Travel
From Helsinki to the Arctic Circle, travel columnist Robin Esrock investigates a scorching Finnish tradition
Sweat stings my eyeballs as I sit inside a large public sauna, naked among a dozen elderly men. Every few minutes, one of them gets up to throw water onto a ton of superheated rock, resulting in a loud sizzle and a rapid increase in temperature, followed by grunts of approval. A tourist wearing a bathing suit opens the door. He’s instantly berated for allowing cool air in, but more so for committing the faux pax of wearing clothing. He quickly removes his trunks, sheepishly taking an open seat on the lower bench. Elders above him return to their lively conversation. Finns know exactly how one must experience a sauna. After all, they invented the word.
A Finnish sauna strips one of everything – clothes, accessories, phones, modesty, and most importantly, attitudes. It is a time to meditate, catch up with friends and family, revitalize the mind and body, or debate news, sports and politics. In Finland, most apartments and houses have their own sauna, which is often used daily and frequently welcomes visitors. A local tells me how he saunas with his girlfriend and her parents after a dinner invite, all in the buff.
“Doesn’t that feel a little…weird?” I wonder, blushing at the mere thought of being naked with my in-laws. “It would be weirder if we wore clothing,” he responds. Sauna etiquette transcends cultural norms, but outside the sauna, the rules of garbed civility quickly return.
For tourists and locals who enjoy gathering inside a blistering furnace, there’s always a public sauna. Built in 1928, Kotiharju Sauna is Helsinki’s only remaining public wood-burning sauna. When I arrive, men and women in white towels are cooling off outside the entrance. I pay my entry fee, receive a similar towel, and disrobe in a locker room that reeks of time, wood, sweat, and disinfectant. Men and women are separated in public saunas, although an elderly female matron does offer perfunctory massages in the male section.
In Finland, the heat of a sauna is like a spirit, an ephemeral character who shares the experience with you. They call this spirit löyly, and it is acknowledged, respected, and frequently referenced. A debate often ensues if the löyly is too hot, or more likely, too cold.
Entering Kotiharju’s dark and steamy sauna, it feels like I’ve walked into the path of a supercharged nuclear hair dryer. After catching my breath, I head to the top shelf where a half-dozen naked seniors are busy kibbitzing. The heat up here is so intense my ears begin to sting and I instantly feel lightheaded. The Finns have another word: sisu. Roughly translated, sisu is a combination of strength, spirit, and courage. All the sisu in the world can’t keep me on that upper bench for more than a minute. How these men sit in this heat without melting is a mystery. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that right up to the 1930s, it was common for Finnish women to give birth in a sauna. The old men chuckle as I retreat to the relative comforts of a lower bench. It doesn’t take long before I crawl out, shower, buy a cold beer to rehydrate like the locals, and join the folks cooling off outside.
Finland has used traditional wood smoke saunas for centuries, and Lapland is the perfect place to experience one. Sitting just shy of the Arctic Circle, the city of Rovaniemi is the region’s tourism hotspot, offering camping, hiking and kayaking in summer, and cross-country skiing and dogsledding in winter. Summer’s midnight sun barely dips on the horizon before it starts to rise again. I head to the Vaattunki Wilderness Resort, located about 25 kilometres outside of town. It has a popular restaurant and various nature walks, but I’m here for the steaming savasauna or wood sauna. Logs are fed year-round into a stove for six to eight hours, heating the rocks, and smoking up a dark room with no chimneys. When the heat is at a suitable level (around 80 degrees Celcius), the smoke is cleared through the door and several small shutters and the sauna is declared ready for guests.
The savasana is a welcome refuge from the hordes of large, hungry mosquitoes. In Lapland, mosquitoes are known to suck as much as 25 per cent of a caribou’s blood over summer, and they seem intent to suck a few pints of my own. Hastily, I collect birch branches from the surrounding forest for another sauna tradition. A sauna master explains how whipping the body with wet birch leaves stimulates blood cells, rejuvenates the skin, and cleanses the body with a form of natural soap. Branches in hand, I enter the dark cabin, roasting with an intense heat. Within minutes, I am sweating out the graavilohi (salmon), korvapuusti (cinnamon buns) and other Finnish dishes I’d been enjoying all week.
The savasauna has a soft heat, devoid of smoke, and is fragranced with the earthy tones of birch. The key to spending lengthy periods of time in a sauna is controlling the humidity and remaining hydrated. I stay in as long as I can stand it, before escaping for an icy dip in a river.
Regardless of whether you find yourself in a public sauna, a traditional smoke sauna, or the personal sauna of Finnish friends or family, respectfully approach the experience as an important cultural ritual. There’s no shame if you can’t stand the heat, and remember to hydrate (beer is not recommended). Whatever you do, make sure to remove your bathing suit before stepping inside.
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