and the art of ritual.
I sit here writing to you, staring at the vast mountains and snowcapped chalets of the French Alps, contemplating what I want to write about rituals this week. I had something in mind along the lines of waking up, stretching, meditation, working out, etc. But I’ve decided, perhaps spurred on by my latest (and hopefully not fleeting) ritual, which has been a hallmark in ensuring the overall flow and fulfilment of my day, and the alleviation of some of the aftermath on the body left by extreme winter sports: I shall be writing about the sauna.

Let’s face it. Most of us love saunas. That sensation of sweating away the sorrows of the day and the body cleansing itself of the toxins imposed by daily life. Popular now and trendy as ever, this ritual of cleansing through sweat is no new thing, with roots in history dating back over 10,000 years. And while we associate this ritual with Nordic pine, funny felt hats, and essential oils, sitting around and steaming has been a pillar in purification across the world—from Russia to Mesoamerica and Native America, Japan to Eastern Europe and the Middle East, and even the Bronze Ages in what we would now call the UK.
For Finns, the sauna is more than just a place to sweat; it is a sacred space woven into the fabric of life. Historically, saunas were multifunctional, serving as bathing areas, birthing rooms, and even spaces for preparing the deceased for burial. In Mesoamerica, the Temazcal—a type of sweat house—was central to rituals and medicine. Similarly, in Eastern Europe and Russia, the Banya has been a cultural staple for centuries, known for its therapeutic heat and vigorous “venik” treatments with leafy birch branches.
In our health-crazed world, where no minute can be wasted without added benefit, there is no shortage of scientific research touting the sauna’s benefits for the body. When using saunas mindfully, the body can reap a host of health benefits, including improved cardiovascular health, lower blood pressure, reduced stress, and even enhanced longevity. And that whole relaxed feeling you get afterward is hugely beneficial for cortisol levels.
What excites me the most about this ritual is the new ways we are trying to bring a sense of community and togetherness around it. Back in London, I live very close to a community space, home to the Hackney Community Saunas. Whilst I am new to the vibe here, this place seems to be more than just another wellness destination for East Londoners. It genuinely is a pillar of the community and a safe space where even the most British amongst us feel comfortable to strip off and, come rain or shine, sit together and soak out some toxins.
To bring everything back to the art of ritual, and what I’m really trying to get at here, is that the things we do as rituals to benefit us and our bodies (I’m not talking about going to the pub or designated time spent on TikTok) really seem to only be part of an ingrained ritual if such an act brings us closer to community.
I believe that society, or maybe even the fact that I’m young and haven’t been able to comment on the cyclical nature of life too much yet, makes us believe that it’s a new thing that we need spaces to connect over wellness and body rituals—whether it’s community saunas, meditation centre, supper clubs, or ecstatic dances—and that it should be part of our daily ritual. But at the end of the day, it’s what us humans have been doing forever. And unfortunately, capitalism, and the opportunism of us humans, has reshaped this and told us that this ritualistic community is a shiny new thing that, in most cases, we must pay more than a pretty penny for. (Apologies for my mini rant.)
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