I HAD not previously entertained the thought of taking a bath with fifteen naked men and three pre-pubescent boys.
Actually, I don’t believe that thought had ever crossed my mind, not least in any form that aroused the desire to partake. So why was it I had been led, clothes and dignity shed, by my girlfriend’s two best friends – a gay couple – into the aforementioned scene. I couldn’t be excused for dropping my guard on account of the “when in Rome” clause, for actually I was in the heart of Bulgaria, surrounded by the thick of mid-winter snow.
The scene that greeted me shocked my senses. The first impact of the stench of sulphur may have knocked me across the room, would such a trajectory not have placed me in the hairy arms of a soaped up overweight man who left little to the imagination. The beast that stared out from under his soapy layer of fur (or was it a furry layer of soap?), seemed to be enjoying being lathered up and exfoliated by a balding, diminutive elderly gentleman, while the cubicle beside them was occupied with another man performing the same favour for his son. My immediate response was to flee, though in the process my bare feet slipped somewhat on the grimy floor and I found myself causing a sight, trying to maintain balance by wildly gesticulating in an attempt to clutch something firm. I told myself to “act natural”, though I had little idea of what natural behaviour entailed, and any investigation would require me looking at bodies “au naturel”. As I stilled my flailing limbs and inhaled some semblance of composure, I realised that my spectacle had attracted no undue attention from people too obviously involved in their own personal pleasure.
Quickly scuttling my way toward the pool, I slid towards the water with all the grace of a penguin and entered the water, in the hope that this would provide some privacy. However, the water only reached my thigh, and its crystal clearness would not be hiding anything, judging from the clarity with which I was able to gaze on the floor of the bath, which seemed not to have been cleaned since Roman times. I found a bench on which I could sit, though the thought “how many other men’s arses have graced this platform, let alone this water” did little to quell my trembling. Slowly, something about the setting – the tepid water... the humid air...... the muffled echo of voices in an unintelligible language – subdued me and my state of shock subsided.
Drawing breath in deeply, I closed my eyes and relaxed somewhat, floating away to a “happy space” in an act of escapism from dangerous surroundings that would have impressed Houdini. The meditative qualities of the warm thermal spring water gently supported my body, the sulphuric fumes broke through the layers of my inner resistance, and slowly it dawned upon me that my shock was the result of my own personal misgivings. Though the Australian society in which I was raised was proudly tolerant of homosexuality, gay acceptance did not extend to an embrace. Australian men enjoy proving their manliness, yet somehow this logic falls short of exposing their members during mutual bathing, lest somehow their heterosexuality be questioned. My programming immediately had me questioning what kind of man would enjoy spending thirty minutes bathing and a further thirty cleaning, scrubbing, exfoliating, shampooing, and shaving? None of my girlfriends took that long, yet here were 10 men performing this rite in clear view, and offering assistance for those hard-to-reach places.
Gradually it dawned upon me that in a country where good friends greet each other with an embrace and two kisses, bathing together did not seem out of the ordinary. Indeed, a Sunday outing to the bath seemed a delightful custom, part of the glue of social fabric, providing for some winter community activity in much the same way Lawn Bowls might. There was something special about the father-son bonding occurring, something pampering about taking a bath here – at the cost of $1 it was hardly indulgent. The waters of Banya, Bulgaria, are renowned for their healing properties, and people come from miles around to partake in a long standing historic and deservedly loved custom.
The men here recognised the value of giving themself some care, the importance of feeling good about themselves, taking pride in their health and cleanliness, with a similar effect on their mental well-being. It also provided an opportunity to discuss business in an exclusive men’s club, and enjoy a place where you were accepted without judgment of the clothes you wore, in recognition that underneath we’re all remarkably the same. My inhibitions melted away, following closely behind discarded prejudices. Feeling somewhat lighter, I lay back in blissful enjoyment, forgetting myself, and the state of inner peace that arose soon had me forgetting I was floating exposed. I waved gentle motions under the water, enjoying the sensation on my skin, breathing rhythmically and soaking up the experience, not in the least concerned by the sight of naked men involved in a healthy communal rite. Grateful for the layer of thermal insulation that protected my body from the car’s frosty interior, I became aware that the baths had had a healing effect on me too – not on body, but in my mind.