City hangover cures

Exercise | Russian bath | Hair of the dog | tripe soup | chocolate milk | Berocca

Claire Madigan, associate Web editor, on visiting a Russian bathhouse…

My usual routine
It starts with a sudden jolt to consciousness at some god-awful early hour. I might muster the energy to empty my bladder and guzzle a glass of water before going back to bed. But most of the time, I’ll just roll over and not open my eyes again until my head stops pounding.

The alternate remedy
One fine Saturday, I take a walk of shame to the Russian and Turkish Baths in the East Village. Turns out this is the ideal place to stumble around and stare at people bleary-eyed. Anyone who speaks English and might take offense is either in a soaking-wet stupor, a bewildered state of relief or getting beat with bushels of oak leaves.

Choking down burning air in one sauna, scorching myself on hot-rock benches in another and nearly blacking out in the cold pool make me forget about my hangover and concentrate on my mortality instead. Later, lying on the sundeck unlocks every atom of alcohol in my body to escape though my aching muscles. After 20 minutes of goose bumps and nausea, I drag myself downstairs for another round of musty heat.

My body is by now pumping out sweat and endorphins; after a spray in the Swedish shower, I walk out on a high, but nursing a lingering headache. It takes subsequent spoonfuls of Nutella and a peaceful three-hour nap to feel normal again. But I can see myself returning to the baths next Saturday and kick-starting my next hangover at the bar in the lobby.