Swimming in Thermal Baths: Heavenly or Hot Mess?

Going to a thermal bath/pool was at the top of my list of ‘Switzerland Goals’ this year, and it overlapped quite nicely with our girls’ constant drive to find a pool. Finally, in Locarno near the Swiss border with Italy, I found my opportunity. Even though it was February, the pool was warm (a terrific 95 degrees F), and you could swim to both indoor and outdoor sections of the same pool. The outdoor part had an *amazing* view of Lake Maggiore and the nearby mountains of both Switzerland and Italy. It was the perfect thing to do on a February afternoon that was a bit too cold to spend outside. What I didn’t realize is that what I thought of as the perfect confluence of relaxation and fun, turns out to be my husband’s own personal hell. In retrospect, I can see where our paths diverged.

Now, while my idea of a good time doesn’t require spending a lot of money, I am willing to part with it for special activities. The fact that this adventure cost our family 100 CHF to get in seemed on the pricey side, but worth it for three hours or more of warmth, relaxation and views.

For Barry, the sticker shock left his eyes bulging, only to be further aghast to find out that I thought we could easily spend three hours in this hell-scape.

For me, warm salty water sounds like heaven on my cranky, old-lady hands and tight shoulders. The soothing water lifts me up and relaxes my sore joints.

For him, warm salty water feels like he is being attacked by a smack of enraged jelly fish stinging his shoulders and feet.  He has a few patches of dry, cracked skin, and the salt water is…well…not exactly soothing. (Why doesn’t he put on the lotion that his dermatologist recommended ages ago? thinks his wife. Maybe a re-watch of Silence of the Lambs would be persuasive?)

For me, packing light means not having to hurt my shoulders carrying a heavy bag on the way to my relaxing soak. It also means just two small hand towels: one for me and the girls to share and one for Barry to have luxuriously all to himself.

For Barry, who prefers not to be naked in front of strangers, a single hand towel means having to choose which to cover—his front or back-side in the locker room. I hope he chose wisely.

For me, I’m getting quite used to not knowing what I’m doing. Even though everything was in Italian, it didn’t seem that difficult to find the pool entrance from the locker room—you exit the locker room, go up the stairs, where you then see the pool. There’s a room to the right with some cubbies to put your towel, if you are so lucky to have one, and then you go down the stairs into the pool.

For Barry, the pressure to find the right way in was too much I think. We got tired of waiting by the entrance stairs and started swimming to other parts of the pool to see if he was already in. We didn’t find him in the pool, but we did find him wandering around outside in his swimsuit (in February!) looking for us. I didn’t even know you could get to the outdoor patio this time of year as there was no one else out there.

They don’t let you take pictures in the spa area, but here is the gorgeous view as seen from the Lido right next door.

The girls *love* to swim, so on the train ride there they were very excited. I had to damper expectations a bit as this was not a pool aimed at kids, but rather an adult pool that was very warm with fun waterfalls and caves to explore, but where people mainly went to relax, so we had to be quiet when we were there.

“Do you remember what quiet is?” I asked a bit sarcastically.

“No.” They replied with sarcastic perfection. To which I had to give a proud mama smile. Turns out these kids are not just cute, but also funny.

“Well…if we are too loud or splash too much, they will ask us to leave the pool. Do you think we can talk softly and not splash? We can’t go unless we can do this.”

“Sure, Mom, no problem! We can do it!” They responded with genuine enthusiasm, so I had high hopes, and in the end they actually both did great. It helped a bit that the pool had several signs indicating for people to be “quiet” and “no splashing,” which were accompanied by cartoons the girls understood. (There was also a sign that said “no sex in the pool,” with a cartoon of two people laying on top of each other. So now I’ve got that to explain too…)

After 20 minutes in this awesome pool, the kids let us know that they “were starving” and “might die” if they didn’t receive sustenance “now.” I offered to go get them a pretzel at the snack bar. I was sort of assuming Barry would jump up at this opportunity to leave the hell-pool, but he didn’t, so I left him soaking in one of the hotter pools (102 degrees F). After the pretzel, the kids, in their most give-a-mouse-a-cookie way, obviously then needed some water “before they died of thirst.” I had some in my locker but wasn’t supposed to leave the kids unattended, so I asked Barry to get out of the pool and watch them for a minute. In an optimistic moment, I thought I might even hear something like, “Sure, I could use a break from the pool anyway. I’ll take the kids for a few minutes. Why don’t you just enjoy the thermal soak you’ve been wanting for months on your own for a bit?” What I heard instead was, “I can’t. It’s cold out there and I have a wash-cloth for a towel.” You might be able to imagine what he heard next.

After twenty minutes we got back to the business of floating, playing in the waterfalls and trying out all of the different pools. At first, C was a bit bummed that there wasn’t a part of the pool where she could touch the bottom, but she soon figured out how to swim for a bit and then float to rest, and she really got the hang of it. H had her much-loved floaties on, which she sort of treats like a superhero cape imbuing her with powers of speed and invincibility. We spent a lot of time swimming after her. They both loved it, and we were there for three hours.

In an effort to remove the stinging hell-water at the end of our swim, Barry rinsed off in the locker room. He then spent many very careful minutes trying to dry off with the small hand towel in his shower stall. In an effort to get the last spot on his back dry, he lifted his right elbow directly into the shower button—immediately drenching himself again, this time also soaking his towel. Now the beleaguered Barry must start anew.

“My towel was too small. I hate being naked in front of strangers.” He complains afterwards.

“I love being naked in front of strangers.” I answer.

“Really?”

“No. No one does, you just get over it so that you can swim at an awesome pool.” I respond unhelpfully. “Maybe I don’t think about it as much because I’ve got to get both kids dry and dressed. Also, I had to keep H from going around to all the other naked women and asking them to show her their ‘boo boos’. ”

“She wants to see their bruises?” He asked.

“Boobs, she wants to see their boobs. I’m not totally sure why, but she’s fascinated by them.” Barry’s face is horrified. I continue, “She also asked me why men don’t have boo boos, and why they have a ‘peanuts’ instead. Anyway, my point is that I’ve got bigger fish to fry than to worry about being naked in the locker room for a few minutes.” Barry’s horror continues unmitigated. I’m clearly not helping.

Before we left, there were a few “relaxation rooms” that I wanted to check out and H wanted to go with me to see, but when we got there the signs said “All discussions must be silent.” I didn’t know what a silent conversation looked like exactly (ASL? ESP? Only with googly eyes?), but I kept my musings to myself. H took a different approach, yelling, “WHAT DOES SILENT MEAN? MOM, WHY IS NO ONE TALKING HERE?”

“They are trying to relax.” I whispered in my best impression of someone trying to have a discussion silently, “but I suppose that means very different things to different people.”

***

Barry’s response: I believe my experience, as a reformed germ-a-phobe, with public pools/spas can be summed up best in the form of two haikus:

Pool as warm as pee  

In spa something slimy floats  

Probably just snot

 

Locker room floor slime

Naked old man wants to chat

Is this worth a swim?

“You made it to the top castle! What do you want to do now?”

“Go to the pool!”

“I would rather hold my finger in a hot lava test tube while you made me listen to “The Wheels on the Bus” on perpetual repeat using a magic bracelet to muffle my screams, than go to the pool.” “Too bad, Dad. Mom said we could go to the pool.”

Whose running this show anyway?