Note: this post has been on hold for months. I've neglected the blog, and probably spent too much time giving regular photo-journals on Bluesky. Next entry will be a cursory summing-up of other wonders.
Spa-visiting was one thing we didn't do on a first visit to Baden-Baden. I wasn't so keen on the town then: the weather wasn't great, and the Rosenkavalier we saw, on the invitation of friend Peter Rose (obviously I wasn't reviewing), disappointed, despite Peter's Ochs and Anna Prohaska's Sophie: Brigitte Fassbaender's production missed just about every mark, Anja Harteros, a soprano I love, was a bit underengaged as the Marschallin, Rattle and the Berlin Phil seemed not to know the score very well, and Lady R, Magdalena Kožená, couldn't cope with Octavian, a bad case of overparting.
This year, though I travelled alone, everything worked. The concerts and opera amounted to a total triumph, with an introduction to the fabulous Joana Mallwitz. I wrote about it all, verging on the ecstatic, for The Arts Desk. Noticed far fewer Russians this, though it was amusing to encounter the casino habitues on an evening where the sensational Mahler Chamber Orchestra soloists were performing in the xx hall; and there were two days of warmth and sunshine.
On the last of them, there were no daytime concerts, so I had plenty of time to walk around and outside the town. I headed, with trunks, to the very handsome Friedrichsbad, a neo-Renaissance bathing temple completed by architect Karl Dernfeld in 1877 following the ban on gambling in German towns and cities.
What was the casino haven celebrated or denigrated by Dostoyevsky as 'Roulettenburg' in The Gambler to do? Go back to its Roman roots, of course, as a spa centre, taking the thermal water from a source in the Florentinerberg above. The remains of Roman baths were found here, and relics like this relief of Mithras are to be found in the entrance hall.
I turned up, only to find that it was bathing in the buff only, as it is on all but the occasional morning. Out of the question because of my stoma. No go, said the grim concierge. Might I just take a look at the Caracalla-modelled main bathing hall? No. This is a generic picture of what I missed.
There was nothing for it but to succumb to the modern baths over the way. Close to this site was another bathing emporium, for women only to balance the men's inner sanctum, the Augustabad, opened in 1893. Sadly it fell into disrepair and was pulled down in the disgraceful early 1960s. So now we have the sparkling new Caracalla Baths.
Everything about it is state of the art - the smart changing rooms, the variety of pools, the amount of light (again I wouldn't have wanted to intrude with photography once inside, so here's another tourist-board shot).
From warm to hot, I ended up in the cold pool, true to my more usual habit of immersing in sea water the year round. I'd recommend the whole experience to anyone, expensive though it is. You could well spend half a day here, and the grounds are rather fine too.
Nearby is the beautifully restored and, though small, various late-Gothic Spitalkirche, the Old Catholic Church since the late 19th century. Very little information is to be found about the furnishings, but I eventually discovered that the late Gothic choir stalls were created in 1512 by Hans Kern from Pforzheim, and came from the much grander Stiftskirche five minutes' walk away.
The outside monument is a stone group depicting Christ praying on the Mount of Olives, erected in 1422 and with later additions.
After revisiting the Stiftskirche the previous afternoon, I climbed the paths in the sloping gardens to get good views of the church and town
and stopped on the way back at the marvellously-situated cafe for a fruit cocktail.
Plans for a longer walk around the edge of the Black Forest were curtailed, but I had a good enough shady tree walk on Easter Monday. Here, heading back down the hill close to the centre of town. Spring had truly sprung.
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