by Alexia Brue
Marina inspected the plunge pool by sticking her head toward the water and inhaling deeply, and rather loudly, through her nose. Some of the old guys, the regulars, squinted their eyes at her, wondering if this uppity visitor might be from the board of health. 'It reeks of chlorine, and the water isn't flowing. This is not good,' she declared. I understood her alarm. East 10th can come across as a run-down, poorly funded YMCA if you don't have a special place in your heart for its history and soulfulness.
After a quick shower, we headed straight to the Russian room, which at 215 degrees Fahrenheit is also called 'the Oven.' On this Tuesday evening there were a few other women, mostly dancers, but the average client was a man over fifty, generally named Abe, Morty, or Saul, with a hairy watermelon-size gut and a Brooklyn accent. We sat on the second tier of pebbled concrete benches. Marina decorously placed the towel, folded up like a cushion, on the concrete. The only light source - an exposed light bulb - cast the room in shadows.
'This place is growing on me,' admitted Marina. 'Look at those guys over there. They look like Gorky Park extras.'
'I think I recognize that guy,' I said, pointing to a hulk of a man, tall and wide as a walrus. We could overhear his conversation with two other Central Casting mobsters; in fact, East 1Oth would be the perfect place to cast a Russian-themed Sopranos. They were standing next to the furnace, each wearing long, baggy swimming trunks with brown towels thrown over their shoulders. They were comparing linoleum costs and quality. Marina drank some water, and I rubbed peach enzyme peel on my face. A few minutes later, the walrus man approached us and asked if either of us wanted a platza, the same veynik body-thwacking treatment Natasha had taught me in Moscow. He was a hobbyist, he said, and would be glad to provide us with a free service. Giving platza is a nice 'hobby' for an old man because it requires a topless suppliant. We demurred, but I was sure I recognized him from previous visits.
'I've seen you here before, right?' I asked.
'I'm here almost every night,' he said. 'The name's Morty Hirsh.'
The legendary Morty Hirsh! A construction contractor, former owner of the famed Luxor Baths in Midtown, and the great shvitzing aficionado of New York City. Whenever someone at the bath had a shvitz-related question, someone always piped in, 'Morty will know.' And here he was, in the flesh - in a lot of flesh. I seized the opportunity to ask him about the history of this place. I'd always been mystified by East 1Oth's lack of upkeep, and Morty seemed eager to chat.
'Oh, where to begin. Let's see, in the 1940s, this place was owned by a guy by the name of Jumbo, a big fat guy.' Morty cleared his throat. 'He sold it to a guy who worked in Brooklyn at Silver's, another popular bath, and his name was Fat Al.'
'Fat Al?' Marina asked doubtfully. This was not her scene.
'Yeah, Fat Al. He was about three hundred pounds. His family was in the notions business on Thirty-eighth Street, buttons, zippers, that sort of thing. Then Fat Al died giving a platza treatment, he had a heart condition. Fat Al had loved the shvitz, but his family just wanted to sell the place, so they sold it to three partners — that would be David, Boris, and a third guy who got out early. Then the feud started in the early 1980s.'
'What was the origin of the feud?' asked Marina, suddenly intrigued.
Morty lowered his voice. 'These are just rumors, but what I've always heard is that David and Boris accused each other of not turning over the common receipts, something like that. Then a friend of mine, a lawyer, he's known as Fat Ralph, another big guy, came in to arbitrate. He set up the alternate week program, whereby David and Boris take turns running the bath and share the common charges. That's been the arrangement for almost fifteen years now.'
Marina and I looked at each other apprehensively, apparently thinking the same thing: 'I hope that doesn't happen to us,' joked Marina.
'Marina, unless you abscond with our start-up capital to buy Caucasian rugs, I think we'll get along famously as business partners.'
'The rugs will be for our collection at the bath,' she said, and already I could see she was calculating the potential to write off antique kilims and carpets. Collectors, I am convinced, are as compulsive as gamblers.
'Marina, are we bathers or businesswomen? Do we love baths too much to open one? A brick-and-mortar establishment might fall short of our vision of the perfect bath.'
Morty, who was sitting close by, piped up, 'I bought the Luxor because I loved baths so much I had to own one.'
