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Maybe I'm a prude. But, like most North Americans, nakedness is something I reserve for the shower and occasional assaults on my ego in front of the mirror. Generally, my nudity is not for public consumption. However, when confronted by the European sauna experience, my comfort levels were stretched and my eyes were opened. With so much to look at, whose eyes wouldn't be open?
Thermen are popular destinations for Austrians in search of a weekend getaway or a day of relaxation. I am not Austrian, but I love relaxation, so I was game. I packed my bathing suit, sandals and towel and headed off to Bad Blumau, a therme built by Austrian architectural visionary Friedensreich Hundertwasser.
The beautiful complex consists of pools and streams of thermally heated water meandering in and out of colourful buildings. Chaises longues abound, and terry-cloth-robed visitors sit in them with glazed, peaceful expressions. I stripped down to my suit and jumped in.
After 45 minutes in water jets and wading pools, my wrinkly skin was beginning to resemble the Alps's peaks and valleys, so I reluctantly climbed out to dry off. At this fateful point, my Austrian companion suggested a trip to the sauna area. The prolonged exposure to hot water had lulled me into total submission and I allowed myself to be led downstairs.
I was not prepared for the sight that greeted me at the bottom. A perfectly normal health-bar scene, with stools, fruit juice and — naked people. Couples and co-ed groups of friends were clustered around tables with naked butts planted on polyester seats. It was as though I had suddenly acquired X-ray vision. Everything seemed perfectly normal except that everyone was nude.
My first thought was: where do they keep their money? My second thought was more disturbing: Does this mean that I will have to get naked too? I turned to ask my friend, but the answer was clear. Suddenly, I was seeing more of her than I had ever seen before. She saw what must have been panic written all over my face.
“It's not like this at home?” she asked.
“Ah . . . no,” I stuttered.
“Well, it's more hygienic this way,” she stated. I silently wondered how a thin layer of spandex could be unhygienic, while sweating naked flesh was not.
Hooks on the wall were covered with discarded bathing suits, daring me to add mine to their number. I stepped out of my Speedo. I tried to look casual, but I think I was gripping my towel with a degree of fervour never seen there before.
Around the perimeter of the sauna area are different rooms featuring varying types of sauna treatments. Dampfbad, or steam rooms, are interspersed with aromatherapy, light therapy and traditional wood saunas.
Some sauna behaviour was an immediate mystery to me. For example, how do you look (but not look) at a naked stranger? The pressure to look into someone's eyes is tremendous, because if you aren't looking into their eyes, where the heck are you looking? I found it almost impossible to carry on a conversation pretending I wasn't naked. Because the truth is, I was very naked.
Nevertheless, I was surprised to find myself quite enjoying my naturist sauna experience. At one point, in the light-therapy room, I relaxed so completely that I momentarily forget to suck in my stomach and lie in the most flattering position possible. I felt free and incredibly cleansed as I sweated out of every pore on my body.
The truth is, I got used to seeing so much skin surprisingly quickly. And with so many beer guts, most of the men's bits were relatively well hidden.
The only hitch I encountered was in the hot tub in the centre of the sauna area. As I sat down among eight other people in the smallish Jacuzzi, I was sandwiched between two hairy men in their 60s. I tried to imagine a situation in which I would take a bath with one or both of these two Austrian strangers. Temporarily weirded out, I had to exit what suddenly seemed to me like a giant, kinky bathtub. But it was only a minor setback.
When I finally emerged from the land of au naturel, I was a changed woman. My bathing suit seemed like an unnecessary barrier to comfort. Why, I wondered, are we all happily naked in the sauna, but modestly covered up around the pool? In fact, why wear clothes on a hot day? Why not strip down whenever the urge hits you? With a jolt, I realized I was a woman too changed. I gave my bathing suit a reassuring pat and welcomed it back into my life.
Special to The Globe and Mail
