An Incandescent Encounter

Maybe it was because the sauna opened late that day.

As I arrived for my swim at Olympiabad and was descending the broad staircase down to the changing area and swimming hall, a fellow from the fitness studio met me on his way up. Knowing I visited the sauna on Tuesdays, which was Ladies Day, and it being Tuesday, he let me know that the sauna was closed due to a shortage of personnel. Although disappointed, I figured I could do some shopping that afternoon, which wasn’t all bad. 

As I swam, however, it struck me that it was very likely that the sauna would open later that day simply because it had happened so many times before. To check my assumption after my swim and before showering and dressing, I wrapped myself in my sauna towel (they’re big), pattered down one of dressing area’s many narrow corridors — formed by long lines of opposing lockers and dressing cubicles — to take a peek at the entrance door to the sauna.

Sure enough the familiar sign announcing Dienstag Damensauna was up. They were back in business, but wouldn’t open their doors until 3 p.m. Hmmm. That meant I had an hour to wait. Did I want to do that? My Kindle was with me. I always brought it on sauna days. The majority of my sauna visit was spent reading anyway as I cooled off between sweating sessions. It was one reason I enjoyed my sauna days so much. Why not just start with a nice read? 

Content with that but unwilling to pull on my wet bathing suit, I secured my towel about me, went back out into the enormous, airy swimming hall, lay down on a chaise lounge, and read and watched the swimmers for a very pleasant hour. (Swimmers are even more interesting to watch than the slivers of exotic life flitting about in aquariums.) Ever aware of the clock, I quit my berth a few minutes before three and made my way to the sauna.

For my second sweating session that day, I decided to undergo the Aufguss treatment. An Aufguss is when water is dashed over what looks like a heap of coals in the center of a Finnish sauna’s furnace from which the heat radiates. This is performed every hour by a member of the sauna staff who, scantily dressed, enters the darkened room on the hour with a sizable wooden bucket filled with water scented with an essential oil. It might be eucalyptus, spruce, or pine. It could be citrus or mint. My favorite was cedar. The effect, when the fragrant steam wafts over you, is quite heady.

Ladies Day be damned, the sauna attendants were men.

A few minutes before four, I rose from my berth in the Ruheraum to get into the sauna room before the Aufguss began.¹ On my way, I caught sight of the staff member (a man; Ladies Day be damned, the sauna attendants were men), who had just emerged from the attendants’ office with his Aufguss paraphernalia: bucket of scented water, ladle used to dash the water over the red hot “coals,” and a standard accoutrement that, at first sight, looks very strange under the arm of a man dressed in nothing but shorts. That accoutrement is an exceedingly large, bright orange fan conceived, one couldn’t help thinking, by an overly demur geisha girl. Although I knew what that fan was for, it never failed to strike me as most curious to see male sauna attendants sauntering around with it. 

As I hurried to the sauna room, towel wrapped about me, I looked back and flashed him impish smile, turned back, and quickened my pace, automaton-like, to show him that I intended to get into the sauna in time for that Aufguss. For the Aufguss, one had to be on time. 

As I entered the dim room, fragrant with the scent of hot wood, I held the door open for him. Instead of swinging it wide to flush the room with fresh air prior to the Aufguss, as is normal, he closed it immediately after himself. I hurried past the two ladies already reclined in three-quarter darkness on the lower ledges to settle myself on the ledge I always occupy for the Aufguss — not the top ledge. It gets too hot up there. The ledge just below it, I found, a nice wide ledge, is the most comfortable elevation from which to imbibe the steamy product of a skillful Aufguss. I spread out my towel and placed myself squarely on it. (Kein Schweis aufs Holz! is a sign commonly found in German saunas.) The attendant faced his modest audience, bucket cradled in one arm, and formerly announced what fragrance had been added to the water for that particular Aufguss: “Minze.” He then turned to the furnace and began his work, ladling the scented water over the heap of fake red-hot coals. 

It hissed. It sizzled. It steamed. We waited, but felt none of that steam nor could we detect the scent of the oil. The Aufguss process, however, was not over. The attendant set down his bucket and ladle, took up the enormous orange fan in both hands and began sweeping the air in broad strokes. For the first strokes, he lifted the fan high overhead and swept it down towards the floor. He then switched to lateral strokes, moving the fan slowly from side to side. As he worked the fan, he turned by degrees to direct the current he created, hence the steam, to all sides and corners of the sauna and over every surface, curve, and crease of those reclining in the dusky room. As the steam wafted our way, you could hear sharp inhalations as each finally felt the pinch of the heat.

Sweating mightily himself at that point — performing an Aufguss every hour on the hour was no trivial assignment — the attendant propped the fan against the wall by the sauna door, took up his bucket and ladle, and began distributing water over the coals for the second round of the typically three-round steaming process. 

At this point, the door opened, which was a surprise. No one enters the sauna room during an Aufguss, we all knew that. Nevertheless, the door had opened, and a tiny woman wrapped in a towel stood outside. Apparently, she wanted to come in because, although we could not hear her words, we certainly heard the response of the attendant, who had turned the instant the door had opened to block her.

The soft-spoken woman stood her ground, forcing the helpless attendant to rise up to his full height to defend his territory, the sauna, with all the fortitude at his command.

