During winter there are a number of things your body will cry out for (a cashmere onesie and an endless stream of hot toddies, for starters). Constant exposure to cold temperatures can be rough, especially doing damage to one’s skin. Feeling flaky? There literally couldn’t be a better time to sweat, exfoliate and repeat.

While they may not serve steaming hot alcohol (more like vodka shots followed by caviar), Manhattan’s Okeanos Club Spa Banya has got you covered. Just this past March New York Magazine named the spot – a favorite with Russian hockey players, ballet dancers and lawyers alike – as housing the city’s best coed sauna. And, if their Russian steam baths don’t pique your interest, perhaps their Platza treatments (rigorous massage involving birch branches) will. Eager for the inside scoop, psychoPEDIA sent writer Tracy Marx to the front lines (a.k.a.: 51st Street), to report back on the gem:

Legend has it that my great, great, great, great Russian Uncle Igor would down a shot of vodka then take a bite out of the glass. Could my wimpy Americanized self be half so tough? Doubtful, but I knew I could handle a spa treatment.

Entering Okeanos on an icy November day, its promise of steamy warmth was a dream come true. As the dashing Andre [the spa’s manager] explained that I would be receiving the traditional Russian treatment known as Platza, I anticipated being enveloped in a comforting fog of warm clouds, the aches and pains melting away like popsicles in front of a fireplace. But, as Andre described sauna temperatures, well above 100 degrees, and freezing cold shower temperatures, well below -- not to mention the bundles of birch leaves with which I would be thrashed -- I became uneasy. Could I take the heat? And if not, here below street level, would anyone hear my screams?

My fears were soon appeased by the lovely young Russian woman who showed me to the locker room – "I grew up with this," she assured me. "It's so good for you. You'll feel so good later." I looked at her dewy complexion and bright eyes. Alright, I'll have me some of that, I thought. After all, so far in my life I'd been waxed, tweezed, bleached, exfoliated, Rolfed, and corseted. Why not add steamed, baked, frozen, and lashed to the list?

In the entryway to the Banya [sauna], a pitcher of water with orange slices awaited. After a refreshing drink to prepare for the coming heat, I was ready to let the games begin.

It's important to mention that Okeanos is co-ed. As I shuttled myself back and forth from the moist sauna to the dry heat room, trying to decide which was more bearable, I glimpsed a male torso somewhere in the fog. Meanwhile, the Platza Master made his preparations, dunking bundled stalks in vats of water, and appeared to be raking hot coals in what looked like a pizza oven. In retrospect I believe it had something to do with heating the oil and leaves I would be smattered and smacked with. But, since he spoke only Russian, he couldn't explain. All I knew was that sizzling sounds seemed to follow him everywhere he went.

Soon, it was time. Like a tenderized lamb being led to slaughter, I followed the Master into the dry heat room. I was instructed to lie on my stomach. My head was swaddled in a cool, wet towel, and so began what I remember as a three-part cycle of oiling, thrashing, and drenching under a cold shower. It was not entirely unpleasant. But, by round three I took on the attitude of a survivor. I will get through this. There are people back home who need me.

At the very least, I emerged from the Banya with a feeling of accomplishment. Great, great, great, great Uncle Igor would be proud. Plus, I looked pretty good.

"You look great!" my freshly massaged friend Laura said as she joined me in the lounge. Anticipating that I would feel a bit lightheaded, which I did, the young Russian woman advised me to put my feet up and said, "I'd love to bring you a vodka." I'm not a drinker, but I complied. Laura and I were then brought a feast of Russian blini with caviar and jam. As Andre said, the philosophy of Okeanos is that every 1-hour treatment should last 3 hours. The Tsars had the right idea.


First photo by Miscelena via Flickr
Third photo by David Alee for New York Magazine
Fourth photo by Natasha Singer for The New York Times