On March 21, 2008, we celebrated Yoga Jane's 50th birthday at Ojo Caliente Hot Springs. It was lovely. These are some of my lovely women friends in Taos. Aren't they great? It reminded me of another memorable hot springs adventure ... see below the photos.
Above, Yoga Jane, Birthday Girl - beautiful at 50.
Me in the background soaking with my home girls.
More me and my home girls.
Below: Deep soaking, ahhh.
Above: The other Sandy in the deep pool.
Below: The evening party continues at
Sabroso Restaurant in the mountains...
Above: Two Sandys
Above: Elizabeth on the left, Birthday Jane on the Right
Above: A little too much wine at Sabroso.
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Hanging at the Hot Springs…
After an exceptionally cold winter in Taos, the snow is finally melting, and I feel spring’s rapid approach. The sun warms me as I lounge at Mondo Kultur café and sip a double mocha latte while I conduct a psychic reading for a friend. I am unusually tuned in, and the camaraderie of the spiritual process inspires me to drive into the mountains north of Taos. I hop in my little red Mazda Protege, pop into Cyd’s health food store and buy a few picnic items for my little journey. Smoky gouda, ripe edam, 9 grain bread, organic bananas and spicy ginger beer fill my goody basket. I head up Highway 522 toward Questa, intent on enjoying the sunny afternoon with a drive around the 100 mile Enchanted Circle through Red River, Eagle’s Nest, Angel Fire and back through Taos Canyon. When I reach Questa about 30 minutes later, I spontaneously decide to drive up to Valley View, a beautiful hot springs area three hours north, along Colorado Rt 17.
I don my movie star sunglasses, tune in a rousing radio station and sing along as I glide down the winding road. “They say I have to go to Rehab, and I say No. No, No.” I grab my cell phone and realize I haven’t programmed Valley View’s number into it since I changed services. Oh well, I punch in my home number, get my son on the line and ask him to look it up in the computer, call them and book me a room. He calls back in a couple of minutes and confirms a small room in the community house. The rooms are very basic, only a bed, a chair and hooks to hang your towels on, but the view out the window offers a spectacular sense of lavishness.
After a few miles of roller coaster winding up and down, the road flattens out all the way to San Luis, about 50 miles of fast driving, open range with herds of cows, buffalo and elk curiously staring at me as I fly by. I pass the time talking on the phone with my friend Sue in Houston, laughing about my spontaneous jaunt and listening to her political banter. San Luis is an interesting little town with a mountain shrine that attracts tourists and devout Catholics, but I don’t stop. The road ends at Ft. Garland, Colorado, and you have to turn left or right. I make the left without stopping and head toward Alamosa, about half-way to my destination. Instead of going all the way into Alamosa, I turn right at Rt 150 and head toward the Great Sand Dunes National Park. The spectacular view of the giant sand dunes looms in front of me. They form where the mountains rise up and collect the sand and silt that blow through the high desert countryside. It’s kind of amazing. The dunes resemble pyramids, and for a moment I forget I’m in Colorado and daydream about Egypt. I stop at the park’s visitor center for a restroom and leg-stretching break. Absorbing the unusual vista, I snap a picture with my cell phone to document it for my friends.
I have to backtrack a mile or so to the cutoff that takes me westward to Mosca through the lakes of the dunes. It’s very remote, and radio reception is nil. I notice that not only is my reception temporarily gone, but I’m rapidly losing power. So much for being spontaneous. I would soon have no phone at all as I left my phone charger at home, and I have not yet bought a car charger for my new phone. Oh well, guess I’m meant to be incommunicado. The important thing is that my son knows where I am. Nothing can spoil my good mood, the joyful sense of adventure, and the peaceful quiet of the deserted road. I let a few friends know that I’ll be gone for a day or two and that I may not have phone service. I am so ready to concentrate on me for a change.
I spend the rest of the trip just watching the snow frosted mountains move closer and closer. A wave of awe sweeps through me as I connect deeply with the earth and the beauty. The clear blue sky is dotted with ship clouds, often seen in this part of the country. They are white fluffy low-riding clouds that seem to go the opposite direction of the higher wispier ones. They are rounded and flat on the edges and resemble the small runabout ships that fly out of mother ships in so many sci-fi movies. The scene is surreal with the landscape still snowy white with watery patches. It looks like an aerial view of Alaska as glacier-like fields spread for miles and miles in all directions.
