Walk into virtually any downtown Toronto spa and you're likely to witness the following: Couples prudishly strapped into bathing suits struggling with tepid infrared saunas. Gaggles of bridal parties yakking about wedding plans in the hot tub. Health nuts sipping spirulina tinctures at the juice bar.
And then there is the real deal: Russian sauna culture. Hidden away inside suburban strip malls across the Greater Toronto Area, Russian banyas (or saunas) are spartan and diabolically hot. Patrons often don't bother with bathing suits, thanks to nights reserved exclusively for women or men. Vodka shots replace wheatgrass on the menu. Conversations are relaxed.
Brought over to Toronto by the Russian diaspora, banyas are a uniquely self-indulgent winter experience in this city. Eastern Europeans extol steam bathing for a whole host of health benefits, from detoxification to blood circulation to boosting the immune system. The tradition spans centuries in Russia, persisting thanks to "cold winters … thickly wooded forests that provide ample wood for fuel and construction and the hard-working peasant's dependence on folk medicine," writes Mikkel Aaland in his authoritative 1978 book Sweat.
On a biting Canadian night, there is nothing quite like leaving a Russian sauna: pulsating with heat, the skin feels invincible despite the cold. This winter, The Globe's Zosia Bielski rounds up some of the GTA's best banyas.
South-Western Bathhouse, 2200 Dundas St. E., Mississauga; $40 for adults
Down an alley running alongside a nondescript plaza, a door leads into this lively bathhouse, which features a wet Russian sauna, dry Finnish sauna and Turkish hammam, or steam room.
On a recent day in December, a man in neon orange trunks gave a woman a vigorous "venik" massage inside the sweltering, wood-burning Russian sauna. Veniks are bushels of thin tree branches, preferably oak or birch, their leaves soaked and softened in hot water. Guests flagellate themselves and each other with veniks to drive more heat and steam to the body, promoting blood circulation.
The man swung the bushel over his head and up and down the woman's body. A thwacking sound filled the sauna. Growing woozy from the heat, the man abruptly raced out. To cool down, people dunked themselves in an enormous barrel of icy water.
Swinging between extremes of hot and cold is a bracing ritual Russians swear keeps them healthy. Owner Valentina Tourianski steams in the banya every Tuesday. "If I don't do it, I'm dead," said the former real estate agent.
Ms. Tourianski runs the bathhouse with her daughters Julia and Elena and husband Victor, an engineer. A bit of a renaissance man, he built the sauna himself and is now chef at the onsite restaurant. Here, samovars, glass teacups with ornate handles and a bust of Vladimir Lenin line the walls. The vibe is communist ski chalet. Vodka is served with slices of homemade pickle and patrons dine on plump pierogi (here called pelmeni), cabbage rolls and pickled herring salad known as shuba. Eating dinner in a bathrobe is a particular kind of decadence. My friend's robe comes undone as she feasts on beef bourguignon; by this point she's too zenned out to care.
Ms. Tourianski estimates that 85 per cent of her clientele is now English-speaking. "We have Chinese, we have Muslim, we have all different cultures," she said. "We have a great crowd."
A photo of one very special guest hangs behind the cash: Justin Bieber popped in alone one day in the fall of 2016. The Biebs came slightly unprepared. "He didn't have shorts. I gave him shorts," said Ms. Tourianski, whose daughter Elena helped the superstar make tea because he didn't know what he was doing. What did Bieber get up to in the banya? "He just relaxed."
Sanduny Sauna Spa Russian banya; 1027 Finch Ave. W., North York; $50 for adults
Wrapping myself in a fluffy bathrobe in the women's change room, I can hear someone who's not Louis Armstrong belting out What a Wonderful World through the wall. Aside from its banya facilities, Sanduny boasts a karaoke bar, night club and restaurant.
Inside the spa, a TV blares Russian pop music videos with soap operatic narratives, car chases and dance-offs between sexy people. The place feels regimented. Attendants mop floors non-stop, sweeping the saunas of loose venik leaves. The moment my towel grows soggy, it's replaced by a dry towel.
There is a Turkish hammam, a dry Finnish sauna and a blisteringly hot Russian sauna. A sinewy Eastern European man sits on the top bench, wearing a canary yellow hat not unlike Paddington Bear's. Felt and wool hats are a ubiquitous sight in the banya. Paradoxically, they buffer the head from heat, meaning the body can withstand the detoxifying sauna longer. "Give me the power to create a fever and I shall cure any disease," reads the spa pamphlet, quoting the classical Greek physician Hippocrates.
To chill off, patrons step under Looney Toons-styled wooden buckets that hang from the ceiling. Pulling down on a rope, they get a frigid waterfall cascading down on their heads.
Next door, the bar serves crêpes with red caviar, a royal fish plate with semi-salted salmon, sturgeon, pink salmon and boiled beef tongue with horseradish, among other delicacies. One guy sporting a viking-styled banya hat nurses his beer in between rounds in the spa.
