My experience says they're dependable for grandeur, from Aida staged in Rome's Baths of Caracalla to the jaw-dropping mosaics at Ostia Antica to the glorious Mediterranean seaside setting of the ruins in Carthage. Or maybe its that connection to the human experience. I can imagine businessmen doing a deal in the steamy chambers at Pompeii, the provincials of Bath searching for sophistication in the architecture that would eventually give name to their city or Germans seeking refuge from the nasty weather in the gracious complex in Trier. But most of all, I think it's just my own bath envy.
I can imagine few leisure complexes more glorious than a vast sprawl of pools of varying temperatures (caldarium for the hot plunge, frigidarium for the cold, tepidarium for lingering) with large libraries, lounging spaces and spots for massages and workouts. All within sumptuous, let's-outdo-the-next-town architecture.
I suspect that whoever built Nirvana in Reading shared my enthusiasm, for its six pools, all filled with water from its own spring, make it the most water-based spa I've visited. And the architecture, awash with classical columns and statuary, clearly looks back to the Roman bathing tradition. I've mentioned it here a few times in the past, but having just visited for the first time since they concluded some major renovation works, the time seemed right for a more detailed entry.
Nirvana is a sprawling complex radiating outwards from a central pool which would, in our ancient Roman model, be the tediparium. The modern-day space (pictured above) evokes ancient grandeur with stately Doric columns around, and a coffered ceiling above, the large, rectangular, blue-tiled pool, framed on each end by palm trees. The space is filled with light thanks to glass-filled arches on three sides. One looks into a sizeable restaurant, washed with its own natural brightness through a skylight at the apex of a ceiling resembling the underside of a step pyramid. The long side of the tepidarium room looks over a garden with an outdoor pool, four jacuzzis and some attractive landscaping, with a faux Roman temple at its centre and classical-style statuary dotted about. The Roman feel is completed on the back wall, where the outward-facing arches are mirrored by tromp l'oeil frescos within stone frames that give us views of formal Italian gardens and landscape beyond. I tend to base myself on one of the lounge chairs here, swimming a bit and drifting between my two other favourite spots.
The first would be our caldarium, known at Nirvana as the Surf Room. Here, another generously-sized pool is filled with hot water, this time enhanced by all sorts of jets. By making a full circuit you can pummel your lower back, shoulders, stomach, the bottom of your feet, or anything else you want to move into position. You can even lie on a couch of bubbles along the pool's central island. There are two small cold plunge pools here, though to my taste the water's only pleasantly warm and not hot enough to need the chilly refresher. The mural artist went to work here, as well, but in this room we abandon the classical world for views of tropical beaches, sailing ships and parrots, while a bronze sailfish jumps proudly from the centre of the pool.
When I've had enough of water, there's a lounge room that whisks you to North Africa. Here, a gurgling Moorish fountain and heavily scented candles set the central scene. Radiating from that are pedestals curved for lounging (elevated knees and back), covered with small blue and white tiles and heated. Any noise besides the fountain is strictly prohibited; I've enjoyed many a blissful nap here.
Besides those favourite spots, there's another pool for lounging about, one with jets specifically for swimming, a big indoor jacuzzi, a tropical shower and a big sauna and steam room. And a gym with top-end equipment. All of this comes with admission, no spa treatments required. Which makes it, in my opinion, the best spa I've been to for simply loafing about. Clearly their intention, as Nirvana has a membership structure that encourages this. I pay £22 a month by direct debit for a membership that allows six full-day visits a year; a steal compared to the minimum £95 a day you'd pay off the street.
There are, of course, all the treatments of a traditional spa for an additional fee structure, and the recent renovations have just completed a new suite of rooms for that. (By tearing down the old rooms, they've increased the size of the main restaurant and improved traffic flow around the place.) In addition to the usual manis, pedis and massages, Nirvana is unique … to my experience … in its Dead Sea flotations.
If I can't have a full reconstruction of the baths of Caracalla, Nirvana gets pretty close. They could stand to turn up the heat in the hot pools, and I'd like to see the library of magazines increased with more home, garden and cooking titles. I look forward to the day the hedges grow high enough around the garden to block out the modern building across the car park, deepening that Roman illusion. It might even be fun to put the staff in classical tunics with a few laurel wreaths for management. We could stop, however, at serving roasted dormice or sending slave children underground to stoke the heating system. There are a few things, after all, that are best left in the ancient world.
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