After a long and tiring day that ranged from standing in awe of an amazing Buddhist datsan to visiting a children’s home, we took up our host family’s gracious invitation to visit their dacha. Here we had a special opportunity to bathe in a Russian banya, or bath-house. None of us knew exactly what to expect: we have read and seen some depictions of a banya in films and readings for Russian classes. We had this vague idea of running back and forth mostly naked between a sauna and something colder, but it did little to inform us of what the banya would be like.

The building is fairly small and wooden. Our host mother explained that larger banyas can have three rooms: a vestibule, a wash room, and a steam room. Ours had just two, the vestibule and steam chamber. After a short banya crash course, we each took turns to dress down to small, but strategically-wrapped towels (which mostly stayed in place, despite the ever present threat of a major “wardrobe malfunction”). Armed with soap, towels, and uncertainty, we finally dared to open the door.

When we did, heat from the belly of an angry dragon rushed towards us, and each of us felt doubt surge up again. Nonetheless, we forged inside and barred the door behind us. Once the shock of the heat wore off, we began to notice other details around us. The stove glowed merrily and sweating boards gave off a rich, rustic scent. As our bodies warmed by sitting so close to the fire, we discussed what we should do next. One by one, we slowly began to sweat until a prickly feeling prompted us to step outside, ending our ‘baptism’ in the banya.
 
Crossing the threshold again brought a blissfully cool gust into the room, tickling every pore as it passed. We each began to shiver as we drank some water. Stepping outside into the sun has never been so frigid! Using a banya demands one to undergo rapid switches from hot to cold, even running straight into the snow in winter. Even our much less radical change gave us a chill that got us back inside quickly.
 
This time we chucked water down a special little spout in the stove, which produced a billow of steam. Imagine the feeling of a humid blast furnace bursting across your body in a wave of heat from the head down. The air became so thick with humidity that we could feel the water precipitating even as we breathed in. The feeling you probably consider ‘sweating’ disappeared, transcending beyond mere sweat to flowing channels of moisture. As one remarked to another, “I’m not sure whether it’s awesome or disgusting, but a pool of sweat has actually formed in your belly button.”

After sweating that much, you stop feeling sweaty, and begin to feel clean. At a certain point every impurity of the skin is lifted up and out: the oppressive heat simply makes it all melt away. After the first shock, the body manages to adapt to the new environment, and it feels like you are the shower, your sweat magically becoming cleansing water that sweeps away soap and dirt, leaving an entirely clean feeling behind.