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The Russian Bania
A Boisterous Bath in Lenningrad
(Now St. Petersburg*)
©1998 by Mikkel Aaland All Rights Reserved
We all know how man came into being.
Man was created when God took a bania and sweated profusely.
He dried himself off with straw and dropped the straw to earth
where the Devil used the straw to create the body.
Then later, God gave man his soul.
-Russian sorcerer, 1071

Entrance to Bania 43 in Leningrad (St. Petersburg).
Photo by Mikkel Aaland. All rights reserved.
It happened to be Lenin's birthday that fine spring morning in
Leningrad as I hiked the streets searching for Bania 43. The hotel
manager had given me a note in Russian, directing me to the bania.
I had simply to show the note to anyone on the street and they
would point the way. But Russians on the street weren't eager
to introduce a foreigner to their communal baths, which some consider
a vestige of their peasant past. I handed the note to about 20
people who responded with gruff suspicion before I found Bania
43.
An old woman sat on the door sill selling venniks (bania switches).
I pushed through double doors and found myself in a large hallway
filled with barber shops and small kiosks. I moved with the crowd
to the end where the sexes separated; women turned left and men
fanned off to a staircase. Before I had climbed two steps the
crowd had frozen in a long queue. My visa was too short to wait
out that line so I brashly bounded up the stairs like a man with
a mission. At the coat check counter I produced a handful of change
from which the attendant plucked only 20 kopeks. Not a bad fee.
I ducked into the dressing room hoping the long line of bathers
behind me wouldn't recognize me with my clothes off.
I felt a tug at my shirt tail and heard a greeting in German.
"Sind sie Deutsch'" (Are you German?) I turned to face an unusually
thin Russian. Feeling it wiser not to be German or American in
a Russian public bath, I told him I was Finnish. His eyes lit
up and he motioned me to join him. We hung our clothes on adjoining
hangers and put our valuables and shoes in doorless boxes. He
produced a bottle of light beer. We swigged together, then I followed
him through a washroom and to the door of the hot room.
He asked if I was ready. I wasn't sure. In Finnish baths a respectful
Nordic calm governs bathing behavior, but here the bathers sounded
like the rooting section of the Soviet basketball team during
the closing seconds of their Olympic win over the Americans. Yells
and screams exploded through the door. During a brief lull, I
could hear men beating each another with venniks.
"Come in, it is good, da," my bania comrade said, giving me the
first Russian smile I had seen that day. Before he could open
the door, a cherry red eight-year-old scurried out of the room
with steam billowing from his back. He was over to water basins
on the far wall like a shot, and began dousing himself.
Through the thick air of the steam room, I could make out some
twenty bathers whipping each other with birch whisks. Like a scene
from the Inferno, winter-white bodies wove together like ghosts
in the clouded air. The Russians seemed to be trying to outshout
hissing water as it was poured on the heater. This heater was
wide as a truck and reached three meters to the ceiling. Inside
glowed a massive load of round rocks, resembling cannon balls.
The concrete walls and floor were treacherously slick. If I were
to describe Bania 43 to a Helsinki Finn, I would say it was a
replica of Sauna 26 on Alikishinverkatu. To a Californian, I would
say it was similar to Finnilias in San Francisco, or the Albany
steam baths. New Yorkers would find the bath at St. Marks Square
a good likeness.
My comrade yelled something in Russian and the room fell quiet--all
eyes focused on me. I had the uneasy feeling he was telling them
I was a Finn and should be shown some real sweat bathing. A couple
of men at the top of the platform motioned for me to join them
as my friend yelled for more steam to accompany my climb. A few
hands helped me up. I sat down quickly, ducked my head between
my knees and hoped the searing steam collecting at that altitude
would soon pass. The Russians began laughing and stomping on the
platform. I never expected such raucous exuberance from the stoney
faces I had seen on the street.
Another treat--out came the birch switches. I tried to refuse,
but an obliging Russian, perhaps not understanding, went to work
on me. Wap! The birch slapped across my back and drove scalding
steam deeper into my skin. I thought "ouch" was a universal word,
but the Russian ignored my cries until I was sure I would have
welts for a week.
I had considered myself a seasoned sweat bather, but this was
too much. I escaped outside into the washing room. My bania comrade
had instigated a friendly competition between Finland and the
Soviet Union of which I wanted no part. If the Russians can endure
more heat than I, it's no sweat off my back.
The washing room held about 50 bathers gathered around several
washing benches. The steam was not as dense as it was in the steam
room. Each bather had a steel bucket with soap and scrubbing material
that looked like bunched-up wood shavings. Everyone was busy washing
himself or the person next to him, while the inevitable Russian
line formed in front of the few showers.
I grabbed a bucket, filled it with water and began scrubbing my
red, steamy body. Soon the relaxing effects of the bania softened
my first impressions of the Russians. Their camaraderie in the
bania was a dramatic contrast to their stoicism in the streets.
I washed and dressed quickly. I still had three more banias to
visit that day.
*I visited Bania 43 in 1975, long before the fall of the Soviet
Union, and before Leningrad was changed back to St. Petersburg.
Does anyone out there know if Bania 43 is still standing????
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