Yesterday I wrote about the laws of thermodynamics, the reduction of entropy, and the use of double letters in Finnish. However, I left aside the most obvious way thermodynamics is part of everyday life here in Finland: the sauna. A Finnish sauna has nothing to do with a hammam, a Turkish bath, or even a Swedish sauna, the latter being described by Finns as a place where you go to read the newspaper. As far as I can see, only the Russian banya is comparable to the Finnish sauna. What distinguishes Finnish saunas from all those other rather disappointing members of the same family is the heat. In a sauna, it has to be at least 90°C, and that’s considered on the low end. I have been in saunas at 115°C. You definitely cannot read newspapers there. You can talk, but that is generally frowned upon: you go to the sauna to immerse yourself in that heat, and that is what you do. That might sound like torture, but that is only if you have no idea what you are talking about. Finns rave about things like “the sweetness of the heat”—okay, “comment” would be more appropriate than “rave,” but such an embellishment is justified because hearing a Finn say something at all, even something less poetic than “the sweetness of the heat,” is something memorable.

Anyways, even I can differentiate between saunas. Or rather, I am not sure if I can differentiate, but all of them—at least the bigger ones—are really different. I guess that the geometry of the room and the quality of the heater matter. All Finns I know have opinions about what are the better heaters (wood in public saunas, Harvia electric heaters for smaller private ones) and what are the better sauna stones, that is, the stones that get heated in the heater. It goes without saying that no Finn would consider installing a heater that directly heats the air instead of heating stones, not to speak of those red-glowing electric heaters that directly irradiate heat onto you. Any sauna equipped with that would probably cause even more opprobrium and ridicule than a Swedish sauna, I guess.

Kuulttuuri sauna

Modern apartments are built with an individual sauna, slightly older apartment buildings have a shared sauna, but apparently, the classical thing to do was to go to communal saunas. In Helsinki, there are still a few of those old classical saunas—although Pekka prefers Alba, I would always think of going to Kotiharjun; more about it later. There are also newer public saunas, some hipster, some basically in a swimming pool, and some directed at tourists. Kuulttuuri sauna is pretty hipster but a really nice place—this is where the pictures come from. Then there are saunas in the countryside—I was only once in one of them, on an island in a lake near Jyväskylä—you had to be rowed there. Then there are white whales I keep hearing about, like the famous smoke saunas—Finns, even Finnish men, get tears of joy when they talk about them. I am pretty sure that I can’t explain why, but all the saunas I have been to—besides apartment saunas—have their own personality. There are clear differences in how people interact when they are there. Mostly, there are separate rooms for men and women—the sauna on that island near Jyväskylä was mixed, and I think that it is the only one I have been to—and I can therefore only speak about how men behave. First, unless the sauna is mixed, everybody is naked, with signs indicating that it is forbidden to enter the hot room wearing anything, although flip-flops and hats are allowed. Indeed, in some saunas, you can get a massage, invariably given by some older woman, and she is the only one dressed—surely these women are the ones who have seen more naked men in the history of the world.

Those massages take place in a room with communal showers and such, just next to the hot room. You shower a lot in the sauna. Anyways, the hot room, the core of the sauna, evidently has a huge stove and looks a bit like an amphitheater, with different levels on which you could sit. But one is only supposed to use the upper one, and that one is often the only one where the bare concrete is covered by wood, forming something of a bench—the reason why you might want to wear sandals is that the concrete gets unbelievably hot. I said that one is supposed to only sit on the upper level, and definitely no Finn would sit anywhere else. The reason is that, amazingly, you feel the temperature gradient so much that even raising or lowering your head by 10 cm makes a difference. You notice it in the ears, and that’s why some people wear hats.

