Read article : Bath, Bath and Beyond in Budapest
Very. Am I having fun?
I'm not sure.
Signs on the wall announce that the first sauna is 45 to 50 degrees Celsius (113 to 122 Fahrenheit), the second 50 to 60 degrees (122 to 140), and the third so hot I couldn't open the door. When a woman gestures me away from the third room, I smile, thinking she's friendly. In rapid English, she disproves that, scolding, "Your sweat is getting on the chair! You need a sheet!" To my chagrin, I see that everyone but me is sitting on a sheet, which I've left in my locker. Pointing to my feet, she says, "And you'll catch a disease without shoes!" I thank her with as much dignity as I can muster, and head for the swimming pool. On my way out, in the lobby, I buy a pair of bright turquoise plastic slippers.
Buda, on the west side of this two-sided city, is particularly rich in thermal springs, and all but one of the baths I want to visit are on this side of the Danube. The Rudas baths are a 20-minute stroll from the Gellert, but it's too soon for another immersion. First, I spend a few hours in Castle Hill, the restored district of old houses, museums and the Buda Palace. Tucked in a side street is tiny Ruszwurm, a source of legendary pastries since 1827. (In the tourist season, it's difficult to get a table; in November, it's easy.) After coffee and its pastry specialty, a cream slice, I head south again.
St. Elizabeth of Hungary reportedly cured lepers near the Rudas baths, using the local springs; the Knights of St. John founded a hospice here in the Middle Ages; and the Turks built an octagonal pool in 1566. Fortunately, the pool, lighted by the characteristic star-shaped openings in its dome and circled by an arcade with five smaller pools, is still in use. Unfortunately for me, it has been restricted to men since 1936.
Women may use the swimming pool (an uszoda, rather than a gyogyfurdo, a thermal pool where one does not swim) and sauna, which I decide to do, for the sake of its historic premises. But its run-down exterior, on a busy street, is not promising, and the entrance hall is dismal.
I stare enviously at a picture of men in steamy water under a moody, romantic dome, but that's the closest I can come. In the clinical dressing room, I learn through sign language that I need a bathing cap, which I have, and a towel, which I don't.
Built in 1918, the swimming pool has an old-fashioned dignity, and about 30 men and woman swim decorously back and forth. We sweat closely packed in the small sauna, but no one, I notice, is sitting on a towel. Apparently, each bathhouse is a separate principality, with its own rules, often unspoken. Afterward, I dry off as much as possible using the dressing room's hair dryer, and make a mental note: take slippers, bathing cap, towel.
Next morning, the subway transports me to the end of Andrassy Road, to the Varosliget (City Park) and the Szechenyi baths. Although built in 1913, the vast domed bathhouse looks like a Baroque palace -- an aquatic palace, in fact, since it houses 15 pools as well as saunas and steam-baths.
Bathers must shower first, but there's no soap. (Memo to self: take soap.)
Surrounded by statues of water gods and dolphins, the three grand outdoor pools include one where jets propel you around in a slightly out-of-control circle, a central one for swimming and a hot one where bathers can play chess on floating boards in the water. Sitting outside in steaming water in late fall, watching lovers kissing, boys ogling girls, girls singing under jets of water, is positively sybaritic.
In contrast to the amusement park atmosphere outside, the interior thermal pools are grubbier. Mineral-laden water is hard on plaster walls, and the cherubs, faces and festoons that decorate them have seen better days. It's comfortably full on a weekday morning, as Budapesters from their teens to 70's amble from barrel-vaulted rooms to octagons to rotundas, each with a pool heated to a different temperature.
On another day, I walk across the Margit Bridge to a pleasant Buda neighborhood dotted with antiques shops. Built in 1894 as part of a hospital, the Lukacs baths are approached through a courtyard lined with ochre-colored classical revival buildings. On the walls, stone plaques from around the world proclaim the cures wrought by the waters; one from Mary Davis of New York in 1937 lauding the "miraculous springs" that ended her pain is typical.
Nothing in the baths turns out to be as rewarding as the leafy, evocative courtyard. The Lukacs has two large outdoor pools, still functioning in November but too cold for me. Inside, the very hot pool and the cool one are out of commission, which leaves the remaining four pools crowded. I admire, as always, the nonchalance with which the Budapesters stand center stage in the sauna and slough off their dry skin with abrasive mitts. On my way out, I stop in the pump room to drink some of the water, said to be beneficial for disorders of the intestine, stomach and bile tract. The attendant hands me a beer keg of warm, sulphurous water, and I manage to down two swallows.
On Friday, one of the days reserved for women at the Kiraly baths, I cross the Margit Bridge and walk south to a building topped with a big copper dome and three smaller ones.
