Latest news with #Parenie
The Independent
28-02-2025
- Health
- The Independent
I tried a Temazcal ceremony and my sweat lodge experience was nothing like your average sauna
If you ask anyone who has had a transformative spiritual experience – the kind that gifts a person clarity and perspective beyond the realm of the physical – where exactly they happened to have this experience, chances are they'll tell you that it was deep in the desert, in the belly of a cathedral or in the mystical jungles of Peru. They're unlikely to tell you that it was in the spa of a W Hotel. However, when I visited Mexico City for the first time, it was here; specifically at the W in the upmarket district of Polanco, that I had a transcendent spiritual encounter. I recently spent a couple of weeks in Mexico and during this time I sought out experiences that promised to support improved health and wellbeing. I took part in yoga classes and cacao rituals on the beach in Cancun, visited crystal emporiums and rubbed shoulders with 'light workers' in Tulum, and attempted to practice mindfulness and gratitude while wandering through the ancient ruins of Chichen Itza. I submerged myself in cenotes, soaked up the sun and repeated mantras in well meaning but fairly broken Spanish. I also decided to try my first Temazcal ceremony. Before arriving in Mexico, I had read up on the traditional Meso-American ceremony, which involves sitting in a domed sweat lodge for anywhere between 30 minutes to two hours, while a shaman increases the heat by pouring a 'tea' of medicinal herbs over hot coals and recites incantations. I had read that the experience could be overwhelming and should not be undertaken lightly – partially because of the extreme temperatures but also because of the emotional reactions that could take place. I'm a fan of the heat and find sauna culture in all its forms to be a great healer. Saunas and sweat lodges can be weird and they can be uncomfortable – as I found when I tried the Russian ritual of Parenie for the first time – but overall, I believe the positive physical and mental effects of heat exposure can be life changing. As long as you're practicing safely and following expert advice, the heat can do a lot for you – whether you're using an infrared sauna blanket or doing contrast therapy at your local wellness club. Due to this philosophy, I wasn't at all daunted by the prospect of sitting in a pitch-black dome at 50 degrees celsius. The practice of Temazcal is an ancient one conceived by the indigenous cultures of Mexico and Central America. Aztec codexes depict Temazcal ceremonies, so we're looking at a wellbeing ritual that was documented by Europeans at least 500 years ago but that is understood to be a far older practice. The stones in the centre of the lodge are referred to as the 'abuelitas', the W Hotel's resident shaman Rodrigo tells me. 'We call them the grandmothers because they hold the wisdom of the earth,' he says. Rodrigo explains that before we can enter the lodge to meet our grandmothers we have to be purified, so I close my eyes and open my arms, allowing myself to be wreathed in the sweet smoke billowing from a copalero. From the balcony I observe Mexico City's mad traffic and stained billboards as I'm dutifully cloaked in sage. In just a swimsuit I wonder if I'm underdressed. I'm expecting to sweat a lot, but Rodrigo is wearing a thick woven sarong and glasses, so I wonder if I've overestimated the heat inside the dome. I'll soon learn that this is an incredibly foolish thought. It's warm inside as we step in but things are about to get much, much hotter and in a few minutes my limits will be truly tested. Rodrigo tells me a little about the healing herbs in the tea, the history of Temazcal, how the lodges were originally made and the origin of the volcanic stones in the centre of the small dark room. The domes themselves are intended to represent the womb and the experience itself is equivalent to a rebirth. Inside the dome, you come face to face with nature and to your primal self and in doing so, level up and leave your previous self behind. Minutes in I'm sweating and after just fifteen, my skin is slick with moisture. I can feel my eyelashes soaked through and I feel nauseated. Usually I can stay in a sauna for about forty minutes before I feel lightheaded but standard saunas aren't as hot as this. Plus, the water vapour in here is thick and herbaceous, almost smoky from the tea of sweetgrass and mugwort being poured over the coals. I screw up my face and, fighting the urge to heave, I try to get closer to the ground where it's cooler, planting my feet against the stone floor and pushing my head between my legs. Breathing deeply would usually help in a situation like this, but I've been advised to breathe gently and with good reason – deeper breaths feel like my lungs are being toasted by the boiling air. At this point all I can focus on is the sensation and the words Rodrigo is speaking. Fully in my body, my mind isn't able to wander, so as he tells me to think about my childhood and all the water, woodlands and animals I encountered. So, I do. In my mind's eye I see frogs and newts, and imagine playing in ponds and rivers, smelling the bark of trees and walking yellow clay paths. Rodrigo tells me about the fine balance of nature and how there is no 'good' or 'bad', there is only 'what is' and I'm surprised at how easily I can comprehend this. As I'm suffering in the heat, I feel as though I've opened up a divine hotline and tapped straight into the oneness of everything. Thoughts like, 'no rain, no flowers' and 'everything is everything' fill my head and I start to cry. It's at this moment that the visions behind my eyelids become incredibly clear and the shaman's words drift into the background. I still feel sick but I feel strangely okay with that. He's talking about feeling at peace and moving beyond those who have hurt me, letting go of pain and resentment, becoming wiser. I have no idea how long I've been in the pitch-black dome but it feels like an eternity, so I feel overcome by gratitude when the curtain is drawn back allowing cool clean air inside. I sip a bottle of water and revel in the brutality of fire and earth, and the softness and generosity of air and water. I feel like factory settings have been restored as I slowly climb out of the brick womb and try to breathe normally. I'm advised to drink plenty of water and take it easy for the rest of the day. Some people find that Temazcal energises them and others feel depleted by it. I find myself in the latter category and very much in need of a swim and a lie down afterwards, but the ideas that had struck me during the experience continue to dominate my thoughts for days afterward. I feel more resilient and reflective but also very sensitive – it's a hard feeling to explain. My skin is also soft and glowing and I've sweated so much that I'm craving a jug of electrolytes. Temazcal is certainly not for the faint of heart, or those sensitive to heat. The temperatures alone require a strong stomach and the emotions it can bring up can be unsettling. However, if you think you can handle climbing into a windowless cavern that looks like a spaceship and subjecting yourself to soaring temperatures and herbal vapours for as long as you can stand it, I highly recommend the experience. As luck would have it, you don't have to venture into the jungle to find a practiced shaman. Just be aware that when Rodrigo at the W asks you if you're 'ready to fly' he isn't messing around.
The Independent
30-01-2025
- Health
- The Independent
What happened when I tried a traditional Russian wellness ritual loved by biohackers
If I were to tell you I'd planned to attend a ' wellness ritual at a bathhouse', this would no doubt conjure a mental image of aromatic vapours wafting through steam-filled rooms coupled with an air of peace and tranquillity. All of this is technically what you can expect when you step inside Banya – a traditional Russian bathhouse. But you'd do well to reserve all expectations beyond this point. Banya offers a stripped-back experience with nary a fluffy towel or wind chime to be found. These bathhouses have become the mainstay of biohacking bros and those seeking a no-frills approach to contrast therapy – a blend of cold plunging and sauna that boasts a raft of health benefits. The bathhouses boast ancient cultural significance – the first recorded mention of them is from 440 BCE – but today, you'll find them in your local high street, offering the same ritualistic treatments that were practised in Russian villages of old. These treatments include Parenie – a mixture of hot and cold therapy which includes being wafted and whipped with oak, birch and eucalyptus branches in an incredibly hot sauna, followed by a drench with a bucket and a dip in a freezing plunge pool. I'd read about Parenie in the past and the concept had piqued my interest, if not intimidated me slightly. But I'll try anything in the name of wellness and contrast therapy in its various modern iterations has become a viral sensation on social media, so I was keen to see how a more traditional version of the fire and ice treatment would measure up compared with the infrared saunas and ice baths favoured by the modern wellness community. I visited Banya No 1 in Chiswick and was greeted with a towelling robe and a dome-shaped boiled-wool hat. The hat is an essential part of the Banya experience – everyone wears them to protect their heads from the intense heat of the sauna and regulate body temperature. I was also met with the sound of buckets