This time, at least, there was a taxi waiting at the train station. Teresa had chosen our Baden-Baden hotel, the Badischer Hof, for several reasons: it was fairly central, it had a historic spa, and it advertised air conditioning, something you can't automatically expect in European hotels. More than anything, Baden-Baden was supposed to be a relaxing stop. And, despite the way I sometimes tell the story, it really was.
We checked in, put our luggage away, and had time to explore. The town has a long history as a spa destination, with thermal waters, baths, and an atmosphere of old-world wealth. And when I say rich, I mean money as well as culture. Its famous casino, grand buildings, and elegant streets give you a sense of how generations of well-heeled visitors spent their time here.
As we set out to explore, we discovered a red carpet stretching along the sidewalks toward the casino district. Not just a little carpet outside a hotel entrance—a real red-carpet route through town. It turned out we had just missed the SWR3 New Pop Festival, held September 17–19, 2026. We arrived on Sunday, September 20, after the festival had ended, and crews were still taking things down. The event had brought thousands of music fans to Baden-Baden, with concerts at the Kurhaus, Festspielhaus, and theater, and a red carpet running through the town center. Apparently, the performers had already gone home, but the carpet was still there for us.
Of course, I made sure to get a picture of Teresa walking the red carpet. And naturally, Facebook needed to see it too.
As we wandered, we passed spa buildings, a museum, and heard church bells in the distance. We also spotted a castle high on a hill: Altes Schloss Hohenbaden, the ruins of the old Hohenbaden Castle, which I would have loved to visit. There simply wasn't enough time.
We reached the famous Baden-Baden casino and looked around the entrance, but we weren't dressed for the traditional gaming rooms. We'd considered renting formal clothes; we'd even looked for a suitable dress for Teresa while in Paris. But the cost and effort weren't insignificant, and the casino wasn't going to open for several more hours, perhaps later because it was Sunday.
The idea of renting a jacket and tie just so I could place one bet and say I'd gambled in one of Europe's historic casinos began to lose its appeal. We decided to keep exploring instead. In hindsight, I don't particularly regret that choice, although I'd still like to see the interior someday.
Around lunchtime, we found RIZZI · THE RESTAURANT, at Augustaplatz, overlooking the Lichtentaler Allee. It was a lovely place for lunch. While we were eating, I noticed what looked like a carriage waiting in a nearby courtyard. I couldn't see any horses from our table, but thought it might be fun to take a ride if it was still there when we finished.
It was still there. There were no horses, though. It was an electric carriage, which was charming in its own way. We agreed to the posted price, climbed aboard, and set off. The driver headed straight toward the metal bollards that blocked vehicles from entering the pedestrian area. Then he reached down, pressed a button, and one of the bollards sank into the road. Like a garage door opener for an entire street. I loved that.
The tour took us past a beautiful rose garden and some remarkable homes. The driver described concerts, fireworks, and celebrations held near the roses when they're in bloom. He also pointed out mansions that he associated with the Roosevelts, Kennedys, and a visit by Obama. Those stories made the tour entertaining. I can’t vouch for every celebrity connection the driver mentioned, but the homes and the scenery were impressive enough on their own.
Back at the hotel, we asked about massages. The spa was fully booked for the rest of the day, but we were able to arrange appointments for the following morning. In the meantime, we changed into swimsuits and enjoyed the pool and other spa facilities.
The water was warm rather than hot, and it felt wonderful just to float for a while. My back had been bothering me since carrying luggage and a backpack through Disney and the train stations. Maybe it was the water, maybe it was finally slowing down, or maybe some of it was psychological, but I did feel better afterward.
We went back to the room to rest and reconsidered the casino. Neither of us felt much like dressing up for it. Teresa settled down for a nap, and I spent some time with my phone.
While checking email, I found a message from someone I'd met on a train platform earlier in the trip. I'd noticed his ServiceNow jacket and, being a ServiceNow architect myself—and not exactly shy about striking up a conversation—I'd asked whether he was an employee, customer, or partner.
He was an employee on his way to help a client with a problem. We'd exchanged contact information, and now he'd sent me a description of the issue and asked whether I'd seen anything similar. As it happened, I had. I recognized three likely causes, sent him some suggestions to investigate, and went back to my vacation. Only I could go sightseeing in Germany and somehow end up talking shop about ServiceNow.
