My german grandmother never liked to talk about the past, but her eyes always lit up whenever I asked her about Baden-Baden. This elegant spa town in southern Germany, just a short drive from the French border, was the only place in her forsaken fatherland that she ever spoke about revisiting; in occupied Hamburg just after World War II, she'd fallen in love with a British officer and followed him back to Britain. "We'll go back together," she used to tell me, but we both knew it would never happen. She said she was too old to travel, but I believe the real reason was that she was afraid-afraid to be reminded of what she'd left behind.
After she died, I did go to Baden-Baden, and I too fell in love with it. Hidden in a lush green valley, shielded by the dark wooded hills of the Black Forest, it felt like a relic of those halcyon days she used to talk about, before the Third Reich, before the war. The town is stately yet sedate, with a grandeur quite out of keeping with its compact size. Incredibly, it is home to many of the country's superlatives: its best hotel, biggest opera house, most opulent casino.
The reason for such affluent development in this small, unprepossessing town, and what has always drawn visitors here, is Baden-Baden's thermal springs. The Celts came first, before the birth of Christ, followed by the Romans, who were lured by the promise of the water's healing powers-or simply by the prospect of some rest and recreation. After the collapse the man Empire, the wider world forgot about Baden-Baden until the beginning of the 19th century, when bathing in hot, smelly mineral water (and even drinking it) became fashionable again. Aristocrats from all over Europe came to partake, and a flamboyant resort sprang up around Baden-Baden's antique bathhouses and drinking fountains.
Diese Geschichte stammt aus der November 2022-Ausgabe von Condé Nast Traveler US.
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Diese Geschichte stammt aus der November 2022-Ausgabe von Condé Nast Traveler US.
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SHAILENE WOODLEY on FIJI
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