Birthday Suit

I’ve always found it a little frustrating to spend time at saunas or spas that require you to wear a bathing suit at all times.

Like, I get it, privacy and all that. But when I’m lounging in a hot tub or sweating in a steam room, I’d almost always rather be naked.

Luckily, my new home in Italy puts me in a region with more liberal sauna traditions. And for my birthday last month, I spent a weekend in a delightful mountain town known it’s for naturist (read: nude) thermal baths.

Well, technically, the town is known for the huge spa complex in general, but there just so happens to be a sizable wing where textiles are banned, and men and women gather to let it all hang out.

Girls, I’m not talking about a “clothing optional” situation. As I walked by different spaces—saunas, Turkish baths, jacuzzis, cold plunges—I was greeted constantly with warnings that bathing suits were strictly prohibited. Shortly after arriving, I witnessed the staff literally reprimanding a couple who were not naked. And rightfully so! The spa has a whole other textile-friendly wing for the shy among us.

So there I was, wearing nothing but a bathrobe and sandals, scanning my options. I popped into a steam room and an outdoor pool (the air was around 60 degrees Fahrenheit in winter, lolsob) before queuing for the main event: The aufguss.

If you’ve never heard of aufguss (I hadn’t either until very recently), let me explain. I and about 30 other eager spa-goers file into a huge sauna with three levels of wood-slat seats. We arrange ourselves, naked, atop our towels. In front of us is a huge square rock stove, tended by an aufgussmeister—a sort of master of ceremony.

With everyone settled in, the event begins. Pop music starts playing over the speakers, and our MC drops snowballs and ladles full of water over the rocks. The embedded essential oils sizzle into the air and infuse the space with a gorgeous aroma of lavender or rosemary or finocchio (I kid you not!).

The aufgussmeister, himself wearing nothing but a loincloth, grabs a large towel and starts twirling it above the rocks, swooshing the warm(er) air in our direction. He continues like this, moving along the perimeter of the sauna, wafting heated air onto every one of us in turn.

I’d never felt anything quite like the sensation of receiving such a gust of warmth. The only way I can describe it is like a wave of heat—a wave just as a palpable as those in the ocean. Each time I received one, my whole body tingled. It was almost a little a painful, but I found myself wanting more.

After three rounds of this (each one with a new song and a new deposit of snowballs), we are released from the sauna, which lets out onto the outdoor pool area. Absolutely drenched in sweat, we all make a desperate dash for the line of shower heads that douse us in cold water.

And then, in the ultimate act of self-inflicted pain, I dive into the cold plunge pool. I last less than a minute there before I make a break for my bathrobe.

The collective impact of these temperature acrobatics is, indeed, a deep feeling of relaxation. The second time I do this, I emerge feeling almost drunk; by the time I land on a lounge chair and close my eyes, my head is absolutely spinning. As I cool down, I drift into a heavy, satisfying daze.

The aufguss happen every hour, and I go to most of them throughout the day. In between, I lounge naked in the (obscenely warm) winter sun, or curl up for a short nap, or dip into the (normal temperature) pool.

But the steam room, I discover, is the site of even more delights.

This will probably come as little surprise to the gays reading, but I (perhaps naively) was not expecting much spice in this space. The baths were pretty firmly in the “naturist” tradition. I had heard rumors that there were some shenanigans that could take place in the steam room, but I’m not sure I totally believed them.

I was, however, going to find out for myself.