In literature and lore, the idea “taking the waters” sounds incredibly glamorous. Go to any spa town in the Czech Republic and the first thing they’ll show you is a long list of luminaries – tsars, emperors, kings, philosophers, poets, composers – who spent time luxuriating in the resort’s special treatments and healing waters. Even American writer Mark Twain was intrigued. He travelled in the summer of 1891 to Marienbad, the most famous resort of its day. (The contrarian Twain didn’t enjoy it much – calling it a “health factory.”)
At my Teplice spa, Beethoven (naturally) was the world-historical patient plastered all over the promotional materials. The composer stayed here on two occasions, in 1811 and 1812, and even worked on the early structure for what would later become his Ninth Symphony. The symphony’s final movement "Ode to Joy" now serves as the anthem of the European Union.
Beethoven wasn’t the only illustrious patient to heal at Teplice. During his 1812 stay, Beethoven famously met the German writer Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. The two spent several days together but apparently didn’t get along very well. Beethoven saw himself as more of a rebel, while Goethe was always a bit too deferential to the aristocracy. Habsburg Emperor Franz Josef I stayed at the spa at least five times, including in 1847, the year before he assumed the imperial crown at the young age of 18.
Those glory days, of course, are long gone and I had no grandiose illusions going in. The modern concept of a medical spa is strange admixture of leisure-class resort with the humdrum innards of a standard local polyclinic. On the outside, it’s all cream cakes and classical concerts in the park. On the inside, it’s more about lymphatic drainage and gas injections. I was there simply to heal my muscles, and in this respect my sojourn at the Beethoven really did help me.
What struck me most about the experience (this is more a feature than a bug) was not how exciting the experience was, but rather just the opposite: how refreshingly mundane, every-day and boring it turned out to be. The hours between the daily prescribed health procedures were so devoid of content that I started to believe that all the enforced downtime must be part of the healing process itself.
During my stay, I could actually feel the effect take hold. At the beginning, my mind raced with ideas for how best I could use my free time (maybe write a symphony?). After a few days, those impulses gradually weakened and disappeared altogether. This creeping somnambulism was magnified by the daily contrasts of hot baths and cool air, between electromagnetic therapy sessions and the absence of any stimulation at all. I was slowly, blissfully transformed into a zombie, perched somewhere between awake and asleep.
For anyone planning their own spa stay, here’s a few pointers on what to expect (and what to pack):
Arrive early (9am) for check-in on your first day. I actually spent the night before at a separate hotel (the “Richmond”) in Teplice so that I could report to the spa bright and early the next day. Aside from getting your room assignment, you’ll be sent to the nurses for a cursory health check (temperature, pulse rate, blood pressure) and then on to the spa doctor for a more thorough exam and to determine which treatments would best help you to recover.
The doctor’s recommendations are then crunched by the spa’s algorithm, which then spits out a personalized treatment schedule that you pick up at the reception desk a few hours later. This treatment sched is all-important. Not only does it govern every minute of your waking life for the next two weeks, but it also serves as your de facto ID to show each therapist before a session can start. You’ll quickly learn (as I did) to bring it everywhere (and not to leave back in the room).
The busiest parts of the day are mornings, when you typically have three or more treatments. After lunch, the pace slows down. You might get one therapy session. The rest of the afternoon you’re free to go to the spa’s big swimming pool (or nap – as I did on many days). Because of my particular condition, myopathy, most of my treatments revolved around water: a mix of water-jet massages and hot baths. To stimulate the muscles, they tossed in lots of electromagnetic treatments, where you recline on a bed and magnetic waves are beamed into your muscles. They also assigned plenty of red-light therapy, where you sit in a chair and a flickering red light is aimed at whatever problem you’re trying to fix.
As for what to pack, bring at least one extra bath towel (the spa’s own towels are thin and not very effective at drying your skin). Two bathing suits are also a good idea (one to use and one to dry out). House slippers (like Crocs) that go on easily and can get wet are super practical.
