Banya
My recent visit to the traditional Russian “banya” in the London's Docklands is an event I shan’t forget anytime soon and one I’d strongly recommend to anyone with a taste for the authentic. A dear friend of mine had dared me to go and witness “the most raw & real bathing ritual”. It was a challenge I could not resist. The outside was intimidating enough. The dingy alley along the railway track in Canning Town where the establishment was situated reminded me of a back street in Bangkok minus the heat and the radiant mango-selling grannies. Barricades of rubbish led me to the entrance of what resembled an unemployment centre in Northern England, left to its own devices since the 70s. The reception area featured a plain eatery / vodka room with a constellation of sturdy square tables covered in green vinyl tablecloth - undoubtedly high-camp material in Shoreditch…but not here. Two big-belied comrades in baggy swimwear had positioned their giant pyramid torsos in front of a tv sc