Both Marina and I dared not ask him how it panned out.
epilogue
So where does this leave me? Marina and I are no closer to opening our bath. My bath odyssey, instead of answering all my questions, left me with an entirely new and much longer set of questions. As I tried to make sense of where home was and what I wanted to do for the next fifty years, I kept remembering the last chapter of a book my father had force-fed me at fifteen. When most other parents were passing along old J. D. Salinger paperbacks, my father thought nothing could shape an adolescent mind so well as Samuel Johnson's hit from 1759 — Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia, about a young prince who wanted to leave the 'happy valley,' his Utopian home, in search of wisdom. The final chapter began with the all-time perfect chapter title: 'The Conclusion, in Which Nothing Is Concluded.'
A sense of closure, completion, tidily closing the lid on any search, is as sweetly naive as buying into happily ever after. Rasselas searched for happiness and wisdom, I searched for the perfect bath - OK so I wasn't exactly his second coming, but still I related to the intrepid prince's curiosity. Curiosity follows a compounding principle, end
The trip became about the baths themselves, not about the business of baths; and 'my bath' became a jigsaw puzzle of all I saw that was great. Despite my initial handicap as a pragmatic American, I soon realized that I was approaching the baths just like many modern spa-goers approach spas. I was too focused on results. Many American spas place too much emphasis on the one-on-one treatments, the guru, and quick fixes. Baths also offer specific treatments, but mostly the treatments are general, aimed at overall well-being. Baths were places for relaxation, regeneration, occasional childhood regression, socializing, whimsical debauchery, and most of all, just free-spirited fun. Relaxation is not something you can study, nor is quiet reflection quantifiable. And these were the kinds of moments I found and savored inside the baths, not imagining blueprints or calculating profit margins on products and treatments.
Yes, somewhere in Russia I abandoned my pragmatism. Where better to leave practicality behind than amid unfightable chaos? And though I felt as if I were a living cliche of the newly enlightened American abroad, I started to get off on simple joys like nibbling salty volba in between dehydrating banya sessions. I even stopped asking people what they did for a living - a sure conversation stopper, especially in Turkey and Russia. Who cares where your money comes from? It's not nearly as important a question as 'How do you make baklava?' or 'Where is your favorite banya?' These are the questions that animate people, make them talk fast and gesticulate wildly.
I expected to learn concrete things during my tour: optimum ceiling heights and floor plans, loofah suppliers, Turkish marble dealers, and recipes for modern elixirs of nectar and ambrosia. I did learn where to buy the softest pestamals in the Covered Bazaar and how to use a veynik from Natasha, the Martha Graham of birch bough choreography, but what I'll remember in five years' time goes much deeper than practical knowledge.
Hanging out with crazed Russians, quiet Finns, and solemn Japanese in baths where people shared sensations - through nods, smiles, maybe a couple of words - was the ultimate satisfaction, a rare community of kindred spirits. Savoring apple tea, obsessing over the demise of the Roman baths, inhaling lavender stewing in hot water, and contemplating quivering pines from the warmth of an outdoor onsen were all pleasures I had never experienced in America. And maybe — and here was the rub - they were pleasures I never could have enjoyed in America, so obsessed was I with tomorrow and getting there faster.
At most of my stops along the way, people went to the baths simply because it was part of their identity, part of what made them Finnish, Japanese, or Russian. The sauna, onsen, and banya are simply an unquestioned part of how they relax and relate to friends and family.
I no longer feel that I need to open a hamam to justify this trip or my existence. Marina is Eastern and never felt a need to justify anything. I suppose I am catching on. For me now, it is about the baths and not about re-creating the baths for New Yorkers, much though I loved and still love the idea. Maybe we'll still do it, open a Turkish-Japanese bath, but it really doesn't matter.
