Right around the middle of winter, when the afternoon sun was hanging low and the weather forecasters were warning of an evening commute complicated by “wintry mix,” I found myself strategizing. How was I going to survive until spring? It surprised me. I always liked winter but somehow, this time around, the season seemed longer and more harsh. I needed to find a way to fall in love with winter again.
But when I found myself standing on the windswept deck of Bota Bota, spa-sur-l’eau, a Nordic spa in the Montreal harbor fashioned from a converted barge, clad only in a Speedo and a white terry cloth robe, it occurred to me that the restoration I’d come for might break me all together. Stunned with cold, I stared into the rising steam, my damp hair stiffening into icy dreads and sharp snow pellets stinging my cheeks and my naked calves.
Then I dropped the robe and slipped up to my shoulders into a roiling hot pool and joined a dozen or so of my fellow spa-goers gazing silently out at the ice floes in the Saint Lawrence. I exhaled audibly and something in my spine uncoiled. This was not just a see-how-tough-you-are experience calibrated for preternaturally robust Canadians. I was in the right place to relearn how to fully embrace the season.
While Montreal’s reputation for great food, a slamming night life and a vibrant art scene is well-known, lately, the ever-so-Instagrammable Nordic spas in the region are attracting attention, too.
Sweat culture has a long history in Canada, dating back hundreds of years to the sweat lodges of the First Nations people, said Marianne Trotier, press director for Groupe Nordik, which opened its first and most popular spa, Chelsea, outside Ottawa, in 2005. Skiers adapted it for a post-slope unwind, and, “more and more Canadians from all provinces are now part of it.”
Armed with copious car snacks and good company, I made the six hour drive from New York City to Montreal while two members of my all-female spa-going squad scored low-cost tickets for the brief flight from LaGuardia to Montreal-Pierre Elliott Trudeau Airport. None of us had experienced anything comparable in or around New York City, where spa-going tends to be a wallet-ravaging, ultrarefined experience or the more boisterous, family-friendly and affordable Russian banya and Korean jjimjilbang.
By contrast, the Nordic spas we visited around Montreal put the emphasis squarely on rejuvenation through intensive immersion in nature. While their roots are plainly Finnish and Scandinavian, stylistically, the older ones tend to rock the 1950s ski-chalet look with lots of plaid cushions and knotty pine, and the more recent entries have a cool monochromatic design.
All rely on a ritual with three main components; first is heat, which comes in the form of hot saunas, eucalyptus-saturated steam rooms and steaming hot pools. Then comes the cold, administered via a quick plunge in an outdoor pool, an ice-edged river or, for the bold, a roll in the snow. The third element was one that was even more shocking for my band of tightly wound New Yorkers than jumping into a snowbank: a prolonged embrace of public napping.
How do you get a crowd of strangers to doze together in a room? Fluttering eyelids are encouraged by a range of high-hygge warming rooms solely dedicated to resting. And, oh, those rooms. The ones we sampled had crackling fires, private nooks for couples, flickering torches, hypnotic rocking chairs, private macramé cradles, bean bag chairs and fleece blankets. Nearly all had picture windows that allowed nappers to drift off while separated from the majesty of nature by a single pane of glass.
Quiet contemplation is key. For the most part, cellphones are left in private lockers along with your parka and street clothes. Silence is strictly enforced, and, after a brief adjustment, significantly contributes to the experience. At Bota Bota and the Polar Bear’s Club, in the Laurentian Mountains, low-volume conversation is allowed in designated sections. Later into the evening on the weekends, as spa goers rehydrate with craft beer, those no-loud-talking rules get bent but never entirely collapse. The vibe is less scantily-clad apres-ski pub and more friendly yoga retreat with an endless waterfall soundtrack.
We “embarked” on Bota Bota via a gangplank, and after a brief wait in line, got handed a towel and bathrobe. All three spas we went to required bathing suits. Water bottles and flip flops are recommended. I’d left my flip flops in my suitcase and opted to go barefoot, which was a mistake, since at times my feet were freezing. You can buy some at the spa’s little gift shop. Our troupe descended via a spiral staircase to a cramped dressing room in what was once the hull of the barge. Our belongings safely stowed in lockers, we ascended again, and went our separate ways, exploring the additional four levels of spaces thoughtfully designed by Sid Lee Architects, a Montreal firm. (Three hours in the water circuit at the spa costs 50 to 60 Canadian dollars, or about $37 to $45, depending on the day of the week.)
