Crowded out from the beaches in Balchik, some colleagues and I drove north along the Black Sea coast in search for something less appealing (to package tourists anyway). We soon came upon a short driveway to the sea, but two old men, one wading in the shallows with a fishing net, the other lazing in a shack, nicely indicated that this place was all for them, alone.

Continuing on, we turned right towards one Touzlata (Тузлата, also spelled Tuzlata). A straight driveway lined with tall, green Italian cypress led to a compound. With no proper parking area, visitors put some abandoned, communist-era cabins to good use by parking next to them and under some broad trees to block out some of the sun’s rays.

Situated about four km from Balchik, only about 30 guests had set up beach towels and umbrellas along 100 metres of what passed for a beach. Why so few people became more evident as we stepped from the shingle sand into the water – and onto big slippery and tricky to negotiate rocks. With the waves crashing in, we lost our footing several times, but fortunately the bottom was void of sea urchins. The water sufficiently deep, we began swimming along with some Romanian men. Everyone else just sat around and sunbathed.

As time progressed, the waves grew rougher, so we got out for a rest. But just as we were about to re-enter the sea, a lady next door, in her 50s, cautioned us: “You must be careful… In fact you shouldn’t go in the water. She pointed to a peculiar formation about 20m off shore. It looked like a rip current. “If we got caught in that, you will get trapped, and it will sweep you out…all the way to Cape Kaliakara,” she said gesturing to a jutting piece of land we could barely make out off in the distance. “And don’t expect me to come and rescue you.”

U can touch this
Losing our sense of security, we headed back inland to a murky lagoon, slightly smaller than a football pitch, and set up camp. I had initially been put off by the smell, which I had assumed emanated from untreated sewage. But then middle-aged, middle-class, professional-looking men and women were enjoying themselves in the water. When we inquired of some people sitting on the compact sandy shoreline, they told us that dipping in these waters was perfectly safe, and indeed very healthy due to its high mineral content. So we warily waded in, our feet sinking in as though we had stepped into quicksand, and ventured into the water proper. The odour then went away.

Its source turned out to be the mud that underlined the lagoon’s bottom. Very fine and imbued with salts and sulphur, it is also touted as having medicinal and healing properties. As evidenced, at the far end of this beach stood two men. Look once and they appeared to be wearing ballroom tuxedos. Look again, and they turned out to be wearing only Olympic swimming trunks, the rest of themselves caked in a layer of black-grey muck.

Another coated pair posed in front of us. Introducing themselves as Ivan and Maria, they explained that they come here from their home in Balchik about 10 times a season to dab themselves. “I feel cleansed, refreshed and invigorated after being covered in this mud for a couple of hours,” Ivan said.

They encouraged us to follow their example, and pointed to two large bags of scooped-up mud not far away. So we went over and smeared some on ourselves. It had a very smooth texture, like toothpaste.

Proven effect
Capitalising on the mud and mineral water springs, communist authorities built the Sanatorium and Hospital for Rehabilitation (CBR) Touzlata in 1957, near the lagoon. A recent polio outbreak had served as the main impetus. CBR Touzlata and other facilities proved very effective in combating it, according to a physiotherapist there who said her name so quickly we could not catch it, but she refused to repeat it. “The patients lie in a bath of heated mud, then wash and immerse themselves in spring water or the lagoon,” she explained.

Other disorders that respond well to this treatment include those associated with motor movements, neurology, brain traumas, shoulder dislocations and progressive muscular dystrophy. The facility operates a rehabilitation programme for children with cerebral palsy. But people in Touzlata, which comes from the Turkish word for salt (tuzla), have wallowed in mud since Antiquity. Archaeologists have unearthed the remains of settlements dating back to the Hellenic period not far from the lagoon. And along the plateau overlooking the shore, remnants of a Roman, then later Byzantine fortress have also been found.

Not lunchtime
As I sat in the water’s edge, putting on a snorkel and mask to protect my eyes from the lagoon’s high salt concentration, my body began to feel a sensation akin to descriptions people in Alabama give of encounters with fire ants. Looking down I noticed that a shoal of tiny red brine shrimp had gravitated towards my legs and torso and were making a feast of them. Sensing my bafflement, Mitko, a retired sergeant major, currently working as a security guard at a grain silo, and now swimming, offered me reassurances. “That is very healthy for you.” Not an ardent subscriber of the Law of No Pain, No Gain, I headed off for deeper waters, leaving them to their habitat.

The lagoon would also serve hydrophobics and beginning swimmers well, as it is virtually impossible to drown here, even if one tried, on account of the water’s salinity, which provides excellent buoyancy. Those on a low-sodium diet, though, would be well advised not to dip in too frequently.