A little bit ironic...

Among the many fantastic experiences of my German wine tour was the opportunity to visit a giant bath house. The town where I stayed was a bit rough around the edges, but the BÄDERHAUS was a veritable oasis. Multiple saunas at varying temperatures and levels of humidity surround a large pool where people can just bob around and soak in the relaxing vibe. Ideal, right? But for me the record scratches at "co-ed" and "nude". I admit I am an outgoing person in most ways, but I am exceptionally shy, and the thought of lounging (and sweating) next to droves of German men did not appeal to me. Lying the in the Turkish Hamam room, I talked myself down and realized that a number of things were on my side

1) I will never see any of these people again
2) Most of these people are older-by about 30 years
3) None of these men are really attractive really, so who cares?

By the second visit I was confident that I was invisible and thought nothing of tossing off my bathrobe and running into the Ice Grotto (basically a giant Snoopy Sno-Cone machine made to look like a cave with ice shavings. Quite incredible after baking in the 90 degree Celsius dry tank). In fact, there were a few times when I thought that the robe was just a pain in the ass, and I would just wear it like a cape to the next station on my circuit. Like a boxer stepping into the ring if a boxer wore white waffled cotton robes.

So increased was my comfort in this situation, that when sitting in the whirlpool, I actually beckoned the tall young male employee in little white short shorts over to ask when the whirling would begin again. I was in the pool with my travel partner looking up at the bespectacled German youth who was quite animatedly explaining the schedule, when suddenly I realized with horror that he was actually quite handsome. Looking up into his aquamarine eyes (they could have been grey, but simply reflecting the blue of the unwhirling water I was in), I took in his perfect features-tan toned arms, smooth skin marred only by a small wispy moustache that was the same sunshiney blonde of his hair. Had I not just emerged from the lavender room (60 degrees Celsius) he would have surely seen me blush. It was the most vulnerable I had felt in at least a decade, and it was not fun. Luckily, seconds after this happened, the water started to roil and froth and we joked and laughed and he walked away so I could slowly dunk my head under the water and scream.