Interviews in the sauna: the near-naked truth

Hot off the bench! A series of accidental meetings in my local sauna, sharing the heat with people in ways that were often surprisingly intimate.

Introduction

“Why does sitting in this sauna feel so reflective?” I’m sitting, shifting slightly, speaking to my friend Rita.

“It’s so cut off from everything else,” she says. “All you can see is through that pane of glass in the door; sometimes you catch a glimpse of people swimming, but that’s about it.”

We’re in the tiny, box-like sauna belonging to our local leisure complex, accessible only to those who rent or own property nearby. The leisure complex has a strange sense of half-community — you might interact with people a little more than you might in London in general (especially given Londoners’ reluctance to talk to strangers), but, on the whole, everyone is still doing their own thing.

I like speaking to strangers. Living in London over the past few years has certainly influenced me to do it less and trained me to be more wary. But where I grew up in the Midlands, we’d pause and say hi to everyone we bumped into on our evening walks and make easy conversation with the cashiers at the local shops. We are all going about our own lives but we are doing so alongside each other; it seems silly to forget this.

“You know, I started a writing project last year called Interviews in the sauna,” I tell Rita.

“What? People talk to you in here?”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

“Do you start the conversations?”

“They were usually unintentional interviews. People spoke to me and I went with it and wrote up what we talked about when I got home.”

“That’s so fun – did you ever publish it? Can I read it?”

“I never did, but I’d like to. You could be my first intentional one though. Do you want to be in it?”

“Sure! I’d love that.”

Part 1: Speaking my language

Interview 1: I love you, too

The subject: My friend Rita

“What language do you think in when you come to the sauna?”

Rita grew up near Porto (Portugal) and moved to London when she was 17. She’s always had a knack for languages; she’s a polyglot, comfortable communicating in Portuguese, English, Spanish, French, German, and Mandarin.

“I always think in English now. When I’m in here alone, I sometimes speak out loud to myself — I like that nobody can hear me. I can go through my thoughts out loud. The thing is, when I try to write or journal in English, I find it so hard. I get in my head about how I’m spelling things. But speaking is a lot easier.”

Rita says the sauna has taught her how to feel comfortable sitting in silence, too. “I won’t always talk to myself! I like just sitting here too.”

“I saw an article,” continues Rita — and I interrupt, "You sauna-rticle” — she laughs (she’s a good friend) — “It was about communicating emotion when you speak multiple languages.” The piece explored how some people find it easier to talk about their emotions in their non-native tongues.

Rita tells me how saying “I love you” in English feels less significant to her than when she says it in Portuguese (and not only because there’s a different word for it). Rita finds it easier to talk about her emotions in English because she feels more removed from them. When she talks about them in Portuguese, they are right there: at the back of her throat, in her chest, behind her eyes.

I’m thinking about how my friend Caroline occasionally absent-mindedly speaks to me in Swedish then catches herself, or texts me and sends a follow-up message, “sorry!!! Swedish”. When I ask Caroline about it, she says, “I’m just so close to you, I feel like you must speak Swedish too”. I wonder the extent to which our friendship – and the emotional connection we have through it – would change if I did speak Swedish.

Rita and I dwell on language and connection for a few more minutes, before admitting, at the same time, that we are both way too warm. “Shall we continue this conversation at home?” But I do feel there was something about the sauna environment that made us feel more vulnerable and open to sharing.

“I’m really happy you want to write about me,” says Rita. “I love you lots.”

“Yeah, yeah, say it in Portuguese then I might believe it,” I say. “But I love you too.”

We head out, slinging our bags over our shoulders, non-stop chatting the short way home.

Interview 2: Listen and learn

The subjects: Way too many people – four men, one woman

Easing open the sauna door, I am aghast to see five people already packed tightly inside the dense space. I’m already backing out but the woman not involved in the conversation looks up at me and scoots over to make some room. I gratefully accept.

The four men continue to talk. They are speaking Hindi, and I’m understanding a fair bit what they are saying. One of them begins to complain about the heat, and they all leave shortly thereafter.

It’s just me and the lady left. We spread out to give each other more room and breathe in the new silence.

“You know, I’m learning Hindi,” she says, after a pause.

“Oh, no way!” I’m genuinely surprised to hear it. “That’s super cool – how are you finding it?”

“It’s good but it’s pretty difficult,” she continues. “I grew up in Japan but my husband is Indian. I’m trying to learn it so I can communicate with his family.”

“That’s so lovely.”

“Are you Indian? Do you know Hindi as well?”

We talk a lot, quite candidly, quite openly. I find her dedication inspiring. I spent years and years attending Hindi classes but never quite gained the confidence to speak it fluently or comfortably. I understand Hindi to some degree, and I’m better at understanding Gujarati, but when I try to speak either of the two, everything falls out in a jumble of contradictions.

When the woman leaves, I can’t quite pinpoint why, but I feel reflective and a little sad. I have family I’d like to communicate better with, too.