The same way some people traipse through flea markets collecting ceramics or textiles as a lifelong hobby, I will always visit public baths. The baths I have already experienced became like familiar friends whom I'll continually revisit until I'm a wrinkly old lady. A long list of novel curiosities remains — the ultimate old-school hamam in Aleppo, Syria; maybe the Italians were still bathing in high Roman style at Montecatini; I had never gotten to visit an Aalto sauna or dance naked at midnight around a Russian banya. Luckily, I have my whole life to collect baths. And I know Marina will be there, too.
resource guide
So many baths, so little time. This public-bath guide is culled from my travels and from the travels of other bath enthusiasts. No matter where in the world you find yourself — Milan or Moscow, Tokyo or Turkey — chances are there's a good local establishment for a soak, a shvitz, or a steam. Hot-springs enthusiasts take note: I mention several that have public bathing facilities, but given that there are thousands of hot springs, and public baths for that matter, I urge you to explore for yourself once you've exhausted this primer.
Keep in mind that many baths alternate between mixed-gender, women-only, and men-only sessions. Admission fees and opening hours frequently change, so call ahead for this kind of information. Baths as a rule are inexpensive and the ones listed here range from ten cents to twenty dollars.
Canada
While Canada has fantastic hot springs, there aren't many public bathing establishments. This one gets a lot of press.
Miraj Hammam Spa, 1495 West 6th Avenue (at Granville), Vancouver, British Columbia, V6H 4G1. Tel: 604.733.5151.
www.mirajhammam.com.
One of the few proper hamams in North America, the Miraj offers Middle Eastern treatments and 'opulent sweating.'
England
In the late nineteenth century, the English had a love affair with what today is termed the 'Victorian-Turkish bath.' Beautiful bathing establishments were built throughout the British Isles. If you are keen to explore Turkish baths in England and Scotland, I urge you to visit Malcolm Shifrin's superb Web site, a loving tribute to and celebration of Turkish baths. You can find it online at www.victor-ianturkishbath.org.
Thermae Spa Bath. Hetling Pump Room, Hot Bath Street, Bath, BA1 1SJ.
General: 44.1225.33.5678. Reservations: 44.1225.33.1234.
www.thermaebathspa.com.
After a twenty-five-year hiatus, visitors to Bath can once again soak, scrub, and steam in its legendary waters. This £25 million project contains five bathing buildings, including the four-story New Royal Bath, which has a rooftop pool with bubbling airbeds, glass steam pods infused with essential oils, and treatment rooms offering a variety of international spa services.
The Porchester Centre. Queensway, London W2 5HS.
Tel: 44.20.7.792.2919.
The ground level of this slightly tattered but good-spirited bath looks like an art deco train station where people in bathrobes and towels sip tea and lounge on plastic recliners. The basement level offers a variety of saunas and steam rooms at different temperatures, as well as a very chilly cold plunge.
Ironmonger Row Baths. Ironmonger Row, London ECIV 3QN.
Tel: 44.20.7.253.4011.
The close-quartered baths in this community center boast a crowd of longtime regulars, including many artists and writers who have immortalized the place. A laid-back vibe and very comfy relaxation area makes this a popular spot, even if it doesn't have as many steam rooms and saunas as the Porchester Centre.
Finland
Finland is the home of the sauna (pronounced SOW-na in its native land), and you can experience all manner of sauna novelties from the world's largest smoke sauna to a nightclub sauna.
café Tin Tin Tango. Töölöntorinkatu 7, Helsinki. Tel: 358.9.2709.0972. A Helsinki entrepreneur thought to combine a café, art gallery, coin-operated laundry, and sauna rental in this quirky and popular destination.
Finnish Sauna Society. Vaskiniementie 10, FIN-00200 Helsinki. Tel: 358.9.6860.560. www.sauna.fi. Take bus number 20 from Erottaja (Helsinki's central Esplanade Park). The journey takes approximately fifteen minutes.
There's no better place to learn about the sauna than at the Finnish Sauna Society, which has several thousand members. Try all five saunas — the two savusaunas (traditional smoke sauna), the two wood-burning saunas, and the space-age electric one at their compound on the Gulf of Finland. In between sweating sessions, dash down a long jetty and hurl yourself into the water.
Jätkänkämpällä Smoke Sauna. Katiskaniementie 8, FI-70700 Kuopio. Tel: 358.17.473.473. www.rauhalahti.com.
