It was my first sauna and I was struggling. The genitalia of several men with whom I’d previously only been on hand-shake terms were in full view. I’d foolishly sat on the top bench, thinking I’d be farther away from the stove, but the heat up there was choking me. It was unnerving looking at a temperature gauge that read higher than the boiling point of water. What about my blood? Was this really doing me good, as recently published research suggests? Then someone kindly suggested that I throw some water on the stove if I was too hot. Sounded like blessed relief but the resulting blast of scalding steam almost finished me off amid dry Finnish chuckles.
Hundreds of saunas later, I’m still a pushover temperature-wise but fancy myself as something of an aficionado, evaluating the quality of the steam with as much care as a seasoned wine-taster over his glass of red.
Though steam baths are traditional across much of northern and eastern Europe, it’s the Finns that have made it such a central part of their culture that sauna is the only word of theirs that we use in English. They are notoriously creative in building saunas in the unlikeliest places, and when the Finnish army is deployed, they are said to erect their sauna tent before the kitchen or sleeping quarters.
“Swedes are soft, and have their saunas at 60C or 70C,” said a Finnish patriot of my acquaintance. “You can’t get decent löyly (steam) at that temperature, and you don’t sweat properly. But the Russians, they are too macho and crank their saunas up to over 100C all the time. That’s way too dry. Around 80C to 90C is perfect.” Though the most common type of sauna is electric, the heat from these can seem dry and harsh when you compare it with the more traditional ones, heated by a wood fire. These are the staple of the summer cottage, where birch twigs are gathered to make a vihta, or sauna whisk, with which you lightly strike your skin to cleanse and improve circulation. Even more memorable is the smoke sauna, where you sweat in the sooty heat from a fire that burned through the whole day before.
You can take a towel to sit on – though disposable plastic sheets are often preferred – but it’s usually bad form to wear a bathing suit. Despite this, the sauna is traditionally a non-sexual place, almost sacredly so in some cases. A Scandinavian couple or family will take a sauna together, but groups of friends usually do it in two shifts, segregated by gender. Public saunas in Germany, however, are usually naked and mixed.
How you behave depends on who you’re with. Friends or strangers may discuss their most intimate affairs together, business deals are traditionally sealed in sauna sessions, and high-level cold war diplomacy between Finland and the Soviet Union was conducted in hundred-degree heat between naked leaders. But the sauna is also a place of contemplation, and long companionable silences are common. They tell of the Finn and the Swede that sat in the sauna together. After two hours of sweating, the Swede said: “Hi, I’m Sven.” Another two hours passed and the Finn said. “Are we here for sauna or are we here to chit-chat?”
When the heat has you worried that you might have poached your eyeballs, it’s time to leave. If there’s a lake outside, jump straight in it without stopping to grab a bathing suit. If it’s frozen over, there’s that hole that you prepared earlier, but take a deep breath before the plunge. Otherwise, a cold shower will do. Then back to the sauna and repeat.
Though spa complexes are more likely to offer you coconut water these days, a real Scandinavian experience includes the “sauna beer”. Though medical advice surely wouldn’t condone it, that first thirsty sip of an ice-cold lager with your sweaty companion while looking over a pristine lake is the stuff of which deep friendships are forged.
