On my third day in Kuopio, I take the pharmacist's advice and visit Jätkänkämpä, the world's largest public smoke sauna. The Finns, who essentially invented the sauna, believe that the only way to get a true sauna is via one fired by wood. Jätkänkämpä is only open to the public on Tuesdays (it takes an entire day to heat the sauna) so my extra day in Kuopio serves me well by providing this rare opportunity. The day had been relatively mild, but a few minutes after I hop on my bike and begin the 5 km trip to the sauna, I am inundated by yet another cloudburst. I am soaked by the time I get to the sauna, a simple log cabin, which in my imagination I thought would be bigger. I pay my 10 Euros, get two towels with instructions to use, one in the sauna to wrap around my waist and the other to dry off after I'm done.
I quickly undress, shower and, as instructed wrap the towel around my waist. Usually you wear nothing in the sauna, as there are separate sections or times for men and women. But Jätkänkämpä is a mixed sauna so modesty is the policy. The last door in the progesssion from dressing room to shower, opens to the sauna. A wall of heat hits me as I stare into blackness. My eyes strain to adjust in the dim light there is only one small window. I can make out a chamber about 20 feet by 20 feet with three tiers of benches on three sides and what looks like a large barbecue-like inclosure where the hot coals or cinders faintly glow. I feel like I am descending into Dante's Inferno. I make my way across the room past the dim outlines of other lost souls and sit on the lowest tier, where the heat is not as intense. As my eyes grow accustom to the dimness, I see that my fellow sauna-goers are a mixed lot: familes with children, men and women of all ages. A man, about the size of a walrus, gets up and from a shiny bucket ladles dollops of water onto the coals, which hiss and steam, slightly raising the humidity in the room. Much to my surprise, there is no smoke, only the pleasant but not overpowering smell of wood. I don't know how long I am in the room. I sweat profusely. I am wondering what the procedure is. I watch my fellow sauna-mates get up and walk slowly to one of two doors, one for the men's shower (on the right), the other for the women's. As the heat permeates my thinking process, I am desperate to remember to go through the door on the right. Whatever I do I must make it to that door: Don't embarrass yourself. At some point I can't stand it anymore and gingerly walk across the room to the correct door. I take a cold shower and re-entered the sauna for round 2.
On my third trip to the shower, I notice a side entrance that leads to the lake. The true-believers run out the door, down a long dock and swan dive into the lake. Who needs the cold shower when there is a perfectly good ice-cold lake nearby? I have come this far. It only seems right that I jump into a Finnish Lake. I put on my swim trunks. The rain falls, obscuring the lake in kind of an impressionistic fuzz. The wooden planks of the dock are slippery so I walk instead of run, though running would have been my preference because it would give me less time to think about the crazy thing I am about to do. I stroll to the edge of the dock, pause for a second and jump. In that split second, suspended between lake and sky, I remember that swimming is not one of my best skills. In fact, I'm a terrible swimmer. Is it really the smartest thing to be jumping into a deep lake in Finland (or anywhere for that matter)?
Too late. I hit the water. It is like a thousand volts of freshness coursing through my body. Cold, but not shocking. I feel great. Skivving to the surface, I discover I remember how to swim enough to survive. I make my way to the dock and hoist myself out. I am not cold. In fact, I am still warm. Steam vents from my body. I lounge outside, rain falling on me. I feel perfectly pleasant as if it is a normal thing to sit outside on a bench in the rain in your swimsuit. I stay outside for about 15 minutes before returning to the sauna. Now I feel like a pro. On my second trip to the lake I improve my diving technique and swim around for a bit, then I get out and buy a beer, again lounging outside in the rain in swimming trucks feeling perfectly warm. In the winter, the Finns jump into the lake through a hole cut in the ice or they thrash around in the snow. Fortunately, it is not winter.
By now I am feeling really good, but I know I have had enough. My muscles feel rubbery. I feel like Gumby. So I gather my towel and walk back into the passage way and right into the women's shower room. An older lady with ponderous breasts looks up rather faintly amused, as I quickly back out with a lame "sorry."
I quickly undress, shower and, as instructed wrap the towel around my waist. Usually you wear nothing in the sauna, as there are separate sections or times for men and women. But Jätkänkämpä is a mixed sauna so modesty is the policy. The last door in the progesssion from dressing room to shower, opens to the sauna. A wall of heat hits me as I stare into blackness. My eyes strain to adjust in the dim light there is only one small window. I can make out a chamber about 20 feet by 20 feet with three tiers of benches on three sides and what looks like a large barbecue-like inclosure where the hot coals or cinders faintly glow. I feel like I am descending into Dante's Inferno. I make my way across the room past the dim outlines of other lost souls and sit on the lowest tier, where the heat is not as intense. As my eyes grow accustom to the dimness, I see that my fellow sauna-goers are a mixed lot: familes with children, men and women of all ages. A man, about the size of a walrus, gets up and from a shiny bucket ladles dollops of water onto the coals, which hiss and steam, slightly raising the humidity in the room. Much to my surprise, there is no smoke, only the pleasant but not overpowering smell of wood. I don't know how long I am in the room. I sweat profusely. I am wondering what the procedure is. I watch my fellow sauna-mates get up and walk slowly to one of two doors, one for the men's shower (on the right), the other for the women's. As the heat permeates my thinking process, I am desperate to remember to go through the door on the right. Whatever I do I must make it to that door: Don't embarrass yourself. At some point I can't stand it anymore and gingerly walk across the room to the correct door. I take a cold shower and re-entered the sauna for round 2.
On my third trip to the shower, I notice a side entrance that leads to the lake. The true-believers run out the door, down a long dock and swan dive into the lake. Who needs the cold shower when there is a perfectly good ice-cold lake nearby? I have come this far. It only seems right that I jump into a Finnish Lake. I put on my swim trunks. The rain falls, obscuring the lake in kind of an impressionistic fuzz. The wooden planks of the dock are slippery so I walk instead of run, though running would have been my preference because it would give me less time to think about the crazy thing I am about to do. I stroll to the edge of the dock, pause for a second and jump. In that split second, suspended between lake and sky, I remember that swimming is not one of my best skills. In fact, I'm a terrible swimmer. Is it really the smartest thing to be jumping into a deep lake in Finland (or anywhere for that matter)?
Too late. I hit the water. It is like a thousand volts of freshness coursing through my body. Cold, but not shocking. I feel great. Skivving to the surface, I discover I remember how to swim enough to survive. I make my way to the dock and hoist myself out. I am not cold. In fact, I am still warm. Steam vents from my body. I lounge outside, rain falling on me. I feel perfectly pleasant as if it is a normal thing to sit outside on a bench in the rain in your swimsuit. I stay outside for about 15 minutes before returning to the sauna. Now I feel like a pro. On my second trip to the lake I improve my diving technique and swim around for a bit, then I get out and buy a beer, again lounging outside in the rain in swimming trucks feeling perfectly warm. In the winter, the Finns jump into the lake through a hole cut in the ice or they thrash around in the snow. Fortunately, it is not winter.
By now I am feeling really good, but I know I have had enough. My muscles feel rubbery. I feel like Gumby. So I gather my towel and walk back into the passage way and right into the women's shower room. An older lady with ponderous breasts looks up rather faintly amused, as I quickly back out with a lame "sorry."
1 comment:
Savu saunas usually coat your face with soot! Black face! Did you check the mirror, or maybe the world's largest has corrected that situation (too bad). Or maybe the soot is stil there? Better check in a mirror.
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