Americans, I first experienced a sauna in the sterile (and none-too-hot)
confines of the local sports and health club. Despite this tepid introduction,
I became hooked, and I've subsequently spent a lot of time searching for sauna
My most grueling
sauna took place at a fishing camp on the Volga River in the Soviet Union.
Called a banya by my Russian hosts, the sauna was preceded by several bowls of
steaming fish soup, a distillate of everything in a fish that tastes fishiest,
and several rounds of straight vodka served in glasses the size and heft of
mason jars. Once inside the banya I was swept up several times in the naked
embrace of my 300-pound host, who bubbled over with alcohol-fueled
international goodwill. When the banya came to an end, we neither showered nor
jumped into the Volga; we simply toweled off and dressed, each at one with his
In most other
sauna hot spots, a quick cool-down is thought to be the proper finale. Rolling
in the snow is highly touted by some aficionados—I can testify from experience
it feels like squirming naked in driveway gravel. A friend of mine had a far
better idea. He built his sauna high above a Minnesota lake and included a long
wooden slide from the bath hut to the water. After roasting in the heat, the
bathers would burst one at a time from the sauna, grab one of the plastic sleds
stacked by the door, slap it down on the slats, hop aboard and ride pell-mell
into the water. The particular strength of that technique was that there could
be no changing of the mind once a body was set in motion.
thought of the ultimate sauna in terms of raw numbers. Having read that some
Finns had endured saunas at 267� F, he and a few friends stoked a fire with
seasoned split birch until the thermometer inside the sauna read 300�. "You
had to wet down your hair and eyebrows," he said. "Otherwise, the pain
was unbearable, and combustion likely." After he had cooled down, my friend
wrote to the Finnish Embassy in Washington, D.C., to claim the world record for
heat. The Finns' reply was polite yet clearly unimpressed. High temperature
alone has little to do with the quality of a sauna, the Finns sniffed.
They should know.
The supreme arbiter of what is and is not an authentic sauna is a 2,000-member
body called the Finnish Sauna Society. Its headquarters are near Helsinki on a
wooded island in the Gulf of Finland called Lauttasaari.
It is late
January when I arrive to partake of a sauna prepared by the society. As soon as
I step inside the headquarters, I get a handout and a lecture. The handout is
an American magazine article about a portable heater and slip-on nylon bag
called a Walk Sauna. The biting admonition that not all "saunas"
deserve the name is delivered by Juhani Per�salo, the society's president.
"There is a saying that one must behave in the sauna just as in
church," Per�salo says. Perhaps. But I suspect Per�salo underestimates the
ingenuity and the economic potential of a device that combines the Finnish
passion for sauna with the American passion for watching TV.
We retire to one
of the society's four pine-paneled saunas, and I discover Per�salo, a medical
doctor in his 40's, to be far from a scold. He is gracious, likable and, except
for his spectacles, completely naked. In Finland, business meetings between
strangers are often conducted in the soothing surroundings of the sauna, and it
has been suggested that the combination of high heat and nakedness enabled the
Finns to successfully negotiate the international trade minefields between East
and West during the cold war.
It's nearly dark,
but I can see a wall thermometer that reads 100� C (212� F), hot enough to boil
water. "So, why aren't we turning medium rare?" I ask.
this is very important—is that you're sweating," says Per�salo. A rivulet
of perspiration trickles down his temple. In fact, he informs me, we will be
sweating at the rate of about a quart per hour. "Circulation through the
skin increases manyfold as the blood capillaries and the blood vessels of the
outer layers dilate with the heat," Per�salo says. Because I am curious
about these things, I have brought an oral thermometer, which I pop into my
mouth. After several minutes in the sauna, the thermometer reads only 100.9,
the equivalent of a slight fever.
the heart?" I ask, thinking about it pumping away to keep blood rushing
through all these wide-open capillaries, and of the shock it must endure from
sudden cool-down procedures, like the dive into the Baltic that I know awaits