The pub is all well and good, but have you ever spent a Sunday afternoon, underground, with your mates in a Russian sauna? If not, you should.
As far as days out in London go, it’s not an obvious one. I crossed the Bath House’s threshold with trepidation. Firstly, it’s basically opposite the back wall of Buckingham Palace. Which is quite weird. It also seems a bit pricey. £155 sounds like a lot of money to spend on three hours (including a leaf-whacking ritual/treatment) in a Belgravia basement. And finally, the actual act of spa-ing itself - the hot and cold thing - never appealed to me. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Here’s the thing: banya is not what I expected. It’s not bougie. It’s not elitist. It’s not in any way annoying. What it is, is a deeply energising, thoroughly rewarding way to hang out with a friend. In its most basic sense: banya involves spending a while in a really hot room, and then, when it all gets a bit much, standing under a bucketful of cold water or lowering yourself into a plunge pool. Then, enlivened and wrapped in a white sheet, you waddle back to the utilitarian bar-cafe where you can sit for a while with a tea or glass of vodka.
Does it sound simple? It is. And it’s the simplicity that makes it all borderline magical. I’d strongly recommend leaving your phone in the locker and just vibing out with some exceptional potato salad and your own thoughts for a bit. Actually, a special shout out to the Russian and Ukrainian menu. Everything we ate was punchy, fun and flavoursome. The unpretentious substantiality of the food complimented the mind-zapping banya sublimely.
We had a few of the different treatments on offer, but the best (in my opinion by some distance) of the lot is a traditional (I mean, I assume it’s traditional) one where you get lightly thrashed with plants. If banya has a blissed out, quasi-spiritual character, then the parenie leaf ritual is the wild, shamanic extension of its personality. Let me be clear: it doesn’t hurt. You get some nice cold leaves on your face while a couple of hench lads whack you with bundles of oak, birch and eucalyptus. In a sauna. Take my word for it: it’s a blast.
I floated contentedly away from the Bath House keen to return as soon as possible. It felt, in a lot of ways, like an antidote to all that is irritating not only about spas, but also modern life. Two iridescent and exfoliated thumbs up.