Soon I reach the meeting point of Highways 285 and 17 and County Road GG. It was a fast three hours. I pass my cutoff to drive a few miles further to Villa Grove to pick up a bottle of wine as there is no restaurant or liquor store at the springs. What you take with you is what you have to eat and drink. I walk in, ring the bell to be let into the small establishment, and a slightly suspicious looking man unlocks the door. Not much selection in wine, so I grab a bottle of Canadian Whiskey to mix with my ginger ale and stand at the counter until the attendant returns from watching TV in the back room. I hand him my debit card, and he curtly says, “Sorry, cash only.” I ask if there’s an ATM at the restaurant across the street, and he says, “Nope, closest one is in Salida, 25 miles ahead.” Ahh, the joys of small towns. Tired of driving, I leave the bottle of liquor and head back to GG and start driving up the mountain on the dirt road. I see a muddy wash ahead, and I debate whether my little Protégé can make it through without getting stuck. I decide to go for it, so I rev up my speed a little to power through. I fear I might slide off the road. My stomach does little flip flops as I skid sideways but regain control quickly and make it past the first challenge. I wonder if more washes are up ahead, and I resolve to go back on another road that should be less hazardous and stressful. It turns out that the rest of the road is just fine, no ice, no water, no big ruts, just a washboard that I can handle.
Seven miles down the road and up the mountain, I come to the junction where I have to cross a cattle guard where I turn left and enter the Orient Land Trust. Almost there. The Trust is a non-profit organization that owns Valley View and is dedicated to keeping it natural and buying surrounding land to ensure that it will stay that way. Nothing needs to interfere with the magnificent Valley Views. I slide into the parking area facing a wall of snow and breathe a sigh of relief as I cut my engine. Trudging into the office, I pay for my room. Fortunately, they take my debit card for the night’s stay, the best $27 I’ve spent in a long time. I quickly head for the exit with my coin in hand to drop into the box at the gate that blocks the entrance to the springs. The arm lifts, and I feel finally at home in the land of the goddess. I only have to drive a few hundred feet to park in front of the group house. I inhale deeply as I cross the little wooden bridge over the steaming stream in front of the long wooden structure. The laughing trickle of the water instantly relaxes away the stiffness of sitting for three hours. In a way, I am home. I’ve been visiting these springs for the last 15 years, and they always welcome me back.
I’m not exactly dressed for this, since I did not plan the trip. I have on jeans, a sweater and three-inch high heeled boots. I get a few knowing looks like, “You didn’t plan to come here, did you?” Apparently, it’s common for repeat visitors just to pick up and head out to the springs to alleviate stress. I carry in my food and my leopard print wrap that will be my costume for trekking to the springs. I can hardly wait to feel my weary body sink into the hot steaming pools nestled in the drifted snow around them. It has always been my dream to spend time at the springs in the winter when the contrast of the hot and cold make it deliciously inviting to soak for hours. This was my second time to fulfill that dream. Groceries safely placed on the chair, I make my bed with the clean linens stacked on the bed, strip off my sticky clothes and tie my sarong. I wish for my my flat slip-on shoes, but three-inch heels will have to do. It’s all I have. I briefly walk to the back of the building and take in my first Valley View of the stay. I deeply catch my breath at the distance and the loveliness, but the water calls me, and my body longs to float free.
It is unseasonably warm, and the lingering evening sun feels good on my bare shoulders, but the breeze is rapidly cooling. With only a short uphill walk, I am confronted by the small hot pot, the large swimming pool and the new sauna building. Both pools are thickly steaming and beckoning me to hurry into them. I decide I’m not up for swimming right now and drop my sarong on a chair and step into the hot water. It’s so hot it stings a little at first, but I know I’ll soon adjust to it and will be amazingly soothed. I twist my long blonde hair up on top of my head and secure it with a spider clip I had attached to my sarong for that purpose. Having just gotten over a cold, I don’t want to get my hair wet. I immerse myself up to my neck as two other people join me in the water. We all rest our heads on the side of the two feet deep heated soaking pool, the lobster pot and breathe deeply of the warm vapors.
At first, no one speaks as we settle in. Soon, the man who has not introduced himself begins to talk of how long he has been frequenting the springs. He says, “This time, I came because of my skin problems, psoriasis. The minerals in the water seems to help a lot.” “I know,” I respond. “My skin is always so much softer after a trip to the springs.” The woman who says her name is Katie tells him the name of a tea that will help. Apparently she is an herbologist. They continue to discuss subjects like the difference between detoxing and flushing your system. I drift away and block out the conversation as I just enjoy the soft sensuality of the water. All the dramas of my day are washed away by the water flowing through the pool as it rejoins the warm river that winds its way through the entire property. It’s as if all my cares flow away. After an hour or so, I begin to get a little overheated, so it’s time to rewrap myself and head for my little monk’s cell.
