Where you can soak up lessons in love

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This was published 12 years ago

Where you can soak up lessons in love

By Annie Stevens
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"TAKING the waters" when travelling overseas can be daunting. Whether you're in a Japanese onsen, a hot tub in Nordic climes or thermal springs in New Zealand, there is a certain etiquette and rituals that are understood by everyone, it seems, except you.

The most crucial question to consider is whether or not you wear your swimmers. As far as faux pas go, a nude faux pas is about as bad as it gets.

In Budapest, the baths are a way of life for locals and a must-do for visitors and tourists. I was relieved to find that swimmers are acceptable at the rather grand bathhouses I spent much of my holiday wallowing in.

From young to old, lessons in love can be found in Budapest's baths.

From young to old, lessons in love can be found in Budapest's baths.Credit: Getty Images

And there, trying to stay afloat after strudel-scoffing my way about the city, I learnt about love.

One of the brilliant things about public baths is you realise we really do all come in such weird and marvellous shapes and sizes. Short, tall, thin, fat, hairy, smooth like an egg, it's all there, in all its glory.

My favourites are the old couples who can be found floating in baths all over the world. They look like they come to the baths every day. Often the woman will be built in the manner of a brick house, all pendulous breasts and arms that could sink a battleship. It seems, too, that the husband will, by default, be whippet-thin, though I sincerely doubt he is not fed well at home. They sit solidly together.

Sometimes they bicker and raise their hands in an almost comical gesture of frustration.

But mostly they don't need to talk. Their silence is laden with hidden meanings and understanding. It is a private language worn in by years of life and disappointments, and a love that has been weathered and still remained.

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In one of the other baths, a handsome American university student is imparting coupling advice to his less genetically gifted friend. He also spends some time subtly admiring his pecs.

"The thing is," he says, "if she liked her boyfriend, she wouldn't be coming out with us tonight."

His less-handsome friend nods sagely. They move on to talking about which other girls are going to the party that night and splashing each other. It will be some time before a relationship with silences, low-level bickering and hairy legs is enough for them, I think. I stay in the water until my skin is puckered and prune-like and I feel worldly and old.

That night I go to see a Romeo and Juliet ballet at the Hungarian State Opera House. When Juliet drinks the poison after thinking Romeo is dead, I clutch my chest in horror and magnificent tragedy.

But as Juliet sinks gracefully to the floor, her toes perfectly pointed, her face slightly wrinkled with discomfort, I realise exquisite, tragic romance is overrated. What you really want is someone who'll sit by your side in a public bath day after day, bits akimbo, and love you in their own cranky way.

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