One
of the best experiences you can have in Budapest is indulging in taking a bath.
Since Roman times, the more than one hundred thermal springs that rise from
Budapest's bed-rock have been used to ease the aching mind and body. When you
visit the Rudas Baths on the Buda side of the Danube, you soak up more than
just the mineral-rich waters; you get a refresher course in Magyar his-tory,
from the Ottoman occupation, through the Communist era to the current McInvasion.
Upon
entering this steamy museum of pools and saunas, you are instantly envel-oped
by the eclectic clash of cultures that is unique to Budapest today. Coming into
the main chamber of the Rudas, you see the plaque to the Pasha of Buda, the
Turkish ruler who reconstructed the baths in the 16 th century. Your next encounter
is far less exotic, it is a cool reminder that although the Soviet Empire collapsed
nearly a decade ago, many people still work and play by its grumpy set of rules.
The
locker-room attendant, dressed in white like an insane asylum nurse, leads you
to your appointed locker, opens it for you, but keeps the key. You get a tiny
metal bracelet like a dog tag with a number on it that never corresponds to
the one on the door. The attendant then chalks up a third mystery number on
a little blackboard inside the cubicle, and will lock the door for you when
you are finished.
Before
you are done with the locker, you have to change out of your clothes and wrap
yourself in the severe apron selected by the attendant. If you're lucky, you
can rent a towel or a cotton bathrobe, although, often these luxury items are
not available.
All
this arcane bureaucracy leads to a series of pleasures well worth the hassle.
In the Gellért, every conceivable body type, gender and age is represented,
from extremely old women to little kids, to pot-bellied businessman, to twenty
something pumped and tanned to perfection. As they hunch under a stone lion's
head pouring very warm water from its maw, or sink to their ears in the warm
baths, the grotesque and wonderful mix of people resembles a scene from Bosch.
Half
the enjoyment of the baths is being able to move between six degrees of water
to something like a bowl of soup and back again, but the other half is the architecture
that surrounds you.
Three-storey
marble pillars . anking the pool, grand arches, ancient statues, octagonal baths,
and sun-light streaming through the domed roof, make these visits an express
passage to the orient.
What
makes the story of going to the baths so strange -and expressive of the topsy-turvy
psyche
of the new Hungary -is the change that overtakes them on a Saturday night. While
day visitors are
treated to surly manners and officious regulations that are strictly enforced
by a piercing whistle, a
different muse rules once the parties take over.
Not
political parties, but raves sponsored by Tilós Radio ( literally "forbidden
radio") - the force behind Budapest's underground youth scene. Even more
sur-real, Vizi-Movi ( water movie) events, featuring Soviet propaganda and Buster
Keaton . lms, are screened in the pool area while DJs vibrate their music mix
through the water where the audience gyrates until dawn.
Going
to these same baths for these Saturnalia spectacles, two holdovers from the
Communist years remain. 1. The attendants are still there, except now they hand
out towels and robes to female ravers with pierced belly buttons and 2. All
types of people -many old and decidedly working class - mingle in the ultra-hip
crowd, which is a great part of the fun.
By
going to the Rudas twice in the same day, you can see for yourself more than
a thousand years of Hungarian history converging in the wild abandon of its
young people, finally throwing it all off, in a naked gesture of pure ecstasy.