"It's a place where you can come and you can spend three or four hours and you didn't realize it," said owner Yasha Sitsker, who steams here at least once a week. Sitsker refers to a specific time meld that happens in banyas. Hours slow as you focus on the single task of moving from hot sauna to frigid pool to humid steam room. The outside world fades away. Like the pamphlet promises, "Leisurely procedures will make you placid."
Steamul Sauna, 1310 Dundas St. E., Mississauga; $34 for adults Monday to Thursday and $37 for adults Friday to Sunday (includes HST)
Many GTA banyas designate women's, men's or co-ed nights. Mondays are typically reserved for women. "Ladies only" night at Steamul sees nude women congregating around a spacious, tiled room.
They lie around on plastic lawn recliners, eat blood oranges and chat, their faces encased in moisturizing masks. Some apply homemade exfoliating scrubs crafted from Folgers coffee grounds or Billy Bee honey and sea salt.
This is self-care on overdrive, with bodies of every size and shape lovingly attended to. "It's like a communal watering hole for different species," observes my friend, who hit the vape earlier in the evening.
The mood among the women is playful. Standing under one of Steamul's ice-cold, bucket showers, I chicken out, weakly pulling the rope for a trickle of frosty water. A blue-turbaned woman named Ella decides to expedite the process.
"Fast" is how you do it, Ella explains. Wearing exfoliation mitts on her hands, she steers me under the bucket again and pulls the rope, full throttle. A blast of Arctic water slams my back and I howl. The women here are steely.
We move to the Finnish sauna, redolent of cedar and curved like a snail's shell, notes my high friend.
Inside one of two blazing hot Russian saunas, Ella demonstrates her venik massage technique, drumming her friend's back with two switches like a bongo player. She administers a few lashes my way and instructs me to jump in the cold pool. The skin feels prickly and alive.
"Venik is not something to punish somebody [with] but rather, to enjoy," owner Roman Moiseenko assures me. "It's very traditional. Our people like it."
We finish off at the sparse in-house restaurant. My friend orders delicate cabbage rolls and Russian antipasto: olives, pickles, tomatoes and zesty carrot slaw. Borscht arrives with rye toast and thinly sliced, raw garlic. Like the women, it packs a punch.
Steamul Sauna, 9688 Leslie St., Richmond Hill; $30 for adults
In the thick of Toronto's first blizzard of the season, we ventured to another Steamul Sauna, this one under different ownership in Richmond Hill. Tamara, a most affable host, greeted us at the front desk, which doubles as the bar. My eyes land on a jumbo, Costco-sized bottle of Finlandia vodka and a clear Tupperware bin of dried fish, which Russians pair with beer. Czechvar's on tap, imported from the Czech Republic.
It's Monday, which means it's ladies night. In the deserted and log cabin-like restaurant, we gripe to Tamara about an inequity: Why do so many banyas open their doors exclusively to men three or four days a week but relegate women to Mondays? Women are too busy to steam all week long, is the catty consensus. (Another injustice: The kitchen is closed on Mondays because many of the regulars are dieting, Tamara laments.)
Past the bar lies a cavernous lounge, showers and saunas. Sturdy oak veniks imported from Ukraine soak in water, in pails emptied of Tymek's pickles. There's a communal bin of banya hats and mitts for protecting hands against blisters while handling hot veniks. One sauna is high ceilinged with several tiers of benches: the higher you go, the hotter. With its darkened wood walls and theatrical lighting, the sauna may as well be Hades.
Tamara says the Russian steaming ritual is a fountain of youth. She asks us to guess her age. "Fifty?" we hazard. "I am 69," Tamara beams, her cheeks taut. Though she's been to YMCAs downtown, their lukewarm saunas don't come close to banya: "It's like earth and sky."
Ambassador Club; 638 Sheppard Ave. W., North York; $30 for adults (no website)
Opened in the 1960s, the Ambassador is the granddaddy of banyas in the GTA. The sprawling subterranean chamber sits beneath an unremarkable mini-mall. Down a flight of stairs past a wall painted with circus bears you enter the waiting room, adorned with a portrait of the Kremlin palace and three clocks telling the time in Moscow, Tel Aviv and Toronto. To the right, a sizable lounge; to the left, a lap pool and powerful whirlpool that sounds like a fighter jet starting up.
Inside the Ambassador's cavernous sauna, a massive kiln looks like something you might employ for human sacrifice. On ladies' night, naked women swing towels over their heads to move the boiling air around. It slams you in the face like a heatwave on an airport tarmac in the Caribbean.
Women cart in their DIY scrubs and masks in glass jars and old cottage cheese containers.
They saunter around covered head to toe in coffee grounds – good for cellulite, apparently. Two benches sit at the end of the communal shower area; one of the regulars reportedly bought them on her own dime. Women cover the benches with a plastic sheet, lie down and give each other vigorous exfoliation massages.
With its peeling lockers, ratty robes and threadbare towels, the Ambassador is weathered but warm. There is great camaraderie among the regulars, who are kind to first-timers, quizzing them about how they found the place and what they know about banya. The education is free.