I lie down on the comfortable bed and drift into a light sleep until my bladder compels me to get dressed and head for the baths next door. There are none in this building, one of the drawbacks for me since I get up a couple of times in the night. After making my necessary trip, washing up and refilling my water bottle with the cold filtered water from the fountain in the bath house, I notice my stomach grumbling and begging for dinner. Checking my cell phone for the time, it’s about 9:00 pm so I decide to eat lightly. I slice some of the smoky gouda and slice a banana from my stash. I check the refrigerator and happily find some mayonnaise to slather on the tasty brown bread. I pop open a bottle of ginger beer and eat at the community table. Soon a group of men drift in from the springs and settle into the chairs and couches by the table. We all start to talk about where we’re from and why we’re here and what else we do in our lives. There’s a guy from Colorado Springs who works for the city. He complains that it has gotten to big, too busy and too trendy. Valley View is his respite from what used to be a small town and is now a thriving metropolis. When they ask what I do, and I say I’m a writer, they want to know what I write. When the subject of the angel book comes up, a discussion ensues where one of the men tells the story of his near-death experience. It’s a good discussion of the afterlife, death, and other spiritual experiences. I find it unusual to have such a discussion with a room full of men, and I am pleasantly impressed.
After a while, someone picks up a guitar and strums a melodic folksy tune. I retire to my room and listen to the music while I stare out the window at the star-filled sky. I soon drift away for the night until dawn’s early light when it’s time for another trip to the building next door. It’s crisp outside, and I hurry between buildings, scanning side to side for deer, bears or skunks that proliferate in the area. An uneventful trip and a refilled bottle of cold water takes me happily back to the group house. Katie, from the hot pool the night before, has started coffee and is busy making pancakes in the community kitchen. She offers me a cup of wonderful smelling brew and a pancake. My stomach urges me to accept, and I do. Unfortunately for me no one has left any creamer or milk to share, and I didn’t bring any, so I have to drink the coffee with honey only. Oh well, it still tastes delicious, and the warm cup in my cold fingers feels so good.
Katie and I sit at the dining table and chat about Taos and the springs and other light chatter when we hear the door open. Most everyone in the building has already gone to the springs for a morning soak. We are pleasantly surprised to see a very handsome, well built man wearing nothing but a royal blue Williams and Sonoma apron that shows off his muscled arms. He’s carrying a French press plunge pot of coffee. He says, “Hey, I just made this great Vietnamese coffee. I’d love to share it with you. Want some?” Katie and I looked at each other, back at him, and said in unison, “Uhhh huhhh.” It’s all we could muster in our current stunned state. We quickly finished the coffee in our cups, and he refilled them with a sweet-smelling essence of the coffee bean with a buttery nutty flavor. Then he left, and we both stared after him at some of the best breakfast buns we’ve ever seen. We both started laughing.
“Wow,” I said, “When does this happen in real life? Are you sure we’re not dreaming?” “If we are,” she responded, “we’re having the same delicious dream.” “I want to affirm more of this in my life,” I smiled, “Men dressed in nothing but an apron, who can cook, who have an appreciation for the subtlety of good coffee, and look great doing it.” She nodded in assent as she took a deep draft of the smooth concoction. Nothing could top this as a great experience at Valley View. The huge green comet I’d seen last year paled in comparison with the implications of this little metaphor. More please, I thought wishfully. Katie and I headed to the pools for another long, leisurely soak and more conversation.
There was an inordinately large number of men out this morning, and this being a naturalist property, clothing optional, it was nice to see a range of ages stretched out on towels sunbathing, soaking and drifting back and forth to the sauna. What I love most at Valley View is the respect shown by everyone for the vulnerability of everyone brave enough to remove their clothes and share a sacred space. There’s no gawking or posturing or crossing boundaries without an invitation. It’s very refreshing to share such a place of freedom and joy in relaxation and healing.
Later in the day, Katie and I ran into our morning chef (and his wife or girlfriend) with their clothes on. I did not recognize him, and I did not correctly remember what color his apron was. Katie and I got a good laugh at that. We returned to the building and pooled our food for a picnic on the porch. I sat in a swing, and she sat on the bench across from me. Two of the men who had also been at the springs, who turned out to be brothers, came in, and we invited them to join us for food. They added some sesame seeds to the cheese, bread, fruit, ginger beer, artichoke hearts and Indian Samosas for a quick outdoor feast. It was so pleasant just to enjoy the scenery and hang out at the hot springs.
Katie and I were both leaving, so we had to pack up our things. When we finished packing and were chatting on the porch, our chef returned in his apron and invited us to join him and his wife for lunch. We both regretted that we had already eaten. Just watching him cook would have been the best entertainment we could find, but it was time to go. Sometimes, trying to repeat a pleasurable experience just negates it. I wanted to hold the fond memory in my mind just the way it had happened. Nothing needed to be added. It was perfect, and it was time to go.
I slowly, reluctantly, climbed back into my little Protégé, said goodbye to my temporary friends and the lovely land. I thanked the earth for its beautiful blessings and drove back to the office to check out. They have to know who’s in the park, in case of sudden storms or bear alerts. I stayed long enough to check my email and let my friends and my son know I was heading back. My cell phone had long since lost its charge. Now I would have a wonderful three hours driving back with nothing but my memories, my thoughts of the future, and the beautiful scenery to enjoy. I can’t tell you how refreshed, revitalized and rejuvenated I felt. I could face anything from this place of strength and vitality. And so I headed back to Taos. * * *
