Following a Path to Healing in Germany’s Storied Spa Towns

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 of the Roman 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.

Around the same time, dozens of other spa towns throughout Germany began to flourish. The country was booming then: The advent of the railways made international travel easier and more affordable, and the newly moneyed bourgeoisie had time on its hands and cash to spend. There's no boom under way just now, but after the interminable slog of COVID-19, including my own bout with the virus, the restorative promise of these places beckoned to me.

Aachen, four and a half hours by train from London, was the first to call out. Today it's a busy commuter town, near both the Dutch and Belgian borders, but at one time it was the center of the Western world. Founded by the Romans, it was revived in the Dark Ages by Emperor Charlemagne, who crowned it the capital of his European empire. (He also enjoyed a good soak.)

During World War II, Aachen was the first German city to fall to the invading Allies, but only after a fierce street battle, of which it still bears the scars. Yet the Altstadt, or Old Town, is charming, a cluster of gingerbread houses and cobbled alleyways, like a scene from a Grimm's fairy tale. Usually thronged with tourists, it was quiet as I wandered around—still slowly, reluctantly awakening from the specter of the pandemic, I realized, the latest siege in its long history.

At Carolus Thermen, the sprawling bathhouse complex in Aachen's leafy Stadtpark, whose waters Charlemagne once relied upon to soothe his rheumatism, the soft cascade of rushing water was punctuated by the trill of voices. It had been busy the last time I visited, but tonight it was even more so, and the clientele seemed younger: teenagers and 20-somethings—flirting, gossiping, having fun. The Romans would have felt perfectly at home here today, I thought. After all, the bathhouse may be new, but human nature hasn't changed. Then, as now, people came for a bit of exercise—but mainly to meet up with friends, to catch up on the local news. And today's daily report was much the same as it would have been then: “Did you see who so-and-so was out with the other night?” the teens chattered. “I don't know what she sees in him!”

Suitably refreshed, I strode back beneath an inky black sky to my quarters at the Parkhotel Quellenhof, a tremendous early-20th-century monument to Prussian hubris, commandeered as a military hospital for the Luftwaffe during World War II and now a smart hotel with a spa. In the morning, my vim intact, I caught a train south to Wiesbaden.

Like Aachen, Wiesbaden was founded by the Romans, but its subsequent history is very different. An obscure backwater during the Middle Ages, it became a boomtown in the 1800s, when spa towns were the go-to resorts for the upper classes. As I wandered along its lonely avenues, I felt the legacy of that lost golden age hanging heavy all around me: colonnades and fountains; broad boulevards lined with austere villas—the remnants of an era that vanished forever in World War I.

The palatial Kurhaus, home to the town's casino, is one such ornate artifact. Frequently the main building in these places, the Kurhaus—quite literally, the cure-house—often combines casino, restaurant, banqueting hall, and sometimes Trinkhalle, or drinking fountain, though generally not actual baths. This one was where Dostoyevsky lost all his money, a calamity that inspired his dark novella The Gambler. “I sit brooding in this melancholy little town,” he wrote, “and how melancholy the little towns of Germany can be!”

Wiesbaden came through World War II relatively unscathed, and today it's a bustling city, full of stylish shops and suave restaurants. Consequently, the original spa stuff is a bit obscured. After a little while, I found the Kaiser-Friedrich-Therme. Built in 1913, the bathhouse is a perfect period piece, an exquisite example of fin de siècle decor.

As in a lot of traditional bathhouses in Germany, bathing suits are verboten, which takes some getting used to. At first it feels odd, mingling with men and women in the nude, but after a while you become accustomed to it and realize no one cares. The first time I stripped off in one of these places, I felt terribly self-conscious—but I was younger then, and still worried about what other people might think of me. This time, I felt more relaxed. Now, portly and middle-­aged, I was invisible. Nobody paid me any attention. I'd become a sort of ghost.

The next morning, after another ride south, I emerged in Baden-Baden. I'd reserved a room at Brenners, my favorite hotel in Germany. It's a place that never seems to change, rather like the town itself, which has remained virtually untouched by the catastrophes of the last century. From the sunlit dining room, you look out across Lichtentaler Allee, a tree-lined park where women in fur coats walk their dachshunds. Although my grandmother died 20 years ago, I could picture her among them. We got along well, but there was something inscrutable, unknowable about her. When she left Germany after World War II, she shut the book on the first part of her life, and nothing I said could persuade her to open it again. Vacationing in Baden-Baden was one of the few things she was prepared to talk about.

Crossing the hotel park after dinner, I came upon the casino. Festooned with mirrors and chandeliers and dripping with gold leaf, it's even more extravagant than the one in Wiesbaden. You can see why Marlene Dietrich called it the most beautiful casino in the world. Dostoyevsky came here too, so Baden-Baden claims credit for The Gambler, but the spa town in his book is called Roulettenburg, which I reckon is a mixture of Wiesbaden and Baden-Baden.

Its gilded trappings still glinting in my imagination, I took the waters of Brenners's Caracalla Spa later that night, propelling myself through a narrow tunnel and into an outdoor pool. It was dark, but I could still make out the silhouette of the wooded hills high above. The air was cold and minty, and steam was rising from the warm water. I was surrounded by people of all ages, all looking so happy, so contented. “I left my rheumatism in Baden-Baden,” wrote Mark Twain. “Baden-Baden is welcome to it.”

How to explore Germany's spa towns

Aachen

Where to stay: A place with a powerful sense of history, the Parkhotel Quellenhof Aachen is being revived by the team behind Berlin's Adlon Hotel. It's a work in progress, but this iconic landmark has a bright future.

Where to eat: The cozy Goldener Schwan Brauhaus and Zum Goldenen Einhorn both serve classic German dishes in classic Germanic settings.

What to see: Aachen's castle-like Rathaus, or town hall, is stunning—especially the UNESCO-protected Aachener Dom, a ninth-century cathedral that dazzles with its intricate mosaics.

Where to bathe: Fed by Aachen's thermal springs, the Carolus Thermen houses eight indoor and outdoor pools at different temperatures, plus a range of saunas and steam rooms.

Wiesbaden

Where to stay: Founded in 1813, the Hotel Nassauer Hof is one of Germany's oldest and finest hotels, with an intimate, informal ambience that belies its august heritage.

Where to eat: Benner's Bistronomie is a chic bistro in a prime location in the city's historic Kurhaus.

What to see: Museum Wiesbaden contains a sublime Art Nouveau collection and a fine array of paintings by Alexej von Jawlensky, the Russian artist who made his home here. The Jugendstil wing is an artwork in its own right.

Where to bathe: Kaiser-Friedrich-Therme has a dozen different stations—luminarium, frigidarium, sudatorium, tepidarium—that allow guests to alternate between hot and cold, dry and humid. The place has hardly changed since it opened, on the eve of World War I.

Baden-Baden

Where to stay: Brenners Park-Hotel & Spa is among the most renowned of German hotels, with the understated elegance of a stately English home. The adjoining Villa Stéphanie is one of Europe's most exclusive private spas.

Where to eat: Rizzi the Restaurant serves good-quality European cuisine in a lively, convivial setting. It's what Germans call a “Treffpunkt,” a place to meet up with friends.

What to see: Survey cutting-edge contemporary art on the site of the Museum Frieder Burda, housed in a sleek and airy gallery designed by legendary architect Richard Meier.

Where to bathe: The Caracalla Spa is a world-class bathhouse with hot- and cold-water grottoes, a brine-inhalation room, and aromatic steam baths.

This article appeared in the November 2022 issue of Condé Nast Traveler. Subscribe to the magazine here.