Finding peace in the heat – a reflection on saunas

This spring, our country house has been something of a construction site.

First, hubby decided to build a greenhouse.
“I want to grow my own veggies,” he said, but if we’re going to be honest, it’s mostly tomatoes and cucumber he wants to grow. And aubergines. And chillies. And have a home for his citrus tree and his olive tree. Me, I want a couple of comfy chairs so that we can sit with the illusion of being outside while still being inside during all those Swedish summer days when the weather isn’t all that fantastic. I think we achieved a good trade off in the end.

For several weeks, hubby was totally immersed in the greenhouse project—but not so immersed that he didn’t start planning his next building project: a sauna.

We’ve discussed building a sauna for some years. I am not all that much of a fan of saunas, but as the rest of the family was all for it, I finally agreed. (Hey! I’m the family financial director, so any larger project sort of needs my approval) I think what finally sold it to me was when hubby waxed all poetic about us taking long hikes through chilly autumnal or winter forests only to get back home to a warm sauna where we could sit and enjoy the heat under the flickering lights of candles.

The sauna is an old, old invention. It is an integral part of Finnish culture, but was probably around long before the Finno-Ugrian tribes reached present day Finland. Saunas, however, exist in other cultures as well. In Russia, it is called banya, in Estonia saun (which, btw, just indicates how close Estonian is to Finnish) and in Latvia it is called pirts. In Sweden, the sauna tradition is at least 800 years old—so old we also have our own word for it, bastu, which is an abbreviation for “bad stuga” –bath house. Like most of Europe, Sweden had public bath houses throughout the medieval ages. But by the 17th century, many of those bath houses were closed down, condemned as dens of iniquity. In some cases, they probably were, but with them gone, the urban population quickly became much, much dirtier (and smellier). Out in the country, however, the bastu (or sauna) survived, a small building set aside for a weekly steam bath, for some hours of enjoying that very basic pleasure of feeling clean—and warm.

The bastu was used for other things as well; babies were often born in the relatively warm and clean space. Retted flax was hung to dry in the bastu prior to heckling.

We, or course, aren’t planning on using our sauna for retted flax, and deffo not to welcome new babies into the world.

No, we’re planning on using it for its original purpose, a place to wash and relax.

Taking a sauna requires planning. The wood burner must be lit at least an hour beforehand so as to warm the space. Water and a ladle has to be brought in: pouring water on the hot stones releases steam which gives the impression of increased heat. (Second son has however informed me this is an illusion: the water on the stones actually reduces the temperature, but increased humidity makes us feel hotter). According to the resident sauna-expert, our half-Finnish daughter-in-law, we also need a stiff bristle brush to scrub ourselves with—alternatively we tie small bundles of birch branches that we sort of whip ourselves with to have the pores open fully. Hmm. . .

Some would say a good sauna also requires a beer or two, but I am not a fan. Seeing as a sauna is usually concluded by skinny-dipping  in the lake—no matter the time of the year—alcohol is, IMO, not an option.

Prior to us taking a sauna, it had to be built. Hubby was utterly delighted when the building kit arrived—think a gigantic Lego set. Pre-sawn timber in various lengths and widths, two types of floor boarding, prefab windows in special packaging—all of it had to be unpacked and sorted and then transported down to the building site.

Hubby hammered the various lengths into place. No nails – the entire construction is of the classic timber frame type, with tongues fitting into narrow grooves.  Slowly, the little building began taking shape—not without several bumps in the road. Like when hubby was 80% done and the plank just wouldn’t fit into the groove, stubbornly springing out in one end while he hammered on the other. Fortunately, hubby had me at hand to act a living weight on the recalcitrant plank… There was also the “the door frame doesn’t fit the door hole” moment – but hubby sorted that with his tiger saw. Hubby also used said saw to sort the  “chimney is not fully aligned with wood-burner” issue. I am thinking the tiger saw is hubby’s new favourite tool.

After weeks of hard work, the sauna was finally ready to be used. This is when the entire family went into interior decoration mode—rather unnecessarily, IMO, as essentially the sauna comes with two benches. But oh, no, the changing room had to be made comfortable. Pegs and hangers had to be put in place, a long shelf holding all sorts of lanterns and candles was a must and when I last went down to Malmö I had strict orders to return with “a nice plastic carpet” to add the final touch.

I am not a sauna person—or so I thought. But to walk hand in hand with hubby through the slanted golden light of an August evening, to enter a space that smells of warm, warm wood and sink down on one of the lower benches, has my whole body relaxing. Through the large windows, the lake lies silent—well, except for the large family of loons (eleven this year) that call to each other in between diving for fish.

We don’t say much, hubby and I. We lean back against a warm wall and just sit there, as time slows.
The minutes pass.
The warmth makes me drowsy, the occasional ladling of water filling the air with hissing steam. Hubby’s foot nudges me. “Time for a dip,” he says, and we leave the warmth to make our way to the waiting lake.
The water feels cold—well, it is cold. It is a relief to return to the cocooning heat of the bastu. Outside, the last of the sunlight lies trapped in the waters of the lake.

The distant call of a kite, the crackling of the wood, the hiss of the steam as hubby does some more ladling. In that moment, I am utterly at peace, the beehive of thoughts that generally populate my brain quieted into a soothing hum. Huh: had I known beforehand that this sauna thing is just as much about mental cleansing as bodily comfort, I’d have said yes years ago!