Cheers to Chodovar

Brett Atkinson finds a bizarre scene in western Bohemia where the beer is so good for you that you literally soak up its benefits.

A beer-y unusual spa in the Czech Republic

The thirsty drinkers of the Czech Republic like a robust head on their beer, but this is ridiculous. A 90-minute drive from where pilsner was first brewed in 1842,

I am lying naked in a hoppy bath of warm beer. My two-metre long stainless steel tub is trimmed with fully functioning beer taps, and the centuriesold granite walls of surrounding underground caverns are illuminated by retro lava lamps and flickering flames.

Tinkling piano music probably last experienced in a Prague hotel lobby in the 1980s completes a bizarre scene in the rural heartland of western Bohemia.

Confetti-sized fragments of hops and yeast stud the water, and an overriding aroma features the grassy, zesty tones of world-renowned Saaz hops from nearby Zˇ atec.

Supping on a glass of the Chodovar brewery’s fine golden lager, I am perfectly happy to stay in my foamy 34C haven for an extra few minutes, but the stern, stout, and strict-looking woman approaching me clutching a giant towelling robe seems to have other ideas.

She removes the plug and the silky waters recede to leave me lying in the dregs. As she pulls away my privacy-boosting curtains, I hastily reposition a last dollop of foam to preserve a last drop of decorum. Now I really need a drink.

The vice and virtue combination of beer and spa treatments has been drawing visitors to this part of Central Europe for centuries. I am in the village of Chodova´ Plana´ , but the nearby spa town of Maria´ nske´ La´ zneˇ used to draw high-profile therapeutic tourists, including Thomas Edison, King Edward VII, and his Austro-Hungarian contemporary, Emperor Franz Josef I.

Even old misery guts himself, novelist Franz Kafka, was forced to crack a reluctant smile after the combination of bathing in the waters and strolling in the forests surrounding the town known in German as Marienbad.

Now the grandiose art nouveau hotels in thoroughly Czech Maria´ nske´ La´ zneˇ are again daubed in Kaisergelb, the pastel-yellow shade favoured by the painting contractors who kept the Austro-Hungarian Empire looking spick and span.

The European aristocracy has been replaced by middle-class travellers from around the world, and Bohemia’s most famous beverage has moved from the bar to the spa.

Across the border in Germany and Austria there are other ‘‘beer spas’’, but Chodovar Brewery was apparently the first to employ a professional ‘‘balneologist’’ (an expert in the therapeutic use of mineral waters).

The result is Chodovar’s self-proclaimed Beer Wellness Land, combining bathing in beer with saunas, massages and body wraps. In the attached gift shop there is beer soap, shampoo and cosmetics and, after all that hoppy goodness, visitors can even the score with tasty meat-heavy dishes and more brews in the subterranean restaurant and beer hall.

Visit in June for the annual barrel rolling championships, or have a seasonal fruit beer at the traditional pig-slaughtering festival in January. Couples can even book in for special Valentine’s Day packages.

No-one will ever accuse the Chodovar Brewery of not having enough ideas. As the brewery’s website succinctly reinforces, ‘‘don’t worry, be hoppy’’.

Back among the rows of gleaming tubs, my own advocate of Beer Wellness Land seems more like a representative of Franz Kafka’s grumpy and unswerving melancholy.

Without any hint of a smile, my Slavic matron wraps me in a cocoon of warm towelling and leads me deeper into the granite tunnels that were used for ‘‘lagering’’ (conditioning) beer as far back as the 12th century.

After 20 minutes lying in a half-in-half mix of beer and sparkling mineral water, my body is only halfway through Chodovar’s Real Beer Bath treatment.

According to the marketing spiel, the procedures will have ‘‘curative effects on the complexion and hair, relieve muscle tension, warm up joints and support immune system of the organism’’.

I am just happy I have discovered a place where beer is actually good for you. Well, it is that or the increasingly potent effects of a second glass of the local product.

This time it is a dark lager that is hard to make out in the dim light surrounding the chaise longue I am now lying on.

There has been a change in the soundtrack, too.

The piano has been replaced by languid New Age beats that are a relaxing combination of whale song and ale song.

Lying beside me is a family from Almaty in Kazakhstan. Wrapped in our yellow robes, and with our eyes gently closed, we are looking mightily like a row of international space travellers hunkered down for a long journey to a galaxy far away.

Down in the subterranean Ve Ska´ le beerhall at the completion of our hoppy treatment, we are soon drinking Kvasnicovy´ Skalnı´ lezˇa´ k, unpastuerised yeast lager, drawn straight from the barrel.

Forget the innocuous lagers foisted on New Zealand drinkers by globally owned big breweries. This beer is big, bold and assertive, and a perfect end to a thoroughly bizarre afternoon.

Another above-ground restaurant features official beer sommeliers who can instruct in 10 types of beer and, on the menu, hearty Czech staples, including duck pate with cranberries and roasted pork shoulder are delicious ways to further tip the balance from virtue to vice.

I have looked really hard for a downside to Beer Wellness Land. Believe me, I just can’t find one.