When I was little, a movies captured my imagination. It was The Road to Wellville (the irony of its name escaped me back than), an extremely funny and grotesque depiction of an old-timey, wonderful and slightly eccentric wellness resort, where people wore matching swimsuits and underwent rejuvenation 'procedures' in the hopes to get their mojo back (again, a notion I was unaware of at the age of 11). I couldn't ever imagine that, 20 years later, I'd spend a night at a place that will bring me back to Wellwille - in the best way possible.
When I was invited to check out the historic and wonderfully preserved Indian Springs Resort in Calistoga a month ago, I didn't know much about it, besides driving by its beautiful premises a couple of times. Upon arrival, though, it became clear - this is one of those resorts. It wraps you in a stylish time capsule, gives you a white cruiser bike, surrounds you with whiteness and tile and bathrobe softness, until you forget where you are and suddenly remember, ever so clearly, who you are, away from the everyday noise and worry. Let me demonstrate:
In two short days, I was pampered to infinity. First, came a soak in the thermal pool, hot and steamy while the weather outside was marvelously gloomy for contrast. Then, a dinner at Sam's Social Club (that octopus!). The next day - a mud bath - in which you plop into a concrete box of volcanic ash, a mineral soak - in which you sit in an individual tub and sip on cucumber water while other naked ladies around you do the same, a rest - in which you lay in a tiny room tucked in like a baby, and finally - a massage of your dreams. You emerge out of the whole thing fully understanding those resort-loving move characters; 'taking the waters' is a magical thing, turns out.
To balance out the laziness, we took a bicycle tour of a nearby vineyard (on which I learnt that coffee to go and biking don't 'go' together) - the bikes, and even the water bottles, were stylish branded and, of course, snowy white. And in the end, as with anything good, there was cheese. Lots of it.
To balance out the laziness, we took a bicycle tour of a nearby vineyard (on which I learnt that coffee to go and biking don't 'go' together) - the bikes, and even the water bottles, were stylish branded and, of course, snowy white. And in the end, as with anything good, there was cheese. Lots of it.
This is how things looked in The Road to Wellville. Indian Springs Resort is way better, I think - but that old school glam, devotion to stripes and slightly over- the- top atmosphere, especially when mud baths in the nude enter the picture, are every bit the fantasy I once had. The only things that's missing was Matthew Broderick, circa 1998.