A comfy robe (spa fashion calls for white, but any color will do) is a must. Robes are the garment of choice for prowling the hallways between sessions and for slipping over a bathing suit when rushing between treatments. The only place robes are not welcome is the dining room. I learned this the hard way as I ducked in one morning for a quick breakfast before my first hydro-massage. I knew I’d overstepped the moment I saw the disapproving look in the dining manager’s eyes. She tried to phrase it delicately but it was still painful to hear:
Manager: Mr. Baker, I hope you can understand, but it would be highly uncomfortable for the other guests to see you in your robe.
Me: But, but, but, they see me every day…
Beethoven himself couldn’t have gotten by her in a robe that morning.
Once inside the dining room, the food was better than I dared hope. My expectations were low going in. Anyone who’s ever spent time in a Czech hospital knows that no one goes for the food. I’d been expecting something on par with a high school cafeteria but the quality (at least at my spa) was much higher.
The dining room was divided into two sections. One section was reserved for patients supported by Czech state-run health insurance companies. Diners here had to reserve their meal times in advance and were served set menus. The other section, the one I ate in, was reserved for self-payers. Instead of set menus, we were offered a daily buffet and could choose whatever we wanted.
I’m not sure which one was better, but I certainly appreciated the freedom to choose my own meals. The men and women who doled out the food behind the counters were invariably jolly and eager to sell you on the roast pork or chicken wings or beef stew or whatever else they were ladling out at that particular meal.
My dining section was made up primarily of foreign guests (judging from language and appearance, mainly Germans, Russians and visitors from the Middle East). Probably for that reason, the strict Czech culinary rules that traditionally govern which side dishes can be paired with which main courses had apparently been tossed out the window. I witnessed pairings that would be inconceivable in a typical Prague restaurant.
Want some gravy with your schnitzel? No problem!
How about a dumpling with that chicken breast?
The unexpected whiff of culinary anarchy felt liberating.
The star of my stay was probably the city of Teplice itself. It’s a painful admission for someone who writes about Czechia for a living, but I’d spent very little time here over the years. I think I must have been subconsciously brainwashed by reports from the 1980s and ‘90s that the far north of the country was still scarred from the destructive policies of the former communist regime. That view now strikes me as out of date.
Teplice, in fact, is a very pretty city, with gardens, ponds, fountains, gazebos, cafes, historic architecture and lots of parks, where spa patients and locals co-mingle from bench to bench. The tiny historic square has a stately town palace and even an impressively tall trinity column designed by the eminent baroque sculptor, Matthias Braun.
Aside from Beethoven and Goethe and an arm’s length of Habsburg royals who stayed here over the centuries, some serious world history went down in Teplice as well. As I casually strolled the main square one afternoon, I noticed a plaque on a nondescript building along the periphery of the square. I was shocked when I read it. In this very house, in the autumn of 1813, the Austrian Emperor Franz I, Russian Tsar Alexander 1 and Prussian King Frederick William Ill all sat down together to form an alliance in the wake of Napoleon’s rise in France.
It was the stuff of history books. And to think just a few meters away, earlier that day, I’d been relaxing in my carbonic bath.
Did you like the story and want to add your own experiences? Or maybe help me to correct something I didn’t get right? Write me at bakermark@fastmail.fm.
(Scroll past the map to see more photos of Teplice.)
What a pleasure it was to read this article. My doctor prescribed a visit to the spa after I had a serious illness, and the deep rest and treatments really helped my recovery. Besides it was, at three weeks, the longest vacation I had ever had, and the first time I never needed to cook, clean, shop or take care of anyone or anything. I’m glad it helped you too.
A few differences:,At my hotel, guests arrived on Sunday afternoon and had the doctor visit then, and treatments began the next morning. Bathrobes, slippers and good towels included. Unlimited pool use ( small pool!) and entrance to a nearby aqua park. Our meals were table service and we had a choice of three entrees with each three course meal.
I paid extra for the better hotel. Otherwise, the insurance would have paid for a two star hotel with a roommate assigned by the insurance company, something that would likely have made me worse.