Is me or are the Russians just hot here?

Going to a Russian bath (banya) is an experience in a league of its own. Too bad I have no pictures to show you...or maybe that's for the best.
The contigent consisted of the fearless leader Schup, Richard, me, and three students of Maxim's (the German Jens, the Marine major Mike, and UPenn student Roman). We arrived at the Sandunovskie Bani around noon, and despite the initial disorientation (from fear more than anything else), we wasted no time in stripping ourselves naked. After showering ourselves down in open stalls (much more pleasant than Lackland latrines), Schup led us into the sauna room where stairs led up to a wooden deck with benches built into it. Gallons of water were poured into a gas stove (used to be wood, but the New Moscow is not so romantic), and the steam heated the room to an unbearable degree...so to speak. If done right--as in by a real Russian and not Schup--the expanding steam makes a sounds like mortar rounds being launched.
Of course the higher the bench, the hotter it was, so we started low. But of course I moved higher soon thereafter because I'm me. With sweat pouring out of my very soul, we each picked up our bundle of birch leaves and began to beat ourselves all over (oh, it gets better!). Supposedly the essence of the plant is absorbed through the skin, along with its refreshing effects. Whatever, it was just fun. Asexually.
After as long as I could bear, we all followed the traditions and did the unthinkable: walk out of the sauna room and dive into the icy cold pool whose water is green from stray birch leaves. Yeah. Shrinkage does not even begin to describe the joy down under. We repeated this ritual several more times, with eating and drinking breaks in the lounge area as needed. Then Richard and I started getting adventurous in the sauna. We beat each other with the birch bundles. Platonically. S&M--or anything sexual--was the last thing on my mind in the blistering steam. Don't know about Richard, though. Anyway, I should stop here.
We kicked it in the lounge after the hot-cold alternations, talking, drinking beer and eating pistaccios and salted calamaris. It was trully relaxing. When we walked back out into the Moscow chill more than two hours later, I was a new man. I'm sure there'll be a sequel somewhere.