Now, there is the upper bench, but the upper bench always has a couple of places that are raised up by a further 10 centimeters. The Finnish macho—in a sauna, that is all Finnish men—sits on the upper bench, but only the sauna alpha men sit in the extra raised-up places. Sitting there has privileges. Actually, a single privilege. Anybody entering the hot room asks “löyly?”, which means “steam?”, and the already present Finnish machos—all Finns there—are supposed to answer something that sounds like “joo,” indicating their approval. Now, the alpha Finnish machos in the extra raised bench have the privilege of adding a number, and that is the number of (big) ladles of water that the newcomer throws on the stove. If nobody says anything but “joo,” then it is one ladle, but the other day somebody asked for four. The effect of that water is incredible: being so hot, saunas are actually pretty dry, and you notice when the increased humidity from that water reaches where you are. You notice it because it feels as if you were being hit by a wave of heat—thermodynamics at its best. It matters how the water is thrown onto the stove: if done briskly, the heat wave hits you hard and also fades away hard, but if poured slowly, it feels like a tide rising and lowering. Evidently, the amount of water influences the intensity and the length of the heat wave—four ladles is a lot, let me tell you—and there is no bigger faux pas than asking for water and then exiting the room before the heatwave is gone: the Finnish alpha macho has the privilege to demand a lot of steam but also the obligation to be there to enjoy the consequences of his demand.

Helsinki's frozen harbour and the ice hole
Helsinki's frozen harbour and the ice hole to go into the water after being in Kuulttuuri sauna.

Let me stress that the Finnish macho—I repeat that in a sauna, that is exactly the same as the Finnish male—risks losing his self-esteem if he does not ask for more water anytime anybody says “löyly?”, but then he also risks losing it if he leaves before the effect is over. That is a problem in crowded saunas because every about 10 minutes, one has to exit that hot room—at the end of the day, if you leave a chunk of meat long enough at 100°C, you get a roast. Just outside of the hot room, there are cold showers, and let me tell you that this is what you want. If the sauna is built by the water, be it a lake or the sea, then you go there independently of the water temperature: if there is ice, then there is a premade hole that might freeze over if not many people use the sauna, but you can break that thin layer of ice using gravity and the power of your derriere—been there, done that. If the sauna—like Kotiharjun—is in the middle of a city, say between a bakery and a kiosk, then you just go outside and sit on benches by the street, covered by a truly minimalistic sauna towel. These people have an amazing tolerance for nakedness. It might be snowing, and you are sitting there in your towel, while people running errands are dressed in layers and layers. Amazingly, it might take 5 minutes for your body to stop steaming, and 10 minutes for you to feel cold. Evidently, in freezing water, you only last seconds. That is, unless you are the Finnish macho. More precisely, unless he wants to lose his self-esteem, the Finnish macho has to stay at least a second longer than you in the hot room and in the freezing water. Anyways, after cooling down, you do it again. And again. And again. Three times is the minimum, and six times is considered worth mentioning the next day during lunch.

Sauna stools

Drinking water is really important. You will definitely have to be hydrated when you arrive and drink one or two liters while you are there. I drink water, but the alpha Finnish macho—those sitting extra high—drink beer. I don’t. The first time I went to a sauna, it was at Karen Smith’s house in Ann Arbor, where she had a sauna installed in the basement. She had organized a party with a lot of people, and around 2 a.m., once a lot of beer had been consumed, somebody said that the sauna was hot—it takes a while to heat up, as you can imagine—and suggested going there. Man, did I have a hangover the next day, the worst of my life. I drank water while being in the sauna, but to no avail. No mixing beer and sauna for me. At least not before or during. Afterwards, it is beer time. One comes out of the sauna incredibly exhausted. The muscles are evidently not tired, but your heart has been working as if there were no tomorrow, and you are truly exhausted. In a really nice way. Your skin also feels incredible after the sauna. Part of it is that old skin peels away—some people flagellate themselves with wet birch branches to increase that effect—but whatever the reason, your skin feels incredibly soft and tender. Caressing or being caressed after the sauna, even the slightest touch, is an amazing experience.

I am aware that when I write about the sauna, it sounds a bit like a medieval torture. It is, however, an absolutely amazing experience, one that I will probably have again twice in the days I am still here.



P.S.: The third picture shows the stools in some saunas. I don’t know the reason for their particular shape, but given how important it is to be able to cool down after coming out of the hot room, I have some conjectures.