Rudas Baths

The Rudas baths, originally constructed sometime in the fifteen hundreds by the Ottoman Turks, then renovated by modern Hungarians in the late 1900s, certainly lived up to my expectations. However, before that, I should probably start at the beginning. My day began after leaving my hotel around noon in search of lunch, which I took again at my favorite little Hungarian restaurant just off Andrassy where it crosses with Negymezo. This locals-mostly place serves quick Hungarian food (what the British friend I ate with a couple of times calls "simple, peasant food"). I like it there because the food is amazing, it is quick, the people get a kick out of me pointing to the food I want to try, it's cheap, and offers outside seating for proper people-watching. I like these attributes in a restaurant. I was feeling much lighter today, not only because the regular habits of my body returned, much to my pleasure, but also because the day prior, I shaved my head.

To be more specific, I trimmed it with Hungarian clippers after frantically searching for a hair salon on a Sunday. I have no idea how, of all things, hair salons being closed on Sundays, became some sort of universally understood concept and norm, but it certainly is. After an all-day's search, peppered with sightseeing, to find an open salon in the city center, my recently found travel partner, Enrique from Peru (guess I still have not properly introduced him yet), and I decided I might find one open in some sort of shopping center/mall. So, we inquired about it's location and jumped onto the metro to visit the Hungarian suberbs. True to form, this place looked and felt and spent just like any mall in any city in any town in any country - a few european shops that were new to me, with a few obvious American brands not represented. Finding English speaking natives that understood that I wanted to find a salon proved much harder than I had expected. We could not read the information kiosk which, rightly so, only offered help in Hungarian. We walked the mall, well I guess one could say I raced through the mall, looking quickly at each storefront to find something that looked as if it could offer a trim for my hair. I think all this thought of traveling light and releasing the excessive baggage of material things, thoughts, and worries, somehow inspired me to lighten my physical form with a trim? Anyhow, the search ended poorly. I guess this is one of those cultural differences - no mall salons at all. In an indoor mall of probably 300 stores, not one was a hair salon. This, I thought, then quickly ignored because my business mind forgot it's on vacation, was an investment opportunity.

Frustrated, an epiphany emerged. I'll just shave it off myself. Now, any rational human would probably have just waited until Monday, but not this one. My new mission, finding a razor in this mall, rocketed off. After just two inquiries, I stood in line at the check-out, razor in hand. Fifteen dollars later, I exited with my prize. As Enrique shopped for clothes, I located the men's room, locked myself into the handicap room (sorry, but I qualified from experiencing some form of mental illness like manic delirium at this point), and proceeded to tear into the box. Maybe it was because I was stretching the cord to see into the mirror, or because I was in a foreign country, or because I was just ready to be done with the process and on to the end result - this I don't know - but, I moved the lever to number 2, then began to shave. The hair fell with enthusiasm, all over the sink and onto the floor. The cheap razor I purchased did not cooperate with me, the guard moved as I cut. I smashed it down to number 1 for uniformity and basically increased the severity of the cut to one Uncle Sam would support. After a quick tidy up of the restroom (my OCD and good manners), I exited, feeling content, lighter (much), and zen. Although I watched the entire process in the mirror as I performed the art of self-mutilation, I guess I was not processing the result until I saw the shock and horror in Enrique's eyes when we re-connected later. He assured me that he liked my hair cut, but I remained unconvinced.

Later, when he asked me to cut his hair, I realized that not only was he serious, but he also must have thought I possessed some kind of styling talent? Back at the hotel, I obliged. I have always wanted to cut someone else's hair (for the experience of it), so this opportunity manifested itself; a gift to me. Enrique's hair is a thick mop of dark black Peruvian locks. I could not believe he was going to let me cut his hair with no scissors and only a razor. He plopped down in a chair in front of the mirror in my room as I plugged in the razor, and began. I moved the guide to number six, so that I would not shock him, and ran it through his hair. Only a few hairs fell. He asked, "shorter, shorter" and so that gave me the green light to go a little crazy. I slammed the guide to number 2 and proceeded to give him a trim he would notice. As happens in these situations (as you can imagine), we keep going shorter and shorter until his hair almost resembled my own. Since his hair started long and mine did not, the cut on his head certainly transitioned into something more severe. He liked it - even offered kudos and compliments and told me how my hands are very experienced and professional. The whole situation, again, transpired to provide me with one of those non-repeatable, travel story moments that only I seem to attract. Here I was in Hungary, cutting a Peruvian man's hair (for the first time in my life), and actually doing a good job.