Teresa was still resting, so I went out for a walk. I passed shops that were closing for the evening and a pastry shop I'd reached just a little too late. Then I caught the unmistakable smell of spices coming from Taj Tandoori, an Indian restaurant on Lange Straße, directly across from our hotel.
An Indian restaurant. In Germany.
Now, I wasn't searching for Indian food, but it smelled wonderful. I looked at the menu, checked the opening hours, and went back to see whether Teresa was awake. She was, and she was ready for dinner. I told her I had a surprise.
We crossed the street and had a lovely meal at Taj Tandoori. There were plenty of vegetarian choices, and in fact, I ordered a vegetarian dish myself so Teresa and I could share. It was excellent. Sometimes the best dinner plans are the ones you make by following your nose.
During my wandering I'd discovered something else: our hotel had an older section and a newer section. We'd been staying in the newer part and hadn't really explored the old one. But when I stumbled into it, I found a magnificent hall, with soaring ceilings, columns, and the kind of grand architecture that makes you stop in your tracks.
After dinner, I took Teresa over to see it. She turned the corner, saw the room, and immediately understood why I'd wanted to show her. It was gorgeous. We both wondered why the hotel had moved its lobby away from such a spectacular space. We finished the evening with a couple of nightcaps at the bar before turning in.
The night before, I'd checked with reception about extending our checkout time. Teresa's massage appointment was later than the normal checkout, but the staff graciously accommodated us. We mostly packed and headed down for our appointments without having to rush.
There was only one massage therapist available, so this wasn't a couples massage. I went first, and Teresa followed. I arrived early and leafed through the spa brochures until the therapist appeared. She needed a few minutes to prepare and directed me to the changing room, handing me something she called a slipper.
Now, when someone says slipper, I generally picture something you put on your feet. Preferably two of them.
This was not that. What she'd handed me was a tiny disposable garment that made a Speedo look like boxer shorts. Calling it a thong would probably be generous. There wasn't a whole lot of fabric involved. Welcome to the European spa experience.
I'm not particularly concerned about modesty during a professional massage; I follow the therapist's instructions. Still, this was a new one. Once changed, I settled face down on the massage table, and she asked about pressure and areas needing attention. I requested deep tissue and mentioned that my lower back had been bothering me after days of walking and carrying luggage.
She told me to say something if the pressure was too much. Then she went to work.
And when I say deep tissue, I mean deep tissue. She found knots I didn't know I had, then worked on the knots I knew perfectly well were there. My back, legs, shoulders—she was thorough, and the pressure was intense in the best possible way.
Teresa and I once had a couples massage in Cancún that I would have rated a nine or ten. After this one, I might have to adjust that score downward. This was one of the best massages I've had.
I'm naturally talkative, although I try to let massage therapists concentrate on their work. We exchanged a few words, and I noticed that her accent didn't sound entirely German. I guessed that she might be from somewhere in Eastern Europe, but I couldn't place it.
She encouraged me to keep guessing. I explained that someone had taught me when I was young to listen for accents and dialects. Eventually, she told me she was originally from Ukraine and had lived in Germany for around twenty years.
That explained what I was hearing: a mixture of Ukrainian roots and years of speaking German. It was a small but memorable conversation with someone we'd never have met without this trip.
After the therapist stepped out and I got dressed, I found Teresa waiting for her appointment. I warned her about the so-called slipper. Teresa is much more modest than I am, and I wanted her to know what to expect and to wear whatever made her comfortable.
While she had her massage, I sat in the lobby reading. The staff offered refreshments, and I chose water. When Teresa finally emerged, she looked as though she'd been put through the wringer—in a good way. She said her massage had been excellent, too. That was a pretty convincing endorsement.
We'd come to Baden-Baden for a little relaxation and a glimpse of the elegant spa-town lifestyle that has attracted wealthy visitors for generations. We found it, although not quite in the ways we'd expected.
We walked a red carpet, admired beautiful homes from an electric carriage, floated in warm spring water, enjoyed an unexpected Indian dinner, discovered the hotel's magnificent old hall, and finished with two excellent massages.
We never gambled at the famous casino. I still wish we'd had time to visit the castle (Altes Schloss zu Hohenbaden) overlooking town, but I'll count that as a reason to come back rather than a complaint. But some of our favorite memories came from things that weren't on the itinerary: a conversation with a stranger, a restaurant discovered by following the smell of spices, and a massage therapist who handed me something called a slipper that most definitely wasn't one.
We collected our luggage, found a taxi to the station, and headed for our next destination: Tübingen.
