K is for Körperkultur
- rachseelig
- Apr 7
- 5 min read
Today’s letter is a double whammy: Körperkultur (Körper = body; Kultur = culture). So what falls under this rubric, you might ask? On one level, it covers activities that promote physical health—sports, fitness, etc. But it also extends to Körperpflege (literally, "body care")—a broad category of rituals and treatments that 21st-century English has neatly rebranded as “wellness.” We’re talking everything from pedicures to colon cleanses.
When Erol and I were dating, I was fascinated by how devoted he was to foot care. He loved a good Fußbad (foot bath), and his grooming arsenal included pumice stones, callus removers, and Gehwol foot creams. The soles of his feet were baby-soft. Hornhautentfernung (callus removal) bordered on a sacred ritual. “I’m not gay, I’m German,” he'd say, which actually explains a lot.
I thought it was a quirk, but now I know better: it was Körperkultur.
The term isn’t just about contemporary spa culture or lifestyle trends—it has a long and complex history. Körperkultur refers to a cultural and social movement that emphasizes the importance of the human body, physical health, and fitness. Embedded within it are philosophies about the body’s role in identity, society, and aesthetics.
So, in case you think 20-minute savasanas and dopamine-boosting cold plunges are TikTok-era inventions, think again. In Germany, these kinds of trends have been circulating for well over a century. Turnen, meaning "gymnastics" or "physical exercise," became a national craze in the 19th century as part of a völkisch, nationalist movement that emphasized physical fitness as essential—not just for the health of the individual, but for the health of the nation. Friedrich Ludwig Jahn, better known as Turnvater Jahn ("Father of Gymnastics"), led the charge, blending physical training with patriotic fervor. Gymnastics clubs popped up all over the country and were later co-opted by the Nazis for ideological purposes. Today, while any link to nationalist ideology is long severed, physical education remains an integral part of daily life.
Fast-forward to Freiburg today. Rafi has Sportunterricht (phys. ed) three times a week at school. Now that spring is here, he’s also gearing up for several special sporting events: the Regenwaldlauf (Rainforest Run), a 1km fundraiser for rainforest conservation; the Bundesjugendspiele, a kind of mini-Olympics with events like Kugelstoßen (shot put) and Hochsprung (high jump); and Waldtag, when kids spend an entire day roaming through the forest.
What surprised Rafi most about gym class? Kids actually change clothes in front of each other! The requisite Schulranzen (school bag) that we bought when we arrived came with a matching Sportbeutel (gym bag), which every child is expected to bring packed with athletic wear and running shoes—showing up in your street clothes is unthinkable. (That said, Rafi keeps forgetting to bring his Sportbeutel home so I can wash his gym clothes, but apparently that's perfectly acceptable...?)
Despite our non-prudish household—where body parts are called by their correct names and sex and reproduction have been openly discussed since toddlerhood—Rafi still squirmed when he reached a page in his textbook instructing him to label male and female anatomy. “Disgusting!” he said, looking away dramatically. Somewhere along the way, a trace of North American puritanism about the body seems to have imprinted itself on my kids. When I ask them to change into bathing suits, they tug at their shirts to conceal their private parts.
Germans have a comparably relaxed attitude toward nudity. In fact, a variation on the term Körperkultur is Freikörperkultur (FKK), or “free body culture”—i.e., nudism. Like much of Körperkultur, it too has 19th-century roots. Nudity in nature—at lakes, beaches, or in the woods—was seen as a path to physical and mental wellness, as well as a form of social leveling. The movement flourished during the Weimar Republic and later became mainstream in East Germany, where it aligned with socialist ideals of equality and anti-consumerism. No Nike swooshes on bare butt cheeks, right? And naturally, it kept the Stasi at bay—surveillance equipment in the ’70s and ’80s was still a bit too bulky to stash, well, there...
Today, FKK mostly lives on in the sauna—more on that in a moment (consider that your trigger warning).
This past Saturday was Erol’s birthday, and it turned out to be wellness-themed, even if Erol's Körper, specifically his Rücken (back), wasn't exactly getting with the program. Turns out his discs aren't getting any younger. Poor guy.
The kids let him sleep in while we decorated the kitchen, and they insisted on making pancakes on their own ("Ima, don't help!" they kept saying), though I did supervise surreptitiously.
In the afternoon we met some friends, hiked about 30 minutes up to the lovely Waldrestaurant St. Valentin, and enjoyed a hearty meal and cold beer. Yes, beer also falls under the wellness category in Germany. Really.
On the way back down after lunch, we stumbled upon a beautiful self-serve tulip field and the kids gathered a colorful birthday bouquet while Erol lounged in the sunshine.
My gift to Erol came on Sunday: a spa day at the Keidel Therme, a serene thermal spa tucked into the Mooswald forest. Unfortunately, our would-be babysitter, Ruben, was hit by the flu and couldn't visit as planned, so our couple’s retreat turned into a family outing. Less romantic, less relaxing, but still fun, we thought. Besides, the tickets were non-refundable, so off we went, kids in the cargo bike, with a rather stern post-breakfast lecture on the meaning of the word “tranquil.” I think they got the message. Sort of.
Though the spa has both indoor and outdoor areas, the outdoor pool is the real draw—warm 30°C water, floor bubblers, massage jets, and my personal favorite: a lazy river that gently tugs you along the pool’s edge.
Since Erol and I couldn’t both enjoy the sauna area at once, we took turns. He went first and got the massage I had pre-booked while I stayed with the kids. Then it was my turn. I slipped into the sauna area and spent about ten minutes in the Kräuterkessel (meaning "herb cauldron," another double k-word!), inhaling the therapeutic scents of eucalyptus, peppermint, rosemary, and lavender. Afterward, I plunged into the pool—my first time skinny dipping in decades—and emerged genuinely refreshed, ready to face my children again. Well, almost ready.
I like to think I can pass for a worldly, enlightened European, but I must admit, mixed-gender nudity still feels foreign. Years ago, when Erol and I went skiing in Austria, a group of Israeli men happened to be staying at our hotel. As we sat in the sauna, we kept spotting the same bald Israeli guy peering through the tiny window in the cedar door. Was he looking for someone? He couldn’t be…ogling? After we stepped out and wrapped ourselves in towels, I overheard his buddy say in Hebrew, “Yallah, let’s go in,” to which the bald dude replied, “I just can’t. They’re all sitting there with their weiners hanging out.” (For my Hebrew readers, the word he used was bulbulim, which is somehow funnier because it sounds so childish.)
The idea that nudity can be neutral and non-sexual is a given here. For my Canadian kids, though, nudity still feels unnatural (haha). Leo, however, seems to be warming up to the concept. As Easter approaches, he’s taken to going to bed as the Osterhase (Easter Bunny)—buck naked, with pajama pants on his head, the legs dangling over his shoulders like floppy bunny ears.
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