The Loin King

So after the hangover from hell, Monday afternoon is spent recharging the batteries. First, coffee and an exquisite cake at cafe next to the hotel.

Travelling anywhere by foot today seems like a chore, but one of the plus sides to my hotel deal is a free trip to the Gellert Baths. If you’re from Nottingham, think Beechdale Baths. If you’re from elsewhere, think about your local council run pool.

Then, have a look at this…

They know how to do pools in Hungary.

Entrance to the baths is via a private door on the first floor of hotel. Guests are encouraged to wear nothing but their swimming gear, with modesty covered only by the hotel bathrobes. After a series of confusing corridors we join the rest of the bathers by the main pool. It’s relaxing enough, but there’s more to come, with two separate thermal pools for men only.


Typically, this is where the Germans aren’t shy. Several blokes don’t bother with trunks, opting instead for a small loin cloth provided by the staff. Proportionately, the larger the gut, the skimpier the attire.

But at least if the views aren’t always a sight for sore eyes, the waters are a tonic for sore muscles. The spas keep a constant temperature of 36 and 40 degrees respectively. After that, for the brave, there’s a hideously hot steam room. And if you really want to feel the benefit, an ice cold plunge pool to round it all off. Although quite what the benefit of having your bits frozen off is still a mystery.

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