What does molestation cost now in the post Cold-War era?

Every vacation needs a day of rest and relaxation – a pampering spa day if possible. We elected to spend our day of indulgence in the Eastern European city of Budapest; world renown for its bath houses…what better place to soak in culture and history all the while enjoying a good soak. We departed on an early morning train from Vienna and arrived in oppression shortly there after. Stepping off the train was almost like stepping back in time. The cold war has been over for many years yet the city that we saw still looked as if it had been painted with a fresh coat of communism. I am not making reference here to the political scene, of which I have no authority on, but to the buildings and the faces of the people. Every person I saw had a harsh look to them, as if they were aged beyond their years. I felt a twinge of guilt now about complaining about having to get up early to make our train – it looks as though many of these people hadn’t had a good sleep in 20 years.

One thing I love to see when I travel is the mixture of familiar and foreign. Here in this train station I saw the familiar sights of commuters rushing to make their train and drunks begging for money. Next to all that was a competitive chess game being played on one of the platforms while the participants were eagerly cheered on by onlookers.

We decided to see the city on our way to the Széchenyi Bath house on foot, unlike other European cities we had visited so far, Budapest was dreary. This is not intended to be a negative review for I quite liked the city itself, just a reflection…it was different then the crowded café lined streets of Paris or the jovial sidewalk feel of Munich. Different, that is what travel is all about. A large part of the bleakness can be explained away by the fact that it was February and there are few places north of the equator that look pleasing in February.

Located in a city park, the Széchenyi Bath house is an absolutely amazing building. Regal in appearance and painted a cheery yellow it would be hard to miss. The foyer was a mixture of tile mosaics and gilded gold. I had read about the bath on many different travel sites but was still taken away by how impressive it was. After another charade filled episode of trying to communicate with the staff on what services we would like, we finally made it into the tub.

Saying tub is a bit on an insult however. There are many, many different tubs/pools of hot water to choose from, all cleverly signed in Hungarian. Kate spent a full ten minutes in the first bath and then bolted for the change room after seeing an mysterious piece of flesh floating by her. Caitlin’s biggest annoyance was the upfront gawking by the men at her chest. In North America a guy would steal a glance and then try and look as though he didn’t just get caught. Apparently in Hungary it’s okay to stare slack jawed and even point. It took a lot to keep my hot tempered sister from clawing her Hungarian admirer’s eyes out. Opting to ignore the stares of others, my sister and I took full advantage of the steam room, sauna and hot petri dish like pools before discovering the grandest tub of all…the outdoor tub.

This bath, the largest medicinal bath in all of Europe, is fed by two hot springs that keep the water spectacularly warm while the crisp February air keeps you refreshed. The drastic temperature change means that you move through this pool surrounded constantly by mist. I felt like an explorer as I glided around the pool discovering fountains and groups of old men playing chess, all surrounded by puffs of steam. It was the most magical site you can imagine that includes an architecturally stunning building, fountains, vivid aqua water and old wrinkly people in bathing suits.

All relaxed from our soak, we decided that it was time to have the past two weeks of sleeping on poor hostel beds and the floors of trains massaged away by strong handed Hungarians. Thoughts of my last massage at spa Nordstrom drifted though my head as I met my masseuse, Kolos. Kolos is a large, large, muscular man who looks as though he could one-handedly behead me. He motions, and I won’t go into detail how, to me that I should get FULLY undressed and lie under the sheet. I am not sure what the sheet is for as Kolos reenters the room and immediately pulls it off and proceeds to oil me up. Then he starts rubbing and kneading me, and not gently, more like the way an NFL linebacker would I imagine. It’s clear from our initial interaction that Kolos and I are not going to be able to communicate, which is fine as I don’t like to chat during a massage. It does however become a problem when Kolos starts to work on areas that do not require and massaging. I signed up for the general massage where the masseuse will ascertain your tense areas and work the muscles in that region. I figured my shoulders and neck would be taking most of the abuse. Who would have ever thought that my ass looked so stressed out?

Kolos stood by after the massage was done, while I got dressed with this little lopsided grin on his face. I politely thanked him, paid him and then left. As we enjoyed a few train beers heading back to Vienna, I, while trying not to sit on my rather tender buttocks, reflected upon the day I had just experienced…I saw my first post-cold was city, probably contracted some sort of communicable disease from the warm communal water with questionable health regulations and then paid a man to feel me up. P.S. the answer to the title…$8.50 with tip.
(There are two pictures in this posting that I cannot take credit for...my travel cohorts and I had a strict no cameras and bathing suits in the same area rule.)