Visiting family in Gujarat a couple of years ago, made uncomfortable by the car AC directly blowing onto my face, I say “oo tandi choo”, a phrase that literally translates to “I am cold”, but it makes me sound like a “caveman” (you’re supposed to say it more like “I am feeling the cold”), and it makes everyone laugh (not unkindly).

Part 2: Good habits

Interview 3: The boy who was getting his life together (and I was pleased for him)

The subject: Around 21 years old, final year university student, brown hair, kind of dishevelled looking (although, that could have been the sauna)

The boy in question is lying down on the top bench and half sits up when I come in. He nods at me then flattens himself back down again. The unintentional interview opens with him asking, “Long day?”, which isn’t in itself a complete sentence, but I know what he means. I make a non-committal noise and we both lapse into silence. Feeling a little bad, I hazard a better response: “Kind of, it’s been nice though”.

I learn he’s finishing up at University and that he’s studying something frighteningly technical (possibly related to Computer Science). He tells me about his group project which he thinks will win a competition. “What’s the project about?” I ask. He says he doesn’t know and it briefly crosses my mind that he might not want me to steal or circulate his idea. This amuses me (I wouldn’t even know where to start). He goes on to explain that he hasn’t begun the project yet. I remind him that he said he would win. “I will,” he says. I liked him for that.

“I’m really trying to get my life together,” he says. “There’s just so much to do in a day, though.” He tells me he averages 3 hours of sleep a night to fit in his work and I feel some kind of big-sisterly duty to intervene. We talk about the importance of prioritising sleep and he promises me he will really try to sort his sleep schedule out. I have never seen him late at the sauna again and I really hope it’s because he’s sleeping (or alternatively because he won that project, got rich rich, and moved out).

Interview 4: A dad in the sauna is the best motivational speaker

The subject: A man in his late 50s, dark hair, a chain around his neck

We’ve been sitting in silence for five or so minutes, when, with sudden alacrity, as if it’s tumbling out of him, the man asks, “What’s your passion?”

I jump a little and recover myself. “Writing,” I respond. I think I say it on instinct.

“Are you a writer?”

“Not full time. I do it on the side.”

“How often do you write?”

We discuss making time for the things we want to achieve. The man tells me about his new approach to keeping a diary, and how planning each day by the hour is a recent habit he feels has been “changing [his] life”. “I feel happier, I know what I’m doing and when, I’m working towards my goals, and I’m prioritising my health.”

He tells me about his sons and how he’s doing it for them. He tells me about his sons’ passions. He asks me more about my writing.

“Do more of your writing. Make time for it. You’ve got to have the courage to live your own life,” he tells me.

Part 3: Solidifying friendships

Interview 5: The two lads who’d known each other for, like, forever

The subjects: Two boys, one in his teens, the other a little younger

The oldest boy is quite chatty with me, starting out the conversation with some small talk (I can’t quite remember but it was probably “do you come here often?”, said with the confidence of someone who does, in fact, come here often).

The younger boy comes in and his friend greets him. By way of explanation or introduction, he says, “We’ve known each other for, like, forever. He’s lived here for, like, 12 years.”

The boys are clearly close. They speak comfortably and easily in front of me, half-looping me into their conversation, speaking without self-consciousness and without cockiness or brashness.

Once they get in the pool, any semblance of maturity instantly dissolves and they start splashing each other, yelping, tackling each other.

I’m smiling at the simplicity of their friendship. I think about how lucky they are to have access to these facilities and how lovely it would have been to have regular evenings by the pool with my friends as I was growing up.

When I walk past the pool as I leave, the boys temporarily break away from their tussling to wave goodbye. I lift my hand to acknowledge them.

Part 4: Didn’t you know saunas are good for you?

Interview 6: Cold shoulder

The subject: A man I struggle to age accurately, likely mid to late 20s. Eastern European (self-defined).

I’m quite lucky in that during most of my sauna conversations I have felt very comfortable and not too much like I’m a girl in a swimsuit, but when I walk in today, I suddenly feel very much like a girl in a swimsuit.

The man looks at me a little too long and I sit gingerly on the edge of the bench. He carries on looking at me. “I’m Eastern European,” he says (nothing else). It’s an interesting choice of opening line. I wait for something more, and when nothing arrives, my voice cracks with uncertainty as I reply, “oh… nice.”

After a tremendously long pause, he continues. “So, I’m used to a sauna.” I am relieved to receive a little more context.

“Are you tired?” he asks, after another long pause.

“Um, not really.”

“Saunas are more difficult when you’re tired.”

“Oh. Do I seem like I’m struggling?”

He laughs, “No no no! But saunas are really good for you, you know.” Unprompted, he proceeds to tell me about the many health benefits of a sauna.

I settle into the science lesson. Many minutes pass and I haven’t said a word. I am starting to suffer a bit.

“Alright, thanks, I’d better get going,” I say. “Have a good one,” I add.

I’m out that door very fast, having had quite enough of conversations with sweltering strangers for the time being.