A Sauna in West Berlin

Do you recognize the phrase, “Kein Schweiz auf Holz”?

If so, you have probably visited a German sauna. For the uninitiated, it translates as “No Sweat on the Wood”.

I perform stand up comedy, so my embarrassment threshold is high. But that wasn’t always the case.

I came upon a sign with those words in 1986 in West Berlin. I was 17 and staying with a family as part of a language exchange programme. And for years, I have held to the mantra that what happened in Berlin should stay in Berlin.

The family I was placed with was close-knit, quick to laugh and over-friendly: Mum, a Hausfrau, Dad a policeman and Claudia, my exchange partner who like me was a 17 year old school girl. On my first evening in Berlin, they poured me a beer and showed me their family photo album. I’m from the UK, so this wasn’t my first alcoholic beverage, but it was the first time someone showed me pictures of their naked parents. The extremely good-looking mother feigned embarrassment at the flattering pictures of her unclothed, in a garden, eating sausages. I felt like this was some sort of test of how to react. I suspect I just gave a hesitant smile and waited for the next page of photos.

Berlin was a shock to the system. In 1986, the Cold War was grim and ever present. From my German bedroom I could see one of the 200 watchtowers that were spaced across the city wall. In other words, a hundred metres from where I was supposed to sleep, there was a 19 year old conscripted soldier with a gun, who saw me as the enemy. In the sombre shadow of the wall, West Berlin was determined to be a city that knew how to celebrate freedom. So, whilst the history and horrors of the city were documented, there was a resolute frivolity in the cafés, bars and shops. Educational aspects of the trip included holocaust memorials, the Brandenburg Gate and a tour of the Rathaus Schöneberg in John-F-Kennedy-Platz.

But, I promised you saunas.

As part of the night life experience, Claudia took me to an outdoor ice rink, the cinema and a basement night club. She also took me,one evening, to the swimming baths. I’m not the world’s best swimmer, but I love a good pool and this one was excellent. Back in Sheffield, I had never even seen a water slide. This had water slides and tunnels, you could swim from the indoors to the outdoors, there were fountains and a wave machine. It was a brave new world.

Claudia had arranged the trip with some of her classmates, who I noted were all male, including one who also had an English exchange student. I don’t remember his name (which is just as well), but let’s call him Tommy. You could tell who were the English students. We were about a foot shorter than everyone else and less athletic looking. I was a skinny 17 year old. Tommy was a stocky Liverpudlian. We shared a few words, grateful to speak in English. He was distinctly uncomfortable in his swimming gear. Like me, not much of a swimmer. Unlike me, he was not willing to embrace the experience. He refused the slide, he didn’t swim outdoors (it was February in Berlin, so can’t really blame him) but was happy swimming gentle lengths.

And then, we were told there was more to do downstairs. We grabbed our towels and followed. One of the German boys refused the downstairs trip, which caused giggles amongst his classmates.

The downstairs had a plunge pool in the centre and a closed door with the aforementioned sign: “Kein Schweiz auf Holz”. There were pegs next to the door. Claudia and her class mates then disrobed. That’s right. They just took off their swimming costumes, in front of each other and then hung them onto the pegs by the door.

Claudia turned to me and said, “Sauna?”

I glanced over at Tommy. He was looking unhappy.

Let me try and explain what went through my head. Nobody, but nobody outside of my immediate family had ever seen me naked and even they had not seen me in the past few years, when I had turned decidedly female. I was very skinny. Some might think this is a good thing, but I was self-conscious, especially against the athletic frames of those German classmates. I’d also just seen them mock a classmate for not joining in.

The reason I’ve never told this story is that I could have made a brave choice, but instead I saw it as being stuck between two different forms of cowardice. I could say no and be mocked or I could say yes despite finding the whole idea, well, icky. There was no moral fibre in any decision I was about to take. What swung it, was that I figured I was not going to see these people again. In a few days, I’ll be back in England and no one will ever know. If Claudia could do ‘the nakeds’ in front of boys she would see at school the next day, I could do it in front of strangers. All of this reasoning happened very quickly. So when Tommy gave me an enquiring look, he got an almost immediate shrug of the shoulders as I pulled down the straps of my swimsuit.

He looked uncomfortable, but followed my lead. I say uncomfortable, I mean mortified. His face was reddening before we entered the sauna. We took our towels, went through the door and making sure not to sweat on the wood placed them on the benches of the sauna. And then we sat there, naked, not sweating on the wood.

I know you know this, but saunas are damned hot. They are also full of naked people. Just as I had not unrobed in front of other people, I had not seen other people naked and it is really difficult not to stare. However, I got the etiquette was to look straight ahead and just surreptitiously glance at what other people look like when they’re hot, sweaty and naked.

I found it all quite awkward, but Tommy was really struggling. I caught his eye and I read his distress. Sitting opposite him were two extremely attractive, tall blondes. His face was more than flushed. (No, I didn’t check any other part of his body before you ask). He got up and stumbled towards the door. As the door shut behind him, from inside the sauna we heard a body slump.

I’m a thoughtful soul. I got up immediately and went out to check if he was o.k. He was unconscious on the floor outside.

I instructed his exchange partner to get some drinking water and then knelt down and leant over him.

“Are you o.k., Tommy? It’s me, Rachel.”

Forgetting that I was still completely naked I leaned forward to put cool water on his head. As his eyes opened his first sight would have been my boobs, just inches from his face. He looked up and then, … fainted again.

Don’t worry. He came too, had a drink and made a full recovery before we had to get on the bus home. Although, I don’t think he looked at me again.

For many years, I kept this story to myself embarrassed by my lack of modesty and crippled by my Catholic guilt.

But now.

There is an old adage in stand-up, that comedy equals tragedy plus time. I want to add to that and say that embarrassment plus time equals discovering your super power.

When I feel low in my middle age, I just remember I have boobs that made a man pass out.

Pow! Take that, batman!