Next came the steamy Turkish Room, which opened our pores and officially commenced the day’s schvitzing. We started with the dry Redwood sauna, which was a pleasant place to warm up, even for a dry sauna-phobe like myself (the really hot ones make me anxious). “Maybe later.” we told him-best to get the lay of the land first.Īfter a rinse in the showers, we went exploring. He stood next to a plastic garbage can filled with suds and leafy brooms. Almost immediately, a large man with a towel draped over his head asked us in heavily accented English if we wanted a massage.
Sweaty patrons slipped in and out of mystery rooms. On first impression, the Russian & Turkish Baths seemed both magical and a little scary-a shadowy, windowless place that also felt venerable and bygone, like the best of the city’s old subway platforms. Historically, they were also where babies were born, owing to their abundance of fresh water, hygienic surfaces, and radiant heat. This is in part due to the extreme atmospheres they offer-they are cold, wet, hot, and dry all at once. In Russia, banyas are considered liminal spaces, caught between worlds. ( Schvitz is the Yiddish word for “sweat.”) We changed and made our way downstairs to get our schvitz on. Bathing suits in tow, we paid the $35 admission fee and were given black cotton robes, towels, and plastic sandals. I visited on a sunny Sunday afternoon in October with my sister, also a first-time banya-goer. Today, the baths are co-ed except for Wednesday mornings when they are women-only, and Sunday mornings, when they are reserved for men. Judging from archival photographs, there was a time when they were clothing optional and men-only. The Baths, once referred to as the The Tenth Street Baths, have been around since 1892. This prior knowledge meant that I wasn’t just expecting a weird time at the Russian & Turkish Baths in New York’s East Village I was hoping for one. If he gently patted your cheeks, you would have good luck, but a swipe with his claws meant you were in for a rough year. Bannik could also predict your future-for a reading, you just had to stick your naked rear-end into the banya late at night and wait to see what Bannik would do with it. Bathers would give him offerings-loaves of salted bread or a slaughtered chicken to be buried beneath the threshold.
Russians of old believed that it was important to behave properly when visiting a banya or else you might insult Bannik, who made his home in the sauna oven. It was in this class that I learned about Bannik, the spirit of the bathhouse in Slavic mythology.
GRANNY HORROR GAME SAUNA OR STEAM ROOM HOW TO
Thus far, I only know how to say “thank you' (it’s spasibo). I’ve even gone so far as to join a weekly Russian language and culture course, because the restaurant that runs it boasts a library of infused vodkas and a dining room that looks like a Soviet granny’s parlor. Winter rolls around and my mind inevitably turns to Doctor Zhivago and sable-coated fantasies of moving to Brighton Beach.
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