Begun by the pasha Arslan for the Buda garrison in 1565, the Kiraly later acquired a classical front that only partly obscures its beating Turkish heart. Inside, up a winding stone staircase with Ionic columns, I find a changing room and a sign in Hungarian, German and English telling me that swimming suits must be worn. But, after I've showered (without soap, which I've forgotten again), I step into a pool populated by five elderly women; two wear only shower caps and the other three nothing at all. (The Rough Guide says the swimsuit rule was instituted in the 90's, when the baths became a gay hangout, so perhaps it's enforced only on men's days.) I wish I knew what the women are talking about so animatedly. Are they complaining about husbands, high prices, daughters-in-law, or bragging about grandchildren and great-children?
The main thermal pool, under a sky-lit dome, is dim and atmospheric. Off to the side is a hot (104 degrees) pool, and under the smaller domes, there's a steam room, a cold pool and more showers. In the large pool, two slim young women in red swimsuits talk about the shadow economy, one in Hungarian-accented English, the other in German-accented English.
The party of nude, older women joins us, still in voluble conversation. The mist and rushing water make it hard to overhear and easy to drift into your own private bath.
Another dowager, wearing only a shower cap and wielding a cane, makes her superbly deliberate way to the sauna, and I follow. There, two women are drying their bath sheets on the radiators while eating sandwiches. There's something elemental and intimate about this scene -- women of at least three generations soaking, washing, eating or not, talking or not. Until now, I've been interested but not moved by the baths, taking a rather anthropological stance when not actively embarrassed by my ignorance of the rules. This is different: I decide I like ladies' day at the Kiraly baths.
On my way to the locker room, I find what looks like a hospital ward, lined with 20 cots. In this resting room, a transition between the baths and the busy world, women are napping, reading a newspaper, eating sausage. I lie on a cot under a blanket and watch two masseuses in the next room at their vigorous work. At the window, a woman submerges her feet in a tub and looks out over Budapest. Their simplicity and quiet notwithstanding, the Kiraly baths have survived the Turks, the Hapsburgs, the Nazis, the Communists and, so far, modern capitalism. Long may they continue.
Everyone into the pool, and then the restaurant
The Baths
The Gellert baths, Kelenhegyi ut 2-4, telephone (36-1) 466-6166, charges $14.50, at 200 forints to the dollar, for a ticket to the baths and swimming pools, with a refund of $4.50 if you stay less than two hours, $3 if you stay two to three hours. If it's four hours, there's no refund. Open daily, from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m.
The Rudas baths, Dobrentei ter 9, (36-1) 375-8373, charges $3.50 for the use of sauna and swimming pool, $5 (men only) for steam bath, and $9 (men only) for steam bath and thermal pools. Open daily from 6 a.m.; closed at 1 p.m. on weekends.
The Szechenyi baths, Allatkerti korut 11, (36-1) 363-3210, operates on a system similar to the Gellert's: $8.50 is the charge for use of pools and lockers, with a refund of $4.50 for a stay of less than two hours, $2.50 for less than three hours and $1 for less than four hours. Open daily 6 a.m. to 7 p.m.
The Lukacs baths, Frankl Leo ut 25-29, (36-1) 326-1695, charges $7. Refunds: less than two hours $2.50, less than three hours $1.50, less than four hours 50 cents. Open daily from 6 a.m. to 7 p.m. (to 5 on weekends).
The Kiraly baths, Fo utca 84, (36-1) 202-3688, are reserved for women on Monday, Wednesday and Friday (open 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.), for men on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday (9 a.m. to 8 p.m.). Admission is $5.
Lodging and Dining
I stayed at the new NH Hotel, Vigszinhaz utca 3, (36-1) 814-0000, fax (36-1) 814-0100, close to the Margit Bridge on the Pest side. A sleek, angular contrast to curvaceous Budapest, NH has 160 rooms, arranged around an inner courtyard, with luxurious bedding and dark modern furniture. Ask for a room overlooking the Vigszinhaz comedy theater. Depending on the season, a double room rents for $182 to $250.
Ruszwurm coffeehouse, Szentharomsag ter 7, is open every day from 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. Coffee and a pastry cost about $3.50.
Kiskakukk, Pozsonyi utca 12, (36-1) 450-0829, is a handsome, friendly restaurant known for Hungarian specialties. Two can dine on mushroom soup, venison in red wine with noodles, and dessert crepes with a bottle of wine for about $45. Open daily, for lunch and dinner.
Near the Basilica, Café Kor, Sas utca 17, (36-1) 311-0053, is a popular cafe with bentwood chairs, green-shaded lamps and a menu full of local favorites for snacks and meals. Goose liver pâté with Cognac will cost $11.40, letcho (a melange of tomatoes and peppers) with sausages and eggs costs $10. For afternoon cake, try somloi, a sponge cake with chocolate sauce and whipped cream ($3.45). Cash only; closed Sunday. KATHERINE ASHENBURG
KATHERINE ASHENBURG writes about architecture for Toronto Life magazine.
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