3. Waters (HW)
Toronto, Canada
Dear Jamie,
A week ago, I left Denmark, and have now returned to Canada (it seems to have become a habit, to move from one cold country to another). On my last night in Copenhagen, I asked my friend to join me in what has become one of my favourite experiences there — the sauna.
The sauna culture is a widespread fixture in Nordic countries and for me, it’s the key to surviving the dark, dreary winters. It comes in many forms, but the bare bones of it consists of sauna sessions interspersed with breaks where some form of water is used to cool down, whether in the form of a cold shower, buckets of water, or jumping into the open sea. Certain saunas situated by the harbour allow for the latter, known as winter bathing, though they are often private or by membership only. There exist also a myriad of public baths in the city, inexpensive and accessible for all, and a lovely part of local culture.
We went to one such place, called Sjællandsgade Bad, located in the neighbourhood of Nørrebro. It’s a beautiful old bath house in a red brick building that was built in the early 1900’s, with a simple sign over the entrance that says “BAD” (bath, in Danish). When it first opened in 1917, it operated as public baths for working-class families, who did not have their own private bathing facilities. The bath house was decommissioned when apartments started to have their own bathrooms. In 2012, it was reopened by a group of volunteers and continues to be fully volunteer-run today. Stepping inside feels like being transported to another era. Glossy white subway tiles line the walls, and rows of showers and baths are outfitted with old school industrial taps. A pleasant hum of voices echo in the mist-filled landscape. If ever you have the chance to visit Copenhagen, do check it out.
At the end last year, I spent a few months in Onsevig. It’s a tiny fishing village on the northernmost tip of Lolland, a region of Denmark that is a bit remote, and perhaps a bit forsaken. A couple years prior, the villagers got together and built a sauna by the harbour. It’s really little more than a hut with two rooms, one for changing, and one for the sauna, lined with wooden planks and powered by an electric stove. Two windows framed views to the sea outside. On Monday, Wednesday, Friday and weekend mornings, the heat would switch on automatically for one hour. Sometimes it was hard to drag myself up and head out to the harbour with its oft-ferocious winds, but you knew that once you had made it inside, you would be rewarded by that pleasant heat, enveloping on all sides, with its smell of fresh wood and view to the blue-grey horizon.
Usually there were one or two other people from the village there, all elderly. Pleasantries would be exchanged, generally some talk or other about menial village happenings. It was a great opportunity for me to practice Danish. In fact I probably spoke more Danish there than anywhere else.
When the heat had become sufficiently uncomfortable and consequently inspired enough courage, you’d gather your towel up and step outside, walking as quickly as possible to the stairs leading into the sea so as to keep the momentum going. A step or two in, and then off you went, into the deep.
Nothing quite comes close to that feeling of plunging naked into an icy cold sea. The cold is so intense that in the beginning, you can feel it like a heavy, paralyzing pressure on the chest. But oh, the feeling afterwards when you come out. An absolute clarity, the air crisp in a way it’s never felt, the body tingling and awake. You feel washed of your sins.
After the last dip we would sometimes sit together on the bench outside, facing the sea, in a calm, vibrating silence. All would feel well in the world.
When I reflect on the experiences I’ve had in the various waters of Denmark, they read like a funny kind of curriculum vitae, pins on a map of memories made and journeys undertaken. (Perhaps it’s appropriate, for a country that has held so much of my sweat and tears, of love, of pain, of joy and of suffering). What’s more, they have often been an opportunity to bond deeper with friends and strangers alike. There is something about being in a space, stripped — often literally — of existing boundaries, that provides a sense of kinship.
To name a few: Islands Brygge, 2016. My first experience winter bathing. It’s mid-December and a friend with a membership to a sauna club invites me to join him. The first time I jump into the water, the shock is so intense that I forget to breathe. Tisvildeleje, 2016. My first time skinny dipping in the ocean. A friend and I drive to a beach in northern Zealand, whose name is derived from Ti’s vaelde or, “a place dedicated to the God Tyr.” Until then, I didn’t know that it was possible to merge like that with the endless horizon. La Banchina, 2017. A restaurant by the harbour with a sauna fashioned out of a wooden barrel. My then-lover and I, standing forehead to forehead on the dock in the nighttime, hearts pounding, breaths merging, a brief moment of purity.
I had another such moment in this most recent visit to Sjællandsgade. After a few rounds of sauna, I noticed there was a cold water tub standing in the corner, big enough to fit two snugly, and filled to the brim with water. There was already a woman sitting inside, looking quite relaxed and comfortable. This turned out to be quite misleading, as I discovered when I slid into the tub and was confronted with the now-familiar shock of cold. Once the body was fully submerged though, the discomfort went away, and an absolute stillness came, one that surrounded me completely.
If the sensation were a colour, it would be a dark, muted blue. I ceased to feel the cold, yet it was still there. I ceased to be in my body and my surroundings, yet I was still there. I closed my eyes, and floated into a neutral space, my sense of self temporarily relinquishing its grip. Throughout this, I could feel the presence of the other woman, in a space vaguely nearby, very much in harmony with mine. I have no idea for how long I sat there. When finally I opened my eyes, we looked at each other in a funny kind of understanding. Though I don’t know what she experienced, I imagine it must have been something interesting as well. We acknowledged and thanked each other, as we stepped out and parted ways.
I hope you’re finding flow in whatever waters you’re navigating at the moment.
Hugs,
H
