Community saunas are all the rage with Hackney Wick’s own baths seeing an influx of visitors. But do they hold restorative powers or is it just a phony fad?
Maybe the Christians did get it right. Purgatory, or rather Hackney Wick’s community sauna, cleansed me of my sins. Well, my hangover.
The new wellness craze sweeping the capital is the centuries-old Nordic tradition: saunas. This renaissance has been pioneered by Community Sauna Baths, which has welcomed more than 50,000 people since its opening in 2022.
Meeting Ben, who had completed nothing short of a pilgrimage to get there, for our 8am start was no small feat. We needed to sweat away the stress of the journey.
At first glance, through the unassuming entrance of a repurposed 1930s bathhouse, it looked like a junkyard. Rustic whiskey barrels and abandoned bathtubs doubled as cold plunge pools. Seven wooden saunas, ranging from traditional Scandi styles to converted horse boxes, were heated by woodburning fires.
At this time in the morning, we thought we would be alone. Oh, how wrong we were. The baths have attracted loyal disciples, banding together even at this ungodly hour.
Choosing a horsebox-turned-sauna to start, we were swiftly taken under the wing of a couple of Hackney hipsters donning woolly elfin hats. From behind a cloak of sauna steam, they informed us their headgear was to prevent them overheating. Suspiciously counterintuitive. Yet, the fact we were not sporting them instantly identified us as rookies.
I’m not sure whether it was the confessional style setup of the wooden booths, but whatever it was, I wanted to spill my deepest secrets to my sauna companions.
Baltic temperatures, folk music and cinnamon tea
We left, steaming, for our post-sauna plummet into ice-cold waters. Instead of our skin releasing an audible hiss, we let out yelps. Our weakness was met with glances from unimpressed veterans.
Ready for round two. This time, opting for a custom-built Finnish design. Although we were warned that this would be the hottest of them all, we braved the scorching temperatures. Here, we stumbled upon a silent, stoic soul, who seemed completely at home in his surroundings.
Unable to compete, we retreated outside to seek the cool of the plunge pools. But relief was short-lived. Instead, we shivered while stifling squeals.
In our final sauna session of the hour, we encountered a wise sage. Or rather, an experienced sauna-goer: a man who had endured a four-hour sweat lodge in Mexico. Regularly beginning his day with the ritual, he proved to be an advocate for the relaxing and restorative power of sauna, believing more people should incorporate the meditative practice into their lives. More than impressed, we bid him adieu after a pitiful two-minute attempt.
Bracing ourselves for one final plunge, we proudly discovered we could now, almost, bear the Baltic temperatures. Between stifling humidity and freezing pools, the constant hum of gentle folk music brought us close to tears.
Sent on our way with a cup of piping hot cinnamon tea, we practically floated through the door. Leaving the sweltering sanctuary in our wake, we felt lighter and overwhelmingly relaxed.
All in all, it was a vaguely religious experience. But most importantly, my hangover was completely cured.
My top tip? Just don’t forget to bring your flip-flops.
Additional reporting by Ben Lee.
