Hot.

Steamy.

Sweaty.

A small log cabin right on the edge of a still, blue lake. A private beach boasting two large floating flower beds, overflowing with bright red petals. A short patch of soft sand leading up to a hot wooden box. Nothing but tall pine trees for miles around. Let’s get sweaty!

Sauna. That inherently Finnish word that has made its way into the English language. My first proper sauna experience took place in this wondrous setting exactly one decade ago. At first, an authentic Finnish wood-fired sauna was somewhat intimidating for a Kiwi girl. The warmest place I can recall being a summer holiday spent in Australia. It certainly seems an odd idea to go and sit in an 80°C+ wooden box in the height of summer. It is, however, a highly regarded Finnish tradition and not something to be turned down when offered. So I didn’t. This was just the thing to try fresh into my new life in Finland. Fortunately my Finnish friends were very understanding of this cautious foreigner and decided that we'd start off at a cool 60°C, what a relief!

As a conservative Kiwi girl, the part about stripping off in front of everyone is perhaps even more intimidating than the high heat of the sauna. Having grown up in culture where covering up is considered polite, the idea makes me slightly uncomfortable. I don't, however, wish to stick out as a difficult foreigner by wearing anything extra, so I decide to stick with the full Finnish cultural experience and drop my dress.

Onward into the heat. I go and sit on the second step, avoiding the highest and thus hottest part of the sauna. It’s not actually too bad. I notice I am already sweating profusely, but it’s not too bad. Just when I begin to think that perhaps I could get used to this, a ladle of water is thrown onto the scalding hot rocks. It instantly turns into scalding hot steam that I can feel violently attacking my skin. I cover my face with my hands and try to calmly breathe through my nose, but the air is so hot I feel my lungs are burning.

Just when I think I can’t take anymore, it’s time for a swim. We quickly clamber out of the sauna, run down the sandy path and wade out into the lake. Never has cold water been so refreshing. I swim out to the floating flower beds. This is the basic ritual of the sauna, heating up as much as you can bear, then running out into the lake to cool off. Rinse and repeat. If it happens to be the dead of winter, they just drill a hole in the ice. Suddenly this summer sauna doesn’t seem so harsh. In all my time in Finland, I have yet to sum up the courage to jump in a hole in the ice. Maybe next winter.

Birch twigs. Not quite what I was looking for in the ice cream freezer at the local dairy in Terälahti, a small town in Finland. While at first it may seem that perhaps the shopkeeper has become a little absentminded, it turns out that these sets of bound branches really are intended for purchase. It is June and close to Midsummer’s Eve, a day when everyone should be enjoying an authentic and celebratory sauna, one that is incomplete without a good set of birch twigs. Moving them a little aside, I come across the ice cream. It is tar-flavoured. It has been manufactured in another small town called Kuortane. I don’t spot any birch-flavoured ice cream, but I suspect it may exist. I go for the small box of tar ice cream. I don’t get any birch twigs as I’ll be binding my own bundle fresh off the tree.

June 22^nd 2012, and it’s Midsummer’s Eve, a celebration of light and nature. It is Juhannus. At 6pm sharp Finnish flags across the country begin their ascent. The blue and white cross flies proudly on its tall flagstaff, and will continue to fly until 9pm the following day. It is the only time that the flag may be flown at night, because it is of course a nightless night. Although in the south of the country the sun will dip a little below the horizon.

In the city each apartment complex has its own flagstaff, and while throughout the city all the flags are flying, the people have all but disappeared. The streets are dotted mainly with confused tourists wondering where all the Finns are. The Finns have begun their annual exodus to their mökki, their summer cottages. When a Finn goes to his mökki, there is an element of returning to nature and living off the land. Therefore a good mökki doesn’t have electricity or running water. It is almost always built from wood, preferably by hand and in log cabin style. It always has a sauna, usually separate from the cottage and it may have a small outhouse nearby that doubles as a place for spiders to spawn. No mökki is complete without rampant clouds of mosquitoes that increase in size the further north your mökki is situated.

I’m lucky enough now to live in an apartment that has its very own sauna. It is of course the much tamer electrical variety, where jumping in the lake is replaced with jumping in the shower. Not quite as nice as a ‘real’ sauna, it’s quick and not too hot, although I always find it a little strange throwing water on an electrical appliance. I’m now looking forward to my summer holiday in a proper mökki. A searingly hot wood-fired sauna, a quick swim in the icy lake (flailing through the swarms of mosquitoes as I run), back into the scorching heat, ready for the onslaught of birch, eagerly awaiting to return the favour. It is customary to beat as hard as you can.