"Me Time" in Al Capone's Old Bathtub
Sure, I'll go into this medieval torture chamber for some peace and quiet
We were pleasantly surprised by Hot Springs, Arkansas. It’s a town with a rich and colorful history, where gamblers and gangsters came to build and blow their fortunes, where baseball had its first spring training, and where disabled, wealthy, white Americans came to be cured by the hot mineral waters when nothing else could.
It was coined “America’s Spa” way back in the 1800s, and it may even be America’s first-ever national park, after President Andrew Jackson claimed the area surrounding the spring as federal land in 1832, predating the creation of Yellowstone National Park. A century later, Hot Springs is where Eleanor Roosevelt came to receive treatments for ailments related to arthritis and rheumatism. Back then, if you had money and your skin was the right color, you could obtain a prescription from a doctor for a 21-day stay at a bathhouse.
We were hoping to find a natural hot spring where we could take the kids, but apparently, “wellness” is not something kids need. Alas, there is no such place here. The only way to access the water is by visiting one of the few active bathhouses and hotels on the famous “Bathhouse Row,” which is connected to the natural hot spring that pumps water from the earth at a scalding 143 degrees Fahrenheit.
We visited one of the original bathhouses, the Fordyce Bathhouse Museum, which is now part of Hot Springs National Park. Since its closing in 1969, the bathhouse has been converted into a well-preserved museum. It felt as though we had taken a time machine back to the beginning of the 20th century, making it easy to imagine what it would be like to be a patient checking in at that time. The impressive mosaic-tiled floors and stained-glass windows decorated all three floors. Everything, from the antique hinges to the ornate sconces and the wood-floored gymnasium, was meticulously detailed. There were also excellent exhibits about the fascinating geology of the area, as well as about turn-of-the-century therapeutic treatments.
As self-proclaimed hot springs aficionados, or “thermophiles” because, like the rare bacteria, we too thrive in mineral-rich, warm-water environments, we couldn’t leave Hot Springs without a proper soak. Due to the strict no-children policy, we knew we would have to split up. Jaron went at 8:00 am while everyone was still asleep and then would take the kids out for pancakes when Dana would get her soak. There were two choices: the more modern establishment or the one that still functioned the same way it had 100 years ago. We opted for the latter, hoping for an anthropological experience.
The Buckstaff is the only bathhouse that offers traditional thermal bathing treatments and has been in continuous operation since opening its doors in 1912. It remains the most well-preserved active bathhouse in Bathhouse Row. The tubs we soaked in apparently were the originals, which makes them over a hundred years old. We didn't want to entertain the thought exercise of how many tushies touched those tubs before us.
We were not allowed to take pictures once inside, but everything started in the blue and white changing room, where we were greeted by an attendant and then wrapped in a drapey toga-like garment. Next, we were guided to the tubs, where you are then unwrapped and then plopped in. There were these steampunk antique-looking engine-like contraptions attached to the tub, which the bathhouse attendant switched on once you entered the water. Then, high-powered bubbles surrounded you in intense vibrations and pulsations. After 10 days on the road and living the RV life, which means constant packing, bending, contorting oneself in odd positions, lifting, sweeping, and more, the mineral-rich, steaming hot water pulsating aggressively on our bodies felt like medicine.
The next step in the traditional treatment, which cost exactly $101, was the “hot packs”. The attendant comes back to rescue you from the bath, only to re-wrap you in the sheet and escort you to a row of sterile metal tables, dressed in matching royal blue waterproof cushions that would not be out of place in a pediatrician's exam room. They give you ice-cold mineral water in tiny cardboard cups to drink while you wait. They then bring you four towels drenched in steaming mineral water and strategically place them wherever you are hurting. Then, one ice-cold freezing towel around your face, which feels incredible.
Next was the “steam cabinet”. After about 10 minutes under the hot packs, the attendant returns to adjust the toga once again and then walks you over to what appears to be a very slim closet with a metallic door and a little bench inside. You sit on the bench, and the bottom half of the metal door closes, while the top stays open. Two matching metal lids with a semi-circle cut out close around you, leaving only your head exposed above them. So your head is popping out, and the rest of your body is trapped inside a mini personal sauna. The temperature is extremely hot, and it feels like you're a rotisserie chicken being roasted in its oven. One could easily imagine Al Capone or one of the other gangsters using this device to force a confession or leaving someone who didn’t pay their debts in there for a little too long. After 10 minutes, the attendant comes back with a pitcher of ice water, which you are very grateful for at this point.
Then came the sitz bath. This is another disturbingly old mini tub that’s sunken into the ground. The attendant tells you to get in, and you basically park your derriere in the tub, while your legs dangle out, flopping awkwardly outside the tub. The hot water is said to heal ailments such as hemorrhoids and lower back pain. We had a difference of opinion as to whether this was enjoyable or not; we’ll let you guess who liked it and who did not.
Lastly, comes the “massage”. This was not anything to write home about. The massage therapist gives you a 20-minute half-hearted rubdown when what you're aching, forty-something-year-old muscles need is a deep-tissue, 90-minute session.
After the treatments, it was almost 100 degrees outside and very sunny, and we came out of there blissed out and zonked, ready to plunge into a cold river, which is precisely what we did. Luckily, we were camped right on the Gulpha Creek in the Gulpha Gorge campground, which is the only campsite in the National Park.
Full hookups (electric, water, sewer) right next to a beautiful, child-friendly body of water is pretty much the ideal scenario for us right now. The boys were entertained for hours, catching crayfish, rock sliding, and skipping stones, while keeping an eye out for brown water moccasins. Vivi was happy tiptoeing around the creek. It was the perfect reprieve after the oppressive heat and humidity of the low country.
Finally, after a long, hot day in Hot Springs, we needed a good meal. So we went to former president Bill Clinton’s favorite hometown spot, McLard’s, for the best BBQ in town. Being from Hot Springs can maybe explain why Clinton was so comfortable in hot water ;) Seriously, though, rumor has it that he regularly shipped this barbecue into the White House, and we get it. We arrived just before closing at 7:00 pm and snagged their last half chicken. This historic BBQ joint has been open since 1928. We were told that the recipe for their famous BBQ sauce was a barter between a customer who did not have money to pay for their meal, so in exchange, they traded the recipe for what became their famous sauce. When we walked into the restaurant, a nostalgic comfort surrounded us. Everything, from the red booths to the retro dining bar with matching stools, felt like we had time-traveled back to the 1940s when the place was last remodeled. It was cozy, inviting, and the service was impeccable. The kids were excited as they had never seen a place like this; they were bouncing off the booths and the walls alike.
Along with the chicken we had, dry rub ribs, coleslaw, BBQ beans, and good ‘ol Texas toast Wonderbread. The sauce was smoky and tangy, and paired perfectly with the bright, finely chopped slaw, which added freshness to the meal. The chicken skin was crisp to perfection, and the blueberry cobbler à la mode was gone before two shakes of a lamb's tail. The waitress gifted the kids gumballs, and we left the place with full bellies and happy hearts.
We arrived back at camp just in time for firefly hour. Being from Miami, we don’t get to experience this magical phenomenon. The kids pulled out the family jar and got to business, catching and releasing the glowing critters. Watching them gleefully hopping around and catching the fireflies in ecstasy is a favorite family pastime that we don’t take lightly. It was a magical ending to a perfect day. Hot Springs felt like a turning point and a much-needed respite before the long road ahead.
