Part of it was the architecture:
But the big draw was the baths. We chose a hotel on Margaret Island because of its spa built into the premises, fed by natural hot springs. Once my luggage arrived, I didn't miss a day to take the waters both for a soak and for a sip from the supposedly healing wellspring of sulfuric bubbles. (A word to the wise: they do cleanse.)
While there, I mimicked the locals, alternately dipping in hot and then cold, and trying out what seemed to be a popular amusement: standing on the floor jets and letting them blast upward from ankle to armpit. These foot springs were in high demand, and one had to politely wait in the wings for a spot to open and, also, just as politely, not dominate one for an extended period.
Though I lament not visiting more, we did make it to one other bath while there: the famous Gellert Baths. These were segregated between men and women, and because of the excessive and not at all lovely nudity, I took only one shot of its spectacular architecture—the view of the stained glass ceiling from my changing room:
In these bitter, dry winter months, I am longing for these rejuvenating baths and wondering why, why they are not in every city center. Surely, we would be a much more civilized people if they were.
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