It was a quiet weekday night, so the crowd was thin and nothing felt cramped or crowded. I followed the numbered water circuit elements, enjoying a sauna with a giant picture window looking out over the gray harbor and the hot pool on the deck before climbing into a macramé cradle in one of the many glassed-in resting rooms. Toward the end of my stay, I padded off the boat to the Jardin, part of the spa that is on land, and settled down for a brief snooze in a second-level (think bunk beds) napping space. My squad regrouped after about two and a half hours, pruney, damp and smiling, and discovered the wild temperature swings had the same effect on our appetites as a half marathon. The dining room at Bota Bota was unexpectedly closed so we disembarked and strolled a short way to Rue Saint-Paul Ouest, scoring a table at Barroco, a popular European-style bistro, and feasted on plates of oysters, fresh bread, squash soup and winter salads. (From about 3.50 dollars an oyster to 15 dollars for the soup.)
The next day, we drove about 50 minutes from downtown Montreal through the sleet into the Laurentian Mountains, passing strip malls and, as we entered the Saint Sauveur Valley, ski slopes, before arriving at the Polar Bear’s Club shortly before noon. Checking in took longer than expected — the receptionists were more friendly than efficient. I remembered my flip flops this time. The funky ski-chalet-style property, decorated with crossed skis and snowshoes stuck in the snow, includes four hot baths, two cold baths, two river access points (I got up to my ankles in the Simon River but patrons of the Bagni spa, on the opposite bank, were doing the full body plunge) two dry saunas, one steam bath and plenty of indoor and outdoor napping spots. We paused for a snack at Cuisine Spontanee, the simple restaurant there, and enjoyed a satisfying version of grilled cheese (14 dollars).
Two highlights to the day: baking in a wood-fired sauna with a picture window that looked out onto the frozen river, this hiss of water on hot stones competing with the roaring water, and a hot pool with a steaming waterfall and behind the waterfall, an illuminated grotto. It was a completely cheesy, cozy, utterly relaxing place to hang out. (Score discounted admission to the water circuit online before you go: 49 to 54 dollars, although some seasonal promotions are as low as 30 dollars. )
For our final spa visit, we had planned to drive to Balnea, about an hour south east of Montreal. Slick road conditions forced us to recalibrate and instead we drove 10 minutes from the city center to Strom Nordic Spa on Nun’s Island, which was the most corporate-feeling (the same company runs three other spas in Quebec province) but equally entrancing. We arrived in the middle of a snowstorm so at first we had very little company in the round barrel sauna, the hot pools or the steam room. We visited the restaurant, Nord, which featured a thoughtful, Scandinavian-inspired menu of soups, salads and more elaborate entrees all made with locally sourced produce as well as craft beers and regional wines. (Prices range from 8 dollars and up for soups and salads to 23 dollars for entrees; drinks run from 7 dollars for beers to up to 14 dollars for cocktails or wine.)
The napping rooms were next level. I settled down in a slatted-wood lounge chair overlooking a picturesque winterscape while a glowing heating element warmed my back. Then, after an up-to-my knees cold plunge, dozed in a toasty white yurt in front of a brightly burning gas fireplace, the afternoon sun angling through barren trees just outside the window. Because Strom is a 17-minute public bus ride from downtown Montreal, long waits for entry to the water-circuit can be a hassle, we were told by other spa-goers. It might well be worth the wait. (Unlimited time in the water circuit costs 59 dollars; 44 dollars after 5 p.m.; more during public holidays.)
All of the spas offer a variety of massages (which, read it and weep, many Canadians get reimbursed for as part of their employment benefits) and some body treatments like exfoliation, fat melting wraps and facials, which need to be booked in advance (an appointment can guarantee you access without waiting in line on a busy day).
But the groundswell of popularity of the Nordic spas around Montreal, said Mikkel Aaland, author of the 1978 classic “Sweat,” is less about hewing to some abstract standard of beauty and more a concrete response to lives increasingly lived in a virtual world. Mr. Aaland, who is making his book into a nine-part documentary series about sweat-bath culture called “Sweet Sweat,” said the people who flock to Montreal’s spas are craving experiences that take them beyond their cubicles or cellphones.
“They know they are stressed and sweating reduces stress. In this polluted world, sweating gets rid of the junk in their bodies, so it’s good for you,” he said. Spa-goers are wearing bathing suits (and sometimes thick woolen hats) so socializing occurs at a time when people are physically vulnerable and exposed to a wide variety of body types. “The combination of steam, water, fire and nature opens the door to a different kind of renewal. It’s physical. It’s social. It’s spiritual,” said Mr. Aaland.
After the spa weekend, the downsides of winter lingered. I still had to scrape snow off the windshield when I headed for New York. When I got home, the forecast, alas, was still calling for “wintry mix.” But my energy level was higher and my life force, somehow stronger. The stretch of late winter that will inevitably lead to spring seemed more manageable somehow, like the pilot light has been reignited in my soul.
Peg Tyre is a journalist, author and nonprofit strategist. Her latest book is “The Good School.”
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