Beijing Bathers Taking a Healthy Dip

Bathers here are finally plunging into the hot-tub era. But in China’s capital, the tub is filled with tea.

The tea bath--like the coffee bath, the milk bath and the wine bath--are among the old-style bathing cures being offered anew by the Xinghuayuan Health Bathing Pool, one of the oldest bathhouses in China.

“People are learning what a pleasure bathing can be,” manager Cao Baocai said.

Once a pre-revolutionary favorite with the courtesans, roustabouts and merchants of old Beijing, Xinghuayuan now sports a new paint job, a new Jacuzzi and a new optimism for the future.

“We’ve got a lot of new equipment. We’re even going to order a shower-massage kit soon,” Cao said.

Innovations such as the California hot tub might seem unlikely at Xinghuayuan, which lies down the spider web of alleys in the lea of Beijing’s ancient Qianmen city gate.

Known as one of Beijing’s “old numbers,” or historic business establishments, Xinghuayuan was a symbol of the sybaritic pleasures available during the lawless days of China’s warlords.

Mao Tse-tung’s Communist revolution of 1949 changed all that--and Xinghuayuan changed to suit the times, opening its doors to the mundane washing needs of the workers and bureaucrats who were the country’s new masters.

Cao thinks now is the time for the Xinghuayuan to rediscover its roots. And after a revamp that cost $950,000, he believes it has.

“We are the first high-class bathhouse in Beijing now,” Cao said.

The rebirth of the Xinghuayuan comes amid economic reforms that have boosted Beijing’s standard of living and put money into the pockets of residents.

“It’s not too expensive, and there’s not much else to spend money on anyway,” one young customer, a low-level government official, said.

Xinghuayuan’s commercial approach to washing up is evident as soon as one spots the bathhouse’s bright pagoda-style roof thrusting above its drab, gray neighbors on Qianmen’s Fresh Fish Alley.

Inside, in a foyer full of plastic grape arbors, uniformed female attendants gesture to a menu of bathing selections that combine imperial tradition with a new-age, holistic approach to health.

Customers are directed into the public bathing area, where a large pool of steaming mineral water sits next to Xinghuayuan’s prize possession, an American-style Jacuzzi.

It’s dank, and not very well-lighted, but clean by Chinese standards. A tiny Turkish steam bath and a sauna are also offered, as is a special massage, where brawny attendants scrape the skin from your back with rough towels.

Then a choice must be made.

The milk bath, currently Xinghuayuan’s most popular, is touted as the bath of choice among the emperor’s concubines before they were driven from the palaces of the Forbidden City in 1924.

Traditionalists may opt for the tea bath, which can help put the spring back into dry skin and get rid of wrinkles. A dip in vinegar will thin the skin, erase age spots and prevent colds. A tub of rice wine, “beloved of princes,” will kill germs and help you get a good night’s sleep.

Sleep is not something promised by Xinghuayuan’s most modern option: the coffee bath.

“The coffee weight-loss bath will increase your temperature, enliven the nerves, promote blood-flow . . . and help you lose weight and get healthy,” the menu promises.

No matter what the customer chooses, he can enjoy his bath in a private cubicle, where attendants will draw the bath water and mix in the special ingredients.

Xinghuayuan’s prices can get a bit steep for the ordinary Chinese at more than $10 for a full day of bathing and massage--about a week’s salary for most people.