Have you ever been experienced? Well, I have.

Inside this little shack I received one of my very first cultural experiences. As there is no running water in the village, other means have been contrived to deal with the issue of cleanliness. The solution to the problem is known as a "steam", which is similar to a sauna, but in much tighter quarters. It was here, inside a 9 cubic foot space where I found myself naked with 5 Eskimo men and another white man or gussick as we are known by the Yup'ik people.

There's no reason to be shy, as they assure you, without prompt "that we don't look at it like that". I nodded in agreement, but as I slid past a few of the Eskimo men to a more desirable location in the back of the steam, I couldn't help but wonder what was meant by that last statement.

Though I wanted to ponder that last thought some more, I found it difficult to focus on anything but the fact that I was being cooked. When I first arrived in the steam, it felt like an oven, dry and hot. A fire had been blazing for an indeterminate amount of time prior to my arrival and had managed to heat the lava coals placed above it as well as the room to well above 150 degrees. Though it was hot, I felt confident that I could last at this temperature and avoid the embarrassment of being "run out" (which tests one's manhood by the amount of time he remains in the steam). As I began to sweat profusely, Robert (the proprietor) announced that we were ready to begin. As Robert poured water upon the lava rocks, steam instantly rose to the ceiling, made its way toward the back of the steam room, then down the back wall (where I was kneeling) on to my back, the back of my arms and in to my lungs. The oven analogy had been immediately replaced with the image of being inside a boiling pot of water. As more cups of water were added, the temperature rose causing everyone to position their faces as close to the plywood floor as possible in an attempt to suck in the relatively cool air that had been pushed down to the floor. At this point my fellow caucasian bowed out and the Eskimo men started to taunt me, which is an indication that they too have just about had enough. I became determined to outlast at least one Eskimo and hopefully gain their respect. However, as the final cup of water was poured, I felt a burning sensation on the back of my arms of the like I had never before experienced. My only thought here was not if, but how many layers of skin had just been burned through. Instinctually, I moved to wipe the steam off of my body, but when I did this my head rose a few inches above "the safe zone" and I took in a breathe of scalding hot water. The temperature had reached 225 degrees and the humidity, though untested, hovered around 100%. I lunged for the door, pushed it open, and crawled to the open doorway of the steam, where I felt the cool air work its charm as I sat exposed to anyone who dared to pass by.

Though it may seem that sweating and nearly suffocating to death in a tiny room heated up to 225 degrees with a bunch of men doesn't seem like the ideal way to cleanse oneself, I assure you I have never felt as clean as I had after the steam.