By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
The state theatre in Saratov treated a couple of us to a wee excursion and I had my first Russian sauna/bath. Little river house on some sticks, aye it was quaint sure enough. Never had a sauna though. 110 degrees, wee hat to protect your head, big bowl of water infused with two branches wrapped in all sorts of herby goodness, tiny wooden dark room, hot and aromatic with a big stone furnace within touching distance. So I go in and out a few times, all is well in the world. I go in for Round 3. Mr Russia sees I'm clearly made of stronger stuff than the others... 'JERAR...now we have Russian sauna, nobody will come in you trust me...' At this moment in my mind, I'm working out which part of my yellow belt karate training from 15 years ago will serve me best in this situation, and if a chokehold is wise in such slippery conditions or a simple punch to the throat/run like hell might suffice. I opt instead for 'When in Rome'... So...I'm naked...face down, he's naked (I don't know why he had to be naked). He starts beating me with these hot branches and pressing them on my delicate Irish skin, muttering Russian to himself. I'm biting my arm thinking if I scream it might spur him on. He says flip over, I flip over, covering the pride with one hand and my eyes with the other, and he does the front. I can't tell at this point which is sweat and which is tears, no time though, he chucks me a sheet and ushers me quickly outside. I stumble past the kitchen table surrounded by the others who are all in shock, looking like a lad thats been interferred with. He tells me to go into the Volga. I became fluent in this moment and he didn't need to explain himself twice. I dive in. I say dive in...I looked like I had climbed out of hell, I rather feebily collapsed down the stairs into the holy water in an attempt to give myself to Jesus himself. So I'm floating there, bright red, sizzling away, naked as was intended, high as a kite on fumes, looking at the sky and blissfully ignoring the family on the boat passing me by, pointing in horror and shielding their children from the glorious attempt of a man that I was, trying to work out if the distant calls are in my mind or not... 'Jerar, out! We go again!' So I did all this 3 times. This was followed by meat, bread, vodka, beer, um...whole mini lobsters (but not lobsters), which btw were great once the squemish trembling had subsided of me pulling away heads/legs and trying to work out what was edible. I swear I thought the first one had made me almost feint and I tried to save myself by letting out a manly grunting 'hmphidtbheijc!' (In Russia such masculine sounds go almost unnoticed and are widely accepted at the table) but it took me a while to realise the whole damn house decides to tilt left to right in the water everynow and then, so it wasn't me and I was grand. On a separate note, Russian shot glasses magically refill after you drink, not once have I ever caught someone pouring me a taste, yet it's always full. Anywho. My Sunday. I'm smooth, shiny and smell amazing. Tomorrow back to work #EyesOnThePrize #Hmphidtbheijc #RomeMustBeMadCraic