The Sauna Fairy
Part six of Blowing Hot and Cold, a slow memoir told by week by week
Blowing Hot and Cold is a slow memoir, told through weekly posts, about saunas, cold water, and how these things come together to boost my own mental health. It’s meant to be a year-long journey, but we’ll get up to Christmas and see what happens after that.
From midsummer nights in Finland to horsebox saunas on English beaches, from community gardens to embassy basements, each piece explores what happens when heat and cold strip life back to its essentials.
Subscribe to follow along — and if you like what you read (or have any feedback at all), then please comment and feel free to pass it along to someone you think might like it. Earlier sections can be found at these links:
If you like what you read, choose a paid subscription. It’s £3.50 a month or £35 a year
My views on January run counter to the modern narrative that the first month of the year is a chastening 31 day slog after the joys of the festive season. Slowly, throughout my adulthood, I have come to love the early days of the year, full of possibility, the way they demand comfort and the very rawness which defines what is usually the most brutal time of the year when it comes to the depredations of the British weather.
Much of the narrative around January seems, to me, self fulfilling. If we keep telling ourselves something is crap, then chances are it is. That’s not to say relentless downpours and long nights don’t impact people. Rather that it’s possible to reframe them and try doing something you actually enjoy. Preferably something that’s either free or cheap.
That was my aim as the car rolled over the freshly tarmacked sleeping policeman on the road through Stanmer Park. A low sun shone across my vision, lighting up the church tower and denuded branches ahead of me before I took the turning towards Stanmer Sauna Garden.
Bella ran across the mulch-covered track, running from one side to the other through churned up tyre tracks, dressed in a thick blue wool jumper beneath a pair of royal blue cord dungarees and wearing a grey North Face hat. I parked up in my usual fashion - haphazard and clearly somewhere that would inconvenience someone down the line - and bounded down the path towards the sauna.
‘Hey! How are you?’ I shouted in my most effusive voice.
‘Are you here to sauna?’ Bella asked.
‘I am indeed.’
At this, Bella let out a loud hoot and shouted, ‘Joe, it’s you!’ enveloping me in a hug and planting a kiss on my cheek.
‘Look,’ she said. ‘We’ve got all mod cons.’
Since my last visit the hose had been pushed into the ground, leading towards a shower head that hung in the branches above two ice baths, one of which was full to the brim. A kettle boiled in the shed. The awning, though, had gone, a victim of the storms that ravaged the coast with terrifying frequency these days. There were now two changing areas, where blankets were tied between trees to protect guests’ modesty. Otherwise, everything was unchanged.
Coming to see Bella seemed like the perfect way to start my sauna journey. A local foray to get a good taste of what was to come further afield.
The welcome had already got me in the zone before I stripped off and took a seat just inside the door of the sauna, where seven others were sitting thigh to thigh, using this icy Tuesday morning to take some time for themselves. I pulled my knees up to my chest, stuck on a felt hat that was hanging above me, and closed my eyes, all the better to feel the power of the heat to get to work. I allowed the conversation between others to wash over me and dropped into a meditative space quickly.
This was happily broken when Bella pulled open the door and entered carrying a ladel full of water, gently explaining to all of us that it was time for a blessing, something at the cornerstone of Estonian sauna culture. Bella wore her knowledge of sauna lightly, but it was clear she was an expert.
One by one we dipped our fingers into the water, once to make a wish for ourselves and once to make a wish for the space that we were in. I hoped to maintain the sense of balance I had found at the start of the year and that the sauna here would survive and thrive over the next 12 months.
Once we’d all had a go, Bella tipped the water onto the stove, loyly rising and creating a strong heat which seeped deep inside. My breaths slowed and drew in the steam, making me feel calm. I closed my eyes and leant my head against the wooden wall.
The conversation grew louder. A couple next to the stove discussed the sighting of a humpback whale along the coast between Seaford and Eastbourne and how they were going to spend the rest of the day, his birthday, wandering the coast path in search of it. They laughed and suggested it was a fool’s errand, but it seemed like my kind of Quixotic adventure.
Others talked about work, their struggles over Christmas, plans for an upcoming birthday trip. When Bella next entered she kindly suggested everyone lower the tone so as to create a more peaceful environment, then apologised and said she didn’t want people to stop speaking. When she spoke though, everyone listened.
‘I like to make this a safe and welcoming space,’ she said. ‘I take this stuff very seriously.’
In her hand she carried a mug full of bay leaf tea which, she said, she would throw across the stones shortly.
‘In Chinese medicine, bay is believed to be good for the kidneys. At this time of year they can get cold when you leave the sauna and take a long time to warm up. So when you next go outside and plunge, take some time to swing your arms and warm up your lower back.’
With that, the stones hissed and the aroma of bay filled the space. The vapours hit the back of my nose and gave a greater clarity to my breathing. I’d been sitting for around 15 minutes by this point and the time was right for changing the heat for some cold.
I stepped out and popped on a pair of flip flops that were about three sizes too small and tottered over to a bench where I had left my towel. After the peace of the sauna there was a commotion out here, the sound of works vehicles beyond the trees, Bella and her fellow sauna master Evie heading off to see what was going on.
‘I think that’s Joe’s,’ was all I heard.
‘Joe,’ came the shout, ‘You need to move your car.’
Unthinkingly I pulled on my coat over my wet shorts, still wearing the white felt sauna hat I had donned while warming up, and walked out to where I had parked to find three cars, plus mine, in a Mexican stand off. One was hefting mulch into the cage of the other, while a white Skoda sat in front, its driver utterly bemused. Behind all of this stood and adult with a group of small kids who had been at forest school.
As I surveyed the scene and opened the car door, Bella appeared next to me, scanned me from head to toe and gave me another one of her hugs.
‘Joe you’re like the sauna fairy! There’s always excitement when you’re around.’
I took this to heart. As a kid I was often told, by schoolmates and teachers especially, that I was too ‘excitable’. It’s a trait I cannot repress and, in midlife, have openly embraced. I thought of my nature writing hero Roger Deakin’s quote, “I’m only interested in everything.”
With that I somehow managed to drive in a pair of flip flops and find a safer spot, before hurrying back for a much-needed plunge.
This is a slow memoir, told week by week, about sauna, cold water, and the messy business of mental health.
If you like this latest chapter:
👉 Subscribe to get the next one in your inbox.
👉 Buy me a coffee or choose a paid subscription. It’s £3.50 a month or £35 a year
💬 Reply or comment — I’d love to hear your what you think.
🔗 Share this with a friend
No such thing as too excitable! Your excitement for the whole world of sauna is honestly infectious 🤩