Backlit by the setting sun, which is casting tremulous spotlights through the gathering steam, Teresa Altamura moves around the sauna with the grace of a swan. In one hand, she holds a large white fan, waving it like a wing through the humid air; with each movement, the scent of Alpine larch wafts over me.
“Breathe deeply,” she whispers. I’m perched on the sauna’s wooden steps, which are arranged like a small amphitheatre in front of a bowl of fizzing hot rocks. But with the woodland aroma, I can’t help but feel connected to the outdoors. Outside a window, I can just about make out the spruce garden through the steam and, beyond it, a mountain like a witch’s hat.
