In the earliest days of summer last year, I set off for Finland, invited by the World Sauna Forum to discover the country through its bathing culture. Finland has three million saunas for a population of five million, a whole country where most people share rituals for feeling good. It was an easy yes: the chance to be out in the world, experience new waters (including the Baltic Sea), and to immerse myself in Finnish traditions that reach back centuries.
As the founder of RewildRestore, where I lead ocean-centric retreats, I’m drawn to all things that return us to the elemental and sensorial. What would it be like to meet a country—and its people—in the sauna?
Over ten days, I moved through Helsinki and into central Finland, through settings from urban to ancient, forest to seaside, and lakeside to sea pool—all made possible by the midsummer sun, which stretches each day into what feels like two. I came as a sea person, and I left feeling changed by Finnish lakes.
Helsinki
Before leaving NYC, I’d learned I’d have my own in-room sauna at Lapland Hotels Bulevardi. So on the flight to Helsinki, this was all I could think about: landing, grabbing a quick bite, indulging in the heat, and dropping off to sleep in a melted state. Arriving at Lapland, in Helsinki’s Design District near the harbor, there’s no question I was in the Nordic world—the hotel’s décor takes its cues from the land of reindeer, forests, and cozy sheepskins bringing the outdoors in. My sauna was a dream—nestled in a glass cubby near the tub, all natural wood with a wood-burning stove and beautiful linen towels.
But the solo sauna session never happened. Partly because there are so many wonderful public saunas in Helsinki, and partly because I quickly learned that the heart of sauna culture here is meant to be shared—in good company, a way of living that’s open to steaming, sweating, and dissolving into a kind of togetherness. Minutes after arriving, I received a WhatsApp from my friend Alan Jalassja, host of the “Kivia: The Spirit of Sauna” podcast (about how enthusiasts are expanding the idea of sauna, adding new twists on Finnish traditions): Bring flip flops, a large towel for drying and a small one for sitting in the sauna. See you downstairs in ten! I rallied.
A short subway ride later, I found myself walking through red, orange and yellow tulips toward a large SAUNA sign glowing in the distance, and a row of half-dressed men cooling off on the outside ledges. An iconic Helsinki scene. We were at Kotiharjun, the city’s last remaining wood-fired public sauna, open since 1928.
The vibe is unadorned, local, no frills, the real deal. We showered (always shower before sauna in Finland) and made our way to the women’s sauna area, heated by a magnificent floor-to-ceiling oven. As the steam built, I could feel my body softening, my molecules beginning to regather after so much traveling.
Conversation flowed with my new sauna friends. There’s something about the moment you fall in love with sauna—it takes root. So this is what we talked about: the sauna that broke us open, the one that gave us a quiet place to turn inward, the one that warmed parts of us that had grown cold, the one that brought us here together. The mood is light. Between rounds, we lingered. Two women sat in bathrobes at a checkered tablecloth, whispering over pretzels and Nutella. On my final round, I joined the line of men cooling off outside, the only woman. I smiled and got nods and smiles in return. In the men’s locker room, I’d heard, it’s all politics: steamy and spirited, fueled with beers and whiskey.
We were a tousled, steamed bunch as we sat down to dinner just steps away from Kotiharjun. At 9 pm, the sun was still high. I felt welcomed, already a bit like a local, or at least not like an outsider.
Lonna
I woke rested as if I’d slept for days. My hotel breakfast felt like its own introduction into Finnish tastes: mounds of house-smoked salmon, cured fish and meats, tables of freshly-baked rye and crisp flatbreads, creamy butter, small pots of delicate cloudberry jam, a spread of greens, strong black coffee, and my first encounter with reindeer black sausage.
We ventured to Lonna, located on a former military island just a seven-minute ferry ride from Helsinki. Along the way, we passed tiny archipelagos of wilderness, occasionally spotting a cottage on one of them. Where Kotiharjun is unadorned and local, Lonna is contemporary—untreated hand-carved wood on the outside and an interior of pitched ceilings and sea-facing windows. It was hard to tell who lives here and who’s just visiting, but clearly a mix of both. It was high school graduation week, so the place hummed with young people and celebration.
Between rounds of heat, we settled outside in our robes—cooling, talking, slipping into the Baltic Sea. Someone handed me a Fat Lizard beer. This is where the unguarding happens, where conversations soften and people meet each other more openly.
