It's quiet as I drive down a suburban road just outside our town. Maybe it was the morning drizzle that led most people to decide and stay indoors this time. A couple of turns later, I slowly arrive at the gate of a large yellow building sitting on the coast of a beautiful lake. A stunning place, even in the midst of all this November dullness – an outcome of yet another eventful summer gone by and a winter that's only about to begin.

There's not much going on these days, but this right here is something special. By now it should've been an ordinary thing, but I'm still looking forward to enjoy this experience just like the first few times after I discovered the place. It's made for the people by the people, and not just for the ones who live around here, but any lucky visitor who finds out.

It's a result of a cultural thing – unchanged for centuries.

Just yesterday we had our first snow which by now has mostly melted away. I turn off the engine, grab my bag and exit the car. Feeling a slight breeze, I proceed to fill my lungs with all the fresh air while walking down a path through the small garden. Passing between the two buildings, I eventually enter the bigger one.

Just minutes later, I'm ready. Wearing only my beloved swimshorts and my slippers, the outside air I enter back into feels colder than before.

Here it is, the lake in all its glory. I've seen this water stand still like a mirror, and I've seen it storm with bursting waves. Ohh god, it's cool out here so I better up my pace! Walking up to the smaller house I can't help but notice the elegant scene of two birds gliding above the water – calmly and without a rush.

Soon already, outside air's temperature won't matter anymore.

We all look for happiness in its different forms and chase what feels good. Drugs, alcohol, entertainment, sex – what else is out there? Most of us are after something that relaxes us, something that turns us off, something that eases the pain. Even if it's just a temporary thing, if it will help us lay down our heavy burden – we'll take it.

Exercise is a natural way to release those "feel-good hormones" they say, but fail to mention this one. It's as if they keep the best secrets to themselves. And so, this one is for the body – and the mind. It makes you feel one with nature.

I place my towel on the hook and enter through the door. First, a tiny hallway, then a sharp right, and here I am – in this hot room. The smell is damp but clean, and perhaps what I'd describe as mildly wooden. The room is large but slightly murky with only a handful of small lights sprinkled across the ceiling giving rise to a relaxing ambience. A heated basin filled with stones is fenced off in the middle, flanked by benches alongside every wall. There are windows in two directions with a view towards the yard on one side, and yes, that magnificent scenery on the other. Today, the weather is clear enough for me to see all the way to the other side of the lake where trees are only barely discernable – melting into a faraway horizon.

Being the hotter of the two, this room could alone fit up to 30 people, but I've never seen it that full. A man sits in the corner, and another one on the further side – staring out of the window. A girl, deep in thought, sits not so far from the entrance. I choose a spot on the bench that is further from the window, setting myself in a relaxed position. Sitting down and leaning back against the wall, I close my eyes for a second.

It's almost like a religion, or maybe some form of ancient meditation. No, sometimes people talk here... Is it a ritual, a custom, or something else? Perhaps it's just a part of our culture – I don't know. Maybe it's something different for different people. Whatever it may be exactly, it feels good – and it feels right.

I've heard there are more of these rooms in my land than there are cars, and indeed, when I lived in different countries, this was what I missed the most. Being here does not depend on weather conditions, life situations, or one's status. It's accessible in a way like no other – almost like a human right. There must be something more universal about this.

With over a hundred degrees celsius, a pleasant wave of hot steam rolls over me after a man on the other end throws water on the stones. The first drop of sweat rolls down my forehead and down to my nose. As a kid, my grandfather used to tell me – after the first drop falls down from the tip of your nose, you can go. Two drops – three drops... It's time.

I exit the building and walk to the pier. This time the air feels fresh and soft, but at the same time it's almost warm – a bizarre feeling.

Me and my brothers were naturally fond of the experience where all of our senses came together and we, with our emotions bursting, ran out in the middle of the winter and jumped right into the snow. A show of endurance, of self-control, or perhaps just some plain simple fun? We didn't have a lake, but we had our childlike innocence and wonder – an unlimited imagination. Over the many years ever since it has indeed slowly molded into a meditative, natural experience. That of truly feeling my body and being able to listen to it. Calming down, sleeping better.

I am at the end of the pier. What by now could have been a scattered mixture of emotions is, with experience, honed into stillness and concentration. I look around and start walking down the steps. Then – I jump!

Cold water shock? Maybe. One with nature. Yes. Disconnected? No. Perhaps the most connected I'll ever be! Relaxed, or excited? It doesn't matter. I'm submerged into an almost drinkable body of water and my heart is racing. Look around – do you see? This is the most present I can be.

It's sublime.

This must be some sort of a natural high. Stepping back onto the pier, I'm convinced that now comes the best part of it all. My whole body feels in a kind of flux, coming to its senses. It will be many more minutes until I will even start to feel a hint of cold in this late autumn air. It's the definition of relaxation.

Sitting down on the outside terrace, I open my bottle of water and quiet down to enjoy the scenery. Drops of water carried with me from the lake still dropping off my body and onto the wet ground, my heart still beating – slower than before, but with an impact, and my body sending me good signals – I'm alive.

One with my surroundings. One with myself.

I don't think I can get tired of this during my lifetime – no, definitely not. Next time, I'll come here together with someone to share the experience.

I think to myself, today is a good day. So let me enjoy another run.