could filter my wandering mouth, I blurted out, “Oh, hello, I did not recognise you with clothes on.” He turned beetroot red, his wife almost lost her lunch and her mind in one second, and before I knew it, they were almost running down the road to another dining spot.
Serves him right for visiting the naked section of the spa without his wife!