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A Taste of Our Stories

200 Degrees and Sweaty Strangers. Welcome to Sauna Fest.

By Amelia Arvesen

With a bundle of birch leaves as my pillow, I’m in my swimsuit, lying face down on a makeshift massage table in a 180-degree sauna tent. I hear the hiss of water on hot rocks before I feel boiling droplets hit my back. The dripping turns to brushing—someone’s gently sweeping me with oak leaves now—and then suddenly, they start whacking me. Back, butt, legs—nothing’s spared.

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