Budapest's Baths

By Allan Yap & Nigel A. Skelchy

The minute you take that last step through the arch, the tiling beneath your feet abruptly changes to medieval granite, worn away by centuries of naked feet rubbing them down to a smooth finish. Vaulted ceilings replace functional plaster. The light dims to the level of a gothic cathedral during winter. Damp, humid steam replaces cool, dry air. Once through the arch, you're transported from Soviet Chic to a space which is taken out of time. Everything is aged granite. The smell of slightly rotten eggs creeps into your nostrils. You're faced with eight pillars holding up a vaulted ceiling complete with small, dirty glass windows which allow in shafts of sunlight to shine like small searchlights on the glistening, wet bodies meandering their way across the large central pool. To your left and right there are 2 smaller pools. Beyond the large pool, there are another 2 small pools. If you connected all the dots, you'd have an X, with the large pool taking up the point of intersection.

It was Alice through the looking glass.

You could have been in the 15th Century. There are no clothes to give you a frame of reference. Everyone is naked but for the bibs/aprons. It's like a place which is out of time.

Each of the five pools was at a different temperature, denoted by a blurred out 25C or 32C or, in the one which poaches you, 42C. You can't escape the feeling of being checked out. Being given the once over. Whether by straight men or by gay men or those who say they're straight but whose eyes give lie to that fact, categorisations almost don't matter. It's a strange feeling and you would need a certain amount of security in yourself to be there alone. In my case, I'm glad to be with Allan and Keith. Security in numbers for me!

To the right of the X, you walk into the showers, steam rooms, and sauna. In the sauna you're shoulder to shoulder with other men. Ostensibly, to protect their arses from being burnt, they turn the bib/apron around and sit on that. Frankly, I think some were just there to show off. From chippolatas to what reminded me of a 2m bratwurst that we had in Vienna, they were all on display. The funny thing was, it reminded me of a recent study that was done. I can't remember which university it was but the hypothesis from an empirical study done on men and women to improve the effectiveness of news article design showed that women look at faces first while men (straight or gay) looked at crotches first. It concluded that there were different gender imperatives during evolution that made us evolve that way. Personally I think it's to see whether or not another guy has larger tackle than you!

Rudac (pronounced Roo-darsh with a silent R for you American types) was my first foray into a world of thermal baths that I'd never seen before. The Baths itself were built in the 16th Century and Turkish artisans were imported to build them. Which explained the slightly oriental flavour of the whole place.


During our time in Budapest, we managed to go to another called Szechenyi Baths which had a totally different ambience. It was mixed for one. Everyone was in swim suits and it was family day. Hundreds of citizens of the city are soaking for therapy, exercising, socialising, playing chess in the pools, steaming, sauna-ing. The outdoor pools reminded me of a time when skiing in Austria, we would be swimming in an outdoor pool, run out, roll around in snow, and jump back in. It was cool that day. Around 10C. The pools were steaming. Enough to lightly poach kailan.


Furthermore, it was grand. It looked like a Royal Summer Palace. Light, airy, bright, everything that Rudac was not. Don't get me wrong. I loved both experiences. It was just as night and day as you could get.


It was amazing. Culturally, Budapest-ians(?) use the baths as social outlets. For their aches and pains and for meeting friends. Much like we Malaysians do over food. Frankly, I think it's a healthier way of bonding. But for the drama of a first time, Rudac was hard to beat.