Anna, a fellow bathing devotee I met along the way, told me that in Finland löyly—the soft, rising steam that comes from water meeting hot stone—is considered the spirit of the sauna, the stove its lungs, drawing breath with each pour and opening something just beyond the present moment. Before we left, she paused at the stove and asked if anyone would like more löyly. It’s a small but essential gesture in Finnish sauna culture—tending the steam for those who remain. She demonstrated a long, slow pour, releasing a waft of heat from the deepest layers of stone.
Lonna visits are meant to last two hours, we stayed four. On the ferry back, there was an ease between us, as if we’d been friends for far longer than 24 hours.
Furuvik Seaside Sauna
Furuvik had been on my bathing wish list ever since I met its founder, Tea Lindberg, at a Culture of Bathing gathering in New York City. She had me at Come sauna and swim with me in the Baltic Sea.
There are many reasons to love Furuvik, from the forest-edged beach to the many ways to sauna (seaside, in a van, in the courtyard, even in a telephone booth) and the care poured into restoring the 1884 farmhouse into a beloved bathing institution. But what I remember most is the feeling of dropping into the true rhythm of Finnish life: unstructured, unhurried, free to move and linger at your own pace amidst sea air, birch, fire, and laughter.
We arrived around 5pm—which I was learning meant at least six more hours of daylight—greeted with home-pressed blueberry mocktails. In a small sauna with a window facing the sea, I lay on my belly, closed my eyes, and listened: water pouring over hot stones, the rustle of leaves, the soft gathering of steam. I imagined Kaisu, my sauna guide, orchestrating it all like a conductor, as the löyly glided over me, circled and returned.
Then came the whisking treatment. A gentle tapping with forest leaves at my feet, traveling upward along my body, until the cool bundle was pressed firmly between my shoulder blades and held there. My whole chest softened, and in the air, birch, maple, and spruce diffused with each rhythmic movement. At some point without my noticing, my perception shifted. I felt suspended, held by something vast, as the löyly rolled over me like waves. When I opened my eyes, I was surprised to find walls, a window, land.
A little later, I made my way up the hill to find sausages roasting on the fire pit. Tea’s son ran joyfully between the sauna, sea, and hot tub. Her daughter was barefoot in a sequined pink gown. No rules. Just the midsummer evening sun. We were in its spell.
Back in Helsinki
I never thought I’d sauna in a bar. In fact, when I was invited to Kyrö Sauna Bar, which brings together two Finnish passions—rye whiskey and sauna—I was skeptical. The experience began with a call-and-response song to the löyly and ended with a massage of salt and honey, warm water ladled over each of our heads. I didn’t expect to feel baptized in a city center, let alone in a bar. Yet there was something of that—I felt lighter, softened, washed of my own judgement. The clash of sauna and pub had mellowed into something harmonious. Wrapped in my bathrobe, I cozied up to the bar and sipped a dram with my new friends.
En route to and between sweats in Helsinki, we ventured to the OODI library, unlike any library I have ever seen and an embodiment of Finnish values—designed with beautiful creative spaces, including a music recording studio, 3D printers, book binding and t-shirt transfer workspaces, and mini indoor forests which serve as reading nooks. All accessible for free. We also wandered through the Market Square, where we marveled over tins of elk, reindeer, and bear, and splurged on a 30-euro three-cracker lunch of Nordic caviar.
I loved popping into the HAM, the Helsinki Art Museum, to explore the Helsinki Biennale. My favorite discovery: Teardrops of Our Grandmother, a sublime aerial video of Lapland reindeer by artists Jenni Laiti and Carl-Johen Utsi. I hugely appreciated Rams Roasters for the coffee that got me through a three-sauna day. And I savored Ravintola Kuurna, located in the charming harborside neighborhood of Kruunuhaka. All ingredients are sourced from local small-scale producers. We went post-sauna, fully steamed with our hair a mess, mascara running, and hopefully a touch of sauna glow. If you looked around, we weren’t the only ones. It’s what people do here, meet in the sauna first to let go of the day and relax, and then keep going to really enjoy their time together.
If I’d had more time, I would have made it to the newly renovated Yrjönkatu Swimming Hall, the first and oldest public swimming pool in Finland. Inaugurated in 1928, it was designed by architect Väinö Vähäkallio in the style of Nordic Classicism (think two-story columns and arches, indoor palm trees, and resting cabins to nestle into). You can swim with or without a swimsuit. Saunas, steam, and infrared on the second floor. Single visits are only 6 euro.