being emptied from a height and guttural grunts as visitors were doused with cold water. When visiting a bathhouse like this, you're encouraged to hydrate before entering the sauna. An intense sweat offers many health benefits, like detoxification, pain relief and nervous system regulation – in fact, the heat of a sauna places the body under a similar amount of stress as a treadmill workout which can boost adrenaline and regulate metabolism. However, sweating profusely does mean your body loses water rapidly, along with essential salts and minerals, so dehydration is a risk if you don't load up on water and Siberian tea beforehand. The heat from the sauna hit me like a punch to the gut and the room was hazy with water vapour. The room itself was huge in comparison to the smaller cedar-lined Swedish saunas I was used to. In the corner, a wood-burning stove was pumping out heat and staggered benches lined the walls like an amphitheatre. In the centre were massage tables covered with branches and towels. I hadn't realised I'd have an audience for my baptism of fire and felt a little self-conscious as I hopped up on the table and lay face down, as instructed by a huge topless man in a woollen hat. But community is central to bathhouse culture – the whole idea of visiting a place like this is that traditionally, you'd go with friends, family, colleagues and in some cases, people you don't even know to share the experience. I tried to focus on my breathing as a pile of ice was placed in front of my face to keep my head cool and I listened to the other people in the sauna chat about their various health routines and how often they visited the bathhouse for a sauna and cold plunge. Then the strange ritual of the branch whipping began. The intense heat from the sauna is wafted towards the body using bundles of leaves called Venik and forced to engulf each limb resulting in a sensation that's only just bearable. When the heat hit my feet I thought I was done for and had to dig deep, practising my box breathing to get myself through the experience. Leaves are pressed against the skin, shaken, wafted and whipped while the air fills with an earthy aromatic scent and you wonder whether you'll make it out alive. Venik massage supposedly boosts blood circulation, improves the immune system and relieves muscle tension and stress but it didn't exactly feel normal. There are very few times in my life in which I've longed to plunge into cold water – I've never enjoyed cool water immersion and the self-imposed flagellation of cold water swimming isn't something I'm a huge fan of. But on this occasion, I couldn't wait for the icy embrace of the plunge pool. I happily stood under the bucket – the sound of which had intimidated me as I'd walked into the bathhouse – and let the room-temperature water rush over me. Then into the cold plunge pool I went. One of the shirtless attendants encouraged me to stay in the pool for longer but I had no intention of pushing myself to my limit. A dip was enough. I emerged feeling invigorated and like I could genuinely kick a hole through a wall. The whole idea of contrast therapy protocols is that you're supposed to stay in the cold for as long as possible, but I'm no Wim Hof and was looking forward to a hot bowl of borscht to round off the experience. The benefits of chasing heat therapy with cold therapy are myriad, which is why practices like Parenie have been around for thousands of years. However, though several modern studies show how contrast therapy can improve muscle recovery, cell health and immune function and reduce inflammation in the body, this practice isn't for everyone. The shock this sort of activity can send through your body is significant so it's not recommended for those with heart conditions or respiratory issues. But if you're generally healthy and brave, a trip to Banya could leave you feeling cleansed, vital and as though you could take on anything. I can see why Parenie has been relied on for so many years as a way to feel good and it's certainly a bonding experience, best enjoyed with others and not alone. For days afterwards, I felt more awake and focused and my sleep tracker showed that for the first couple of nights after the experience, I slept better too. Banya is far more rough and ready than the soothing spas you might be used to, so if you're uncomfortable in enclosed, very hot spaces with strangers and you don't fancy undergoing the twig treatment in front of a crowd, no one would blame you for it. The cold plunges and buckets of water get the blood pumping and provide a hard reset for the nervous system but it's an experience that will push you to your limits. My advice? Approach with caution and wear a swimsuit – not a bikini. This is a hardcore wellness experience, not a walk in the park.
