Day trip to a Brooklyn Bathhouse

Spa day in Williamsburg

Photo from Bathhouse Williamsburg website, used with permission

It’s Friday and I have a day to myself. Friday has a very unique energy. Even on maternity leave or during lockdown - Friday feels different and I can feel it today. I leave the apartment first thing, picking up a BEC (a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich) and a coffee with milk and sugar from a cart on the way to the subway station. (Of all the wonderful things to experience in New York city, two of the most American-feeling ones were 1. Putting my garbage down the chute at the end of our corridor and 2. Handing over green dollars in return for produce from a silver cart). 

Egg sandwich and sweet coffee in hand, I took the B train to 14th Street then switched to the L train, Brooklyn-bound to Williamsburg. Williamsburg made such a fabulous first impression (so calm compared to Manhattan, so cool and easy) that I took out my phone to send my husband a quick 3 second voice note: “Williamsburg is lovely. Will we move here?” 

My specific destination was the Bathhouse, a reasonably priced day spa that was heavily advertised to me on Instagram. I decided to reward their advertising efforts with a visit. (At least that’s what they made me think I was doing). 

Bathhouse Williamsburg is not like other day spas. It is underground and dark (obviously) and if a wall wasn’t exposed bare brick (obviously), it was adorned with subway tiles (obviously obviously). Forget the relaxing pan flute music and the sound of crashing waves that is usually piped into a spa. Here, the music was loud, energetic and I'm going to say - tribal? Which tribe, I don't know. But very cool. Very vibey. It was a vibe.

In the centre of the room were three sunken, illuminated baths. The three bear baths: one was too hot, one was too cold and one was just right. And the baths were filled with beautiful people, lounging and chatting and reading. We were informed by email in advance that the dress code was ‘swimwear’ and there was an unspoken understanding that the New York uniform (all black) still applied. At 11am, a woman (the most beautiful of all the beautiful people present) in her obligatory black bikini  - but standing out because she had a cream crocheted dress over it - banged a gong and introduced herself as our “Sauna Master”. She told us she was going to lead us in an “Aufguss ritual” and with the description that it was “multi-sensorial but you don't have to do anything”, I decided I was in. The beautiful people around the room looked at each other, nodded in silent agreement and we all made our way to the tropical sauna without saying a word. At this point I was starting to wonder if maybe I'd joined a cult because honestly, I was starting to feel like Tom Cruise at the party in Eyes Wide Shut. But I followed nevertheless because have I mentioned? They were beautiful.  

Once we all took our places in the sauna, the Sauna Master asked if anyone had any allergies to essential oils and unbelievably for New York, not a single person raised their hand. Not even a request for gluten-free! Not a vegan amongst us! Maybe they couldn't hear over the sound of the steam. The sauna master told us that we could leave at any time and that there was no shame in leaving but something about the way she phrased it implied heavily to me that there would be shame in leaving, you know? And so the ritual began. We put one hand on our stomach and one hand on our heart while the Sauna Master plopped “essential oil snowballs” on the coals and whipped a towel about. The effect of the towel-whipping was both practical (circulating scents around the room) and artistic (performing a sexy towel dance).  

We all made it to the end without anyone having to experience the no-shame shame of leaving early and we returned to our pools. From the comfort of the just-right pool , I watched people one by one take turns submerging themselves in the frigid pool (11 degrees Celsius)  and it was very enjoyable to watch. One woman wearing a white one-piece (must have been an out-of-towner) got three steps down before turning around. Everyone else made it all the way in. Most winced when they touched the water but there were no screams, I noticed. I've never entered freezing cold water without, at the very least, a little shriek and often a full-bodied scream so I felt emboldened from my observations to give it a try. 

I was 5 steps in (already further than the out-of-towner) when I decided to back up a few steps and start again. But I looked over my shoulder and realised I was holding up a line so I suggested to the woman behind me that she go ahead of me but she loudly offered “WHY DON'T WE HOLD HANDS AND GO IN TOGETHER?” (Americans always speak in caps lock.) I took her up on her offer and her hand and we walked in like Jesus and John the Baptist if Jesus was a little wuss that shrieked as soon as he was up to his shoulders and John the Baptist said “just breathe” and Jesus said “Thanks John, but I'm outta here”.