Into the Wild
As a final chapter, I rented a car and took myself to the edge of the Nuuksio National Park, less than 30 kilometers from downtown Helsinki. The forest stands on bedrock nearly 2 billion years old; the land and lakes above it a much younger creation of the last Ice Age.
At Hawkhill Nature, I had the chance to experience Finnish mökki culture on my own. Mökki is often translated as “summer cottage,” but in Finnish culture it holds something larger: a deep relationship to nature and forest. At its center, always, is the sauna. The rhythm of our day was sauna, lake, resting, sipping a Finnish “long drink” or lonkero (a blend of gin and citrus soda that’s a bit of a cultural phenomenon in Finland), more lake, swim, sauna, laugh, supper under the stars. After a sprint of social sauna-ing, my body and were ready to settle back the forest and my own pace.
I was greeted by Annu, whose eight cottages have been in her family since her grandfather came here in 1947. “We are a people of the forest,” she said, drawing a line from his time to hers. When she showed me my cabin, I knew three nights would not feel like enough: a slice of forest to tuck into, my own swim platform and ladder into the lake, an indoor log sauna with the sweetest window to the trees. All of this plus a kayak and a welcome basket of Finnish essentials—fresh rye bread, creamy butter, coffee, field greens, homegrown blueberries, salted caramel dates, and chocolate. A perfect little world.
We hiked through the forest, then it was time to meet the lake. Over a thermos of milkweed tea, Annu described another world: Finns believe that beneath the forest floor lies a parallel place that mirrors this one, yet is subtly inverted. One might enter through an ant’s nest, or by falling through. And if someone goes missing, it is said the forest people have taken them. I asked whether this makes the forest feel frightening. “The point is not fear,” she said. “It is respect. To listen.”
Slinking down the ladder, the lake was bracing, a silky amber red. I was the only movement on it. It could have been 7pm or 9pm; the light lingered. I began my ritual of lake and sauna, repeating until my body settled into it. I practiced my löyly, pouring water slowly over the heated rocks, preferring this gentle caress to the slap of adding too much at once. Inside: darkness, natural wood scents, and just enough window to see the forest beyond without it pulling me away. I followed what felt good: sauna, swim, sauna, swim, sauna, swim, dinner.
On my balcony, I ate lake-caught salmon alongside wild greens and mushrooms foraged by Annu’s wilderness chef. In the cabin next door was another guest, my forest neighbor, whom I had yet to meet. I enjoyed the solitude, edged with a hint of togetherness.
On my last morning, I began a farewell sauna-lake ritual. I’d kindled an affection for the lake akin to what I have for the sea, moving easily between cottage and water, skinny dipping, the rhythm now familiar. I glanced across the lake and caught sight of another figure in the distance, also streaking from her swim platform through the trees to her cottage. I had found my own piece of Finnish mökki life.
I learned that there are layers upon magical layers to sauna-ing in Finland, and if you’re open to it, a code of courtesy and togetherness that may restore your faith in the world. Sauna culture is meant to be shared: a way of living that’s open to steaming, sweating, and dissolving into togetherness, among family, friends, and strangers. From my first sauna at Kotiharjun to my last one in my own cabin at Hawkhill, I felt welcomed, my differences dissolved, meeting people in the most authentic version of themselves—and finding my own.
–For most public saunas in Helsinki, it’s best to make your reservations ahead of time, either online or by phone. This is especially true for Lonna Sauna, which is a ferry ride away and can be booked days in advance (reservations are for two-hour intervals).
–A few notes on sauna etiquette that will help demonstrate your respect for Finnish sauna culture: Always shower before entering the sauna; bathing suits are often optional in women-only or men-only saunas; sit on a small towel (no naked cheeks on the benches); use of sandals is recommended (many places will have sauna hats and sandals you can borrow or buy); it’s ok to have a chat with your sauna neighbor; relax your notion of time: the Finnish way is to sauna to what feels good for your body, not to a prescribed time that’s correct or more healthy. There is a freedom to this. Listen to your body, discover what feels good for you (1-2 hours a useful guide). Please avoid…working out, phones, cameras, multi-tasking in the sauna.
–Most appreciated Finnish sauna culture cue: Always ask before pouring water on the hot stones (e.g. Would you like more löyly?)
–Mindset match: Sauna is not a place to take something from, it’s something you give yourself to. Where you go to slow everything down.
–See the Helsinki sauna guide to explore Finnish sauna culture and where to sauna in Helsinki.
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