Jätkänkämpällä is reputed to be the world's largest savusauna (smoke sauna), seating up to sixty. It takes a full twenty-four hours to fire up the sauna for the Tuesday and Friday sessions, which are open from 2 P.M. to 8 P.M. year-round. In the summer guests can enjoy the outdoor music, restaurant, and swims in the lake. Togalike wraps are provided.
Kotiharju Sauna. Harjutorinkatu 1, Helsinki. Tel: 358.9.753.1535. The last fully wood-fired public sauna in Helsinki. A washerwoman is available for a pre-sauna scrub with pine soap, massages can be booked in advance, and there's a terrace for cooling off outdoors in between sessions.
Palace Hotel. Etelaranta 10, Helsinki 00130. Tel: 358.9.1345.6656. www.palacehotel.fi.
Helsinki's power brokers meet on the eleventh floor of the Palace Hotel for the ultimate in the swish sauna experience. Choose between the wood-fired or electric sauna areas, both of which offer an outdoor terrace with breathtaking panoramic views of the South Harbor. This sauna must be booked ahead of time and is ideal for small groups who want a customized, catered sauna experience with refreshments and the attentions of a sauna attendant.
Saunabar. Eerikinkatu 27, Helsinki. Tel: 358.9.586.5550.
www.saunabar.net.
Book your sauna in advance at this underground bar cum sauna. Groups of friends gather to detox before or after drinking and dancing at the bar.
Saunasaari (a.k.a. 'Sauna Island'). Helsingin Saunasaari Oy, PL 105, 00160 Helsinki. Tel: 358.50.525.0393. www.saunasaari.fi. Waterbus m/s Leila departs from the Market Square twice daily.
A whole island devoted to the sauna? Yes, saunas and a few rustic country homes. Sauna Island is a ten-minute boat ride from downtown Helsinki and caters mostly to large groups. The various saunas and soaking tubs are in an idyllic, beautifully landscaped setting. On the island you can also enjoy grilled salmon, dark bread, sausage, and drinks.
Yrjönkatu. Yrjönkatu 21-b, Helsinki. Tel: 358.9.3108.7401.
First built in 1928, this mosaic-covered swimming hall in the middle of Helsinki possesses the grandeur of a Roman bath, but is strictly single sex. On three levels, there are two swimming pools and four saunas. Washerwomen and masseurs are available for pre- and post-sauna treatments.
Villa Hvittrask, Hvitträskintie 166, 02440 Luomo Bobäck.
Tel: 358.9.297.6033. www.hvittrask.com.
Finnish design aficionados and sauna-revelers alike will love this secluded spot about forty-five minutes from Helsinki. Designed and built by Herman Gesellius, Armas Lindgren, and Eliel Saarinen, Villa Hvittrask now has a museum, restaurant, and lakeside sauna available for private sauna parties. You must call several days ahead of time to book the sauna and gather lots of friends, because at roughly $300 for three hours, plus $10 for each bather, it's not cheap
. The sauna can hold up to fifteen people, and food and drink from the restaurant can be served in the sauna building.
France
Paris is known for its many hamams or 'hammams,' as the word is often spelled in Europe. Here are three of the most popular.
Les Bains du Marais. 31-33, rue des Blancs Manteaux, 75004, Paris. Tel: 33.1.44.61.02.02. www.lesbainsdumarais.com.
I had my first public-bath experience at Les Bains du Marais, so it will always be close to my heart. This small, serene spot in the middle of the Marais boasts an excellent Middle Eastern café and terrific gommage treatments in a room just off of the central steam room. The peaceful salle de repos, with cushy divans and plentiful mint tea, completes the experience.
La Mosquée. 39, rue Geoffroy-Saint-Hilaire, Paris. Tel: 33.1.4331.3820.
This hamam is part of a larger complex that the French government built for the Arab community in 1922 to thank them for their help in World World I. The hamam has a wonderful Felliniesque central room where bathers repose on cushions and massage tables line the walkway. Inside there are myriad steam chambers for those who like it hot and very hot.
Hammam Pacha. 147, rue Gabriel Péri, 93200 Saint-Denis. Tel: 33.1.48.29.19.66. www.hammampacha.com.
A popular spot, this hamam on the outskirts of Paris has a eucalyptus-scented steam room and a variety of other rooms for both steaming and relaxing.