Banya, or Bath House
What I had previously learned about the banya, or Russian bath house, came from old Soviet films that I watched during my Russian film class in college. Old pot-bellied men sitting naked in a small wooden hut that simulated a sauna, drenched in sweat from the heated rocks which create hot air. After a short time, the men run stark naked into the the snow-covered field, rolling around on the freshly fallen snow in the dead of winter while beating each other with birch branches; the feeling of the leaves and the drastic temperature change cause a sense of tranquility as they return to the sauna once again and repeat the process.
My banya experience was somewhat different, but still echoed the traditional processes undertaken in the Russian banyas that were once frequented by entire village communities and elite state officials over the centuries. The banya, originating in regions with long bitter winters, has now become a weekly necessity for many people in Ukraine. As the weather becomes crisp and the leaves fall from the trees, more and more individuals head to the banya for the health benefits associated with the steam house.
The Hillel students called me over the weekend, inviting me to the banya for 50 UAH (equivalent to $6). Unsure if the banya would be in an institutional-looking facility or a wooden hut in the middle of a field, I agreed, looking forward to a new experience in Ukraine. With the time change in effect, the sun had set in Dnepropetrovsk on Sunday by 4:30 pm. With the cold wind blowing as I walked through the emptying streets, I realized that fall is slowly coming to a close, making way for dark days and bitter weather. We caught a marshrutka, or taxi van, to the area of the city in which the banya is located. We walked through apartment-lined streets, getting lost in the residential neighborhood of the city as we trod over cracked sidewalks crowded with overgrown shrubs. Passing the giant factory that once operated as the missile and arms manufacturing facility in Dnepropetrovsk during the Soviet Union (this factory was the main reason that this city remained closed to outsiders until the collapse of the Soviet Union), we made our way down a long driveway towards a small building that housed the banya.
7 Hillel students, myself, and a German volunteer entered the private banya that groups can reserve for three hour sessions. The large entry room has leather couches, a table on which we set our food (our snacks included peanuts, sardines, dried fish, beer and tea) and a TV with the local music station playing Russian and American hip hop. In the two small changing rooms that smelled faintly of cat pee, a bed is arranged for bathers who wish to rest. In bathing suits and borrowed flip flops, we walked down the hall to the banya which is composed of another two rooms. The first room with a tiled floor hosts a small shower in which to rinse off, and a 5-ft deep pool of ice cold water in which you submerge yourself after time spent in the sauna. The next room contains the suana: a small wood-paneled room that holds a large oven with hot rocks that produce the intense heat as well as tiered benches on which you sit or lay. After stepping into the sauna, you become immediately drenched with sweat. The hot, dry air smells of wood and the immense heat burns your lips and eyes.
For three hours we moved from room to room; from the overwhelmingly hot sauna, to the cold pool that is greenish and murky, and into the sitting area for a cup of tea and some games. As we left the banya with soft skin, feeling relaxed and refreshed, and stepped back into the 35 degree weather, we encountered a large group of men waiting to enter the banya for their reserved session.
Three of us walked slowly through the empty roads of Dnepropetrovsk back towards the city center. The yellow leaves from the surrounding trees covered the broken concrete sidewalks and the cool air whipped against my jacket and damp hair. I think of my year-long placement in this region and the exepriences that await me. The wide roads, the old men drinking beer on benches in the cold night air, Soviet factories and crowds of men awaiting the banya are no longer new to me, but continue to remind me of where I am and the rich history that surrounds me.
It strikes me that you are so much more open to these experiences than I would be. Weren’t you nervous to do this? The odor of cat pee alone would have driven me off! Kudos to you and thanks for the continued fascinating description of what is to me an alien landscape.