I visited the London spa with ‘temperature torture’, topless therapists and 10am vodka

In a new series So, Is It Worth It? our travel experts put products and experiences to the test to see if they’re really worth your money. This week, we’re braving a trip to a traditional Eastern European bathhouse.

It’s so hot, I can feel my eyelids sweating.

Then again, there’s also a real chance I could be crying.

‘You can do this,’ I tell myself. ‘They won’t actually let you boil alive.’

The dial on the wooden walls of this panic attack simulator, also known as a sauna, is showing 80°C.

As I try to regulate my breathing, the door swings open, and a man walks in holding a fan. I naively assume the enthusiastic wafting will cool the place down — I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Waves of hot air hit my face, and I make for the exit so quickly, the fetching sauna hat I’m wearing almost flies off my head.

It’s then that I’m confronted with none other than Romeo Beckham, half-naked, tapping away on his phone.

What on Earth is going on?

I had volunteered to spend my morning at Banya The Bath House, in London’s Belgravia, before really thinking it through. I’ve never lasted more than a few seconds in a sauna, nor have I ever been inclined to throw myself into the sea in order to feel ‘invigorated’.

Banya, the brainchild of Ukrainian-born Alexander Lazarev, and co-founder Robert Procopé, describes itself as ‘the Russian cousin of the Finnish sauna and Turkish hammam.’ They already have similar branches in Hoxton and Chiswick.

Guests are invited to sweat out their sins in the sauna (which are actually a little cooler than the ones you’d find in Finland), before standing under a bucket, pulling a chain and dousing yourself with ice-cold water.

There’s also a small plunge pool, which one of the staff a little too gleefully told me is chilled to 6°C.

But this is more than just engaging in various forms of temperature-based torture.

For £185, the Banya Classic package gives access to the spa for three hours and a traditional parenie ritual (more on that later); you also get a table in the lounge, your base from which to use the facilities.

To the uninitiated, this luxe cafè-come-restaurant looks like any other you might find in this part of town.

Only, rather than sipping a morning coffee, a man in the corner is downing a shot of vodka fresh from a plunge (the clock had not yet struck 10.30am), and a group of women enjoy their breakfast while wearing swimwear, pools of water gathering at their feet.

Co-founder, Robert, is quick to tell me that this social area is an important part of their ‘heat, treat and meet’ concept.

The banya is designed to be a social hub, in keeping with sauna-culture across the continent, a third-space to catch up with friends. The vibe is relaxed and unpretentious; any fear you might have about your state of undress quickly disappears (nakedness is actively encouraged on single sex days).

The lounge also serves up traditional Eastern European fare, from kholodnik (beetroot soup), varenyky (dumplings filled with mashed potato) and my favourite, savoury grenki (rye bread with garlic and salt). This was all washed down with a beer (or Ukrainian kvas), of course.

It was with a little of this Ukrainian courage that I entered the sauna. I truly don’t think I’ve ever been warmer, but there is something weirdly relaxing about feeling your heart racing and sweat pouring from every pore in your skin.

The part that I was most concerned about — the cold water — was actually a welcome relief post sauna.

And I hate to say it, but it did leave me feeling energised and well, pretty great.

Perhaps the most memorable part of the experience, though, was the aforementioned parenie ritual.

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There is no tinkly instrumental music playing as I’m guided (read: strong-armed) into my private sauna, nor is there a softly-spoken therapist welcoming me in.

Instead, a topless man wearing a sauna-hat instructs me to lie face down on a treatment table, and begins shaking bundles of twigs above me.

A few droplets of water are splashed on my back, and then the twigs make contact with my skin. I can’t quite tell what’s going on, it’s not a massage per se, but I think it feels… nice?

Of course, I know now that the waving of said twigs is going to up the temperature of the sauna. ‘Are you still alive?’ asked my therapist. I respond by asking him to, please, make it cooler in here.

It’s then that a bundle of sopping wet seaweed is flopped onto my face. Not exactly what I had in mind.

It’s intense, and a little odd, but also exhilarating, and while I have no idea why, I’m sure it’s really good for me.

Next up, I’m directed back to the showers, where I’m doused with water and cold-plunged, which again is sweet relief.

It’s at this point, just when I think it’s over and time to head back to the lounge for another kvas, that I’m directed back into a sauna, where I’m wrapped in a bed sheet (I stop short of asking the therapist ‘what are we?’), and lead into yet another room.

‘You can relax now,’ I’m told, as the door closes behind me. It’s a tiny room, just big enough for the double bed of hay before me. It’s giving Mary and Joseph, but I dutifully lie down, and I have to admit, I’m feeling 10 out of 10.

After a few minutes of snoozing, I leave my manger, and my time at Banya is coming to end.

As I take off my felt hat (which I’ve grown quite fond), I feel ready to take on the day.

I’m not quite sure what’s just happened to me, but I do know that I enjoyed it, and I’ll definitely be going back.

So, is it worth it? 100%.

Kristina Beanland was a guest of Banya The Bath House, but don’t expect us to sugarcoat anything – our reviews are 100% independent.

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