NAPA VALLEY — I'm getting myself in really hot water. First I got coated in mud hip-deep. Then I lay about indulgently for an eternity. Then I splashed about in a mini-water park. Now I'm sliding into scalding water to lie about some more. After that, I'll rest again.
This wholly un-Puritan episode is by design. I'm at a hot springs resort in Calistoga, the gloriously easygoing small town at the top end of the Napa Valley, and I'm doing something Westerners have done for thousands of years, in the same place, maybe even the same fashion. Well, maybe not -- there are those cucumber slices. More on that in a minute.
Northern California is the world capital of laissez-faire hot-spring soaking. Within a few hours drive of one another, Calistoga, Harbin Hot Springs and Wilbur Hot Springs offer relaxation, restoration and the sort of only-in-California experiences that make you think, hmm, didn't I see this in a movie?
At Indian Springs Resort and Spa in Calistoga, for instance, the hot-mud treatment starts when I lie down in a concrete basin filled with hip-deep indigo goop and attendants ladle more atop my torso. It's the most penetrating warmth I've ever encountered. Makes your bones feel like muffins. Your joints turn to mohair.
It's volcanic ash mud, locally sourced, as they say these days (dug out back with a backhoe). Though I lobby for more, my repose here is limited to 10 minutes, because, "We don't want to cook you into noodle soup." Despite the time limit, the relaxation effect is sufficient to convince me hours have passed.
Then, in succession, I'm led to a pummeling shower where I hose off the mud; over to a deep tub of hot mineral-geyser water for a follow-up 15-minute soak; then under a cool shower to restore thermal normalcy. Then a session in a steam room, then another shower. Then I'm led like an old horse down a hall to an austere resting room where I can lie quietly for an indefinite while. The attendant places a slice of cucumber over each eyelid. Yes, really.
"There seems to be something about cucumber that enhances the cool, calming effect," she explains. "Maybe it's aromatherapy."
Maybe so. More time passes, cucumber-aided. I can sip on cucumber-lemon water when I wish. Detect a theme here? I daydream of cucumber finger sandwiches in a Kensington-district London hotel. Then pickles intervene. Lemon dill gherkin pickles. Strange where the mind goes, left free to wander the labyrinthine hallways of indolence.