The next day, after lunch I wandered alone in search of the Rudas baths. According to the map, all I had to cross from the Pest to the Buda side at the Erzsebet Bridge. Sure enough, the map worked. The baths built, and later renovated, on the side of the Buda side of Danube River certainly stood out between the rock of the mountain wall behind it and the river in front of it. I thoroughly enjoyed the walk across the bridge, probably due to the anticipation of checking out the Turkish-style Hungarian baths and the potential the experience might offer. I paid what I believe translated to about fifteen bucks, and entered. At the gate, a stern, large Hungarian man issued me a loin-cloth towel gizmo thingy. Basically, the "towel" was a standard sized napkin (yes, a dinner napkin) with a long string coming off the top on either side. These were to be used to wrap the stings around the back while positioning the napkin piece in front of the goodies. Another string hung from the napkin and this was used to tie the locker key to the cloth.

Inside my locker room, I disrobed and put on the napkin. Well, as I already expressed, I am confident with my body, finally after all the insecure years, so nudity is not all that scary anymore. Something about this outfit (ass hanging out) seemed a little ridiculous though, and I got self-amused about wearing it. But hey, a uniform's a uniform and who am I to question their system. Immediately, I knew this place would deliver. Architexcturally, the stones, the marble, the domes, the arches, the skylight cut-outs, presented a style very similar to the Turkish baths I visited in Istanbull. Although not completely authentically Turkish, these baths certainly offered the look and feel of what I experienced in Turkey. Actually, I liked this Hungarian version - a nice mix of Turkish bath, American spa, and an English relaxation health resort.

Once inside the main hall, the smell of sulfur mineral water, the feel of steam, and the whisper of voices greeted me. A very large central pool, or bath, filled the space beneath the giant dome ceiling. Dozens of men sat talking, relaxing, or floating in the water. Above, Turkish style cut-outs for light provided bursts of sunlight, shining like lasers into the dark stone room, and crossed the water with dramatic flair. The main hall, a square room, sized probably around half a football field, held the large bath, under the dome, and four smaller baths, one in each corner. Around the center bath were nine pillars, connected at the top, creating eight arches around the pool. The Hungarians renovated this space well, leaving a lot of the orignal giant stones inside the main hall, but covering most of the rest in other parts of the spa with plaster, probably similar to what would have been done back when the facility was built by the Turks. The four baths in the four corners of the room offered temperature elevations from cold to hot, with the center bath providing the most neutral of temperatures - thus partially explaining the popularity of this bath. I preferred the hottest bath which almost burns the skin. I learned quickly by following the older Hungarian men that an experience to have is to jump into the coldest bath (or the even colder one in another part of the facility) right after the hottest one. Just off the central room are two other rooms, separate for showers, steam, sauna, massage tables, and general relation. Of course, I enjoyed them all.

After a few hours of soaking and relaxing, I encountered a nice kid from Sweden who was ethnically Lebanese. Anas, his name, just finished a swimming competition in Budapest and decided to spend a few extra days here before heading back to Stockholm. We hit if off immediately and spent the next few hours talking world politics and religion (my favorites). For 24 years old, this kid had a lot to say. I suppose his unique experience being of middle-eastern heritage, reared completely in a leftist, socialistic, stereotypically white country like Sweden, does offer perspectives uncommon to the average Joe. Anas and I made plans to meet up later this week before he goes home to Sweden to finish our intense conversation. To be honest, I felt a little like Socrates teaching Plato, the older sage communicating his knowledge to the younger and much more handsome pupil. Considering our encounter took place in a Turkish bath, iced the experience.