The Gellert Hotel Spa is renowned as the ultimate spa
destination in Hungary. Here's a first hand account of the
Gellert experience.
Gellert Hotel Spa
While in Budapest, everyone kept saying I hadn't experience
Hungary until I had a spa. According to my newfound friends, "a
spa" meant the Gellert Hotel Spa.
Being a macho American male, I had dragged an American girl I
met on the train with me to the spa. The purported purpose, of
course, was chivalry and introducing her to an experience she
would never forget. After paying $2 each, my bluff was called.
Women and men were separated for the treatments. I was alone and
didn't speak a word of the language!
Once separated, I was sent into a large room with what appeared
to be a few hundred dressing rooms. An attendant looked up from
a desk, said something in Hungarian, slapped a piece of cloth in
my hand and pointed to a dressing room.
In the dressing room, I prepared to change only to realize the
cloth was no more than a string and a 2 x 2 inch square of
cotton. For those anatomically challenged, the string went
around your waste and the cloth hung in front. At this point,
there was only one thing to do. Chant the traveler mantra, "Ah,
what the heck. I'll never see any of these people again."
Outside the dressing room, I proceeded to immediately stand
around, try to look casual and see what the locals were doing.
This was a bit difficult as I was the only person in the room.
Eventually a local showed up, changed and headed down a hall. I
followed and hoped he didn't notice.
At the end of the hall, we walked through two giant pools. The
walls were painted in baroque styles, the steps into the pools
were marble and the whole place was impressive. I nearly let my
loincloth slide up.
After the pools, we approached a room that looked remarkably
more industrial. There was a line out the door and I dutifully
joined it behind my guide. After a few moments, we rounded the
door and I saw something I did not expect. Eight loincloth clad
men like myself were lying on metal tables. Large male masseuses
were standing over them. They would slap them about, spray them
with garden hoses, slap them about and repeat as necessary. This
wasn't the massage I was anticipating, but I sure as heck wasn't
getting out of line. That would be to embarrassing!
After a few moments, it was my turn to jump up on a table. My
"masseuse" looked at me and said, "Americanski?" I nodded. He
grinned. And the beating began. A Hungarian/Turkish massage
reminded me of the movie "Rocky." In Rocky, the lead character
pounds on sides of meat to get ready for his fight. In the case
of the massage, I was the side of meat. It didn't hurt, but it
wasn't exactly relaxing.
After a few moments of tenderizing, I was lifted off the table
and sent flying through the air. As time slowly passed, I noted
this hadn't happened to any of the men who went before me. I
also noted the limestone and marble material used in the walls.
Just as I started panicking, I splashed down into a pool to the
sound of laughter. While I was trying to decide if I should
laugh or be enraged, my body started sending its own signals. I
was in a pool of what had to be the coldest water on the planet
earth. I am talking Antarctica kind of cold.
Leaping out of the pool, the men in the room gave me a standing
ovation accompanied by hunched over, gasping laughter. Now I
knew Hungary.
Well, when in Rome...err, Budapest.
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