The infrared sauna (lolz: “bulletproof your immune system”) is the most useless of the three. It packs a lap pool, a cigar room, a jacuzzi that’s hogged by non-Russian speakers, a juice bar that hawks dried fish, massage rooms, cold rooms, a restaurant, a cafe, and four hot rooms, each of which tax the body with very specific degrees of heat and pain. Spa 88’s narrow entrance, located next to a pawn shop on Fulton, belies the expansiveness of this subterranean behemoth. And while the ultimate result is that you will, at some point during your multi-hour session, become wonderfully relaxed, the process of getting there is a rigorous mental and metabolic affair. This is where the banya differs from its American analogues, those piney, wood-paneled rooms at Equinox where suburbanites unwind after watching Dr.
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