He was vehement. “You stay out!” he ordered. While inaudible to us, the woman must have insisted, because the attendant repeated his gruff order, not once but several times, with a vehemence that had morphed into ferocity: 

“You stay out! Out! No one comes in during the Aufguss! You stay out!” he bellowed. By the way he stood his ground in the doorway, it was clear that he would make sure she didn’t come in. Not till that moment had I noticed how large the man was, how tall, how wide, rather massive. He hulked over the woman, whom I could barely see. Yet, inexplicably, the soft-spoken woman stood her ground and repeated her request to enter, which forced the helpless attendant to rise up to his full height and bulk to defend his territory, the sauna, with all the fortitude and discipline at his command: 

“During the Aufguss you stay out! I know my job! You stay out! Das ist Saunaordnung.” 

Wow, I thought. It was Saunaordnung.² Although it’s a normal German word, I found it significant that he had used it. Used it? He had just invoked the entire set of sauna rules as if it were as tangible, compact, and solid as a baseball bat, which was what he seemed to be swinging around now. But that final statement of his seemed to do it. Apparently the woman retreated because he closed the door and resumed the second round of the Aufguss. 

The exchange had lasted for over a minute, a hefty interruption in the administration of the steam routine. He resumed his work wordlessly, and none of us ladies made any remark about the incident or anything else. While unusual, the encounter hadn’t shaken us, it hadn’t been traumatic, but it had been most peculiar. Our attendant was a mild-mannered, friendly fellow. How unfortunate for him be so abruptly called on to rise up and defend the Saunaordnung all by himself. 

Little did we know, his trial was not over.

“No one tells me how to do my job! No one and not you! I know exactly what I’m doing! We have a Saunaordnung!”

On finishing the Aufguss, the attendant picked up his bucket, ladle, and fan and opened the door to quit the steamy chamber only to encounter the little lady wrapped in her towel, waiting to come in. On seeing her, he erupted. “You think you can tell me how to do my job? I’ve been doing this job for 20 years! I know exactly what I’m doing! I know exactly how to do my job! We have a Saunaordnung!” This time we could hear what she said: letting her in would have taken only a few seconds. Enraged by this observation, he thundered back: “No one tells me how to do my job! No one and not you! I know exactly what I’m doing! We have a Saunaordnung!” He exited with bucket, ladle, and fan; crossed the cool, well-ventilated area where sauna guests lounge; and retreated to the attendants’ office, where he, no doubt, returned his tools to their appointed spots.

The woman who had caused our great Ajax such anguish finally had her chance: she entered the sauna, spread out her towel, and lay down on it, but didn’t stay long. After a few minutes, she rose and left again, which indicated to me that the confrontation had indeed agitated her. My assumption was soon confirmed. On exiting the sauna myself some minutes later and making my way to the little snow room to chill off, I passed the woman in conversation with another sauna attendant, a man I knew to be level-headed, sensible, and skillful at solving tricky problems.³ As I approached, they stopped talking, which was understandable. I felt I knew what they were discussing. Sure enough, in my wake, the man said something sympathetic to her in a low voice while her response was audible: “As far as I’m concerned it’s over, but it wasn’t very nice.”

And so the incident was over for her, anyway. As for the attendant who had so loyally defended the Saunaordung, was he smarting from the engagement? Might he be in for a talking to? Surely, that would be an unpleasant prospect. 

While largely unmoved by the encounter, I did muse upon it afterwards. Considered from any angle, one could not deny the sauna attendant had faced off against that little woman most awkwardly. Why hadn’t he just told her that opening the door during the Aufguss for any reason reduced the concentration of the steam, diminished the efficacy of the process, and hiked up operating costs for the entire establishment? Well, okay, he would have had to hold the door open to say all that, during which time she could have scooted in, out, and in again a couple of times, which I think the woman pointed out herself. 

He could have pointed out that if he let her in during the Aufguss and anyone saw that, there would be no stopping a bevy of ladies from storming the door. That certainly wouldn’t be right, now would it?

Or he could have listed the very real hazards of letting anyone in through what was a very narrow entranceway at the moment when the red-hot furnace was giving off billows of scorching steam. Squeezing past him be she ever so nimble — while he was encumbered by that bucket of water and ladle — could knock him against the furnace from which he would suffer more than just minor burns. Maybe she would get bumped up against the furnace in the scuffle. What then? Would the attendant be to blame? Yes! And why? (I can hear him bellowing now.) Because he was the Aufgussmeister! He knew the Saunaordnung! And he had not complied!

Certainly, there were a host of reasons why he had been right to block that woman from entering the sauna during the Aufguss. If only he had been able to explain it to her a little more gently. But the sauna had opened late that day due to lack of personnel. He had been the one to spring in, tasked with overseeing that vast, complicated, steamy territory with all its hazards solo. He may have been a little tense, impatient, irritable, not himself. Or perhaps an Aufgussmeister who knew the articles of the Saunaordnung intimately required considerable time to explain them, especially to a little lady so blithe about violating them. Had he tackled that challenge squarely, he would have missed making the Aufguss on the hour, and then he would really have been in hot water.

---

1. The entire sauna “landscape” has two Finnish (dry) saunas and three steam rooms. Each of these five rooms has its own carefully regulated temperature to suit people of different ages, levels of health, and passion for heat. The sauna where the Aufguss takes place is the 90°C Finnish sauna, just around the corner from the Ruheraum where I read in between visits to the 90°C Finnish sauna. ↩︎
2. Ordnung can mean a set of rules. In this case, Saunaordnung refers to the entire system of rules in place for the operation of a sauna. ↩︎
3. He was the skilled intermediary who helped solve a curious problem I encountered at the swimming pool related in a previous essay “Ich bin Frau.” The title may be German, but the essay is in English. ↩︎