Hot Springs National Park: Emphasis on the Hot

A gentlemanly park ranger shows me the way through the Fordyce Bathhouse, Hot Springs National Park’s Visitor Center. Did I mention that Arkansas is hot and humid?

Hot Springs, Arkansas. Quite possibly the hottest, most humid climate I've ever endured. And for an Arctic Tumbleweed who's internal thermostat is permanently set to one hundred and burning hot, at all times, a mere forecast of 77 and sunny is enough to make me uncomfortable. 103 degrees with 98% humidity felt like cruel and unjust punishment. Yes, I speak in hyperbole, but I truly felt like stirfry on the sidewalk, on the verge of extinction, that day. The second I stepped out of my car, it was as though I was wearing seven fur coats, standing in front of a bonfire in a sauna. One might ask, "Ok Lauren – if you were going to be such a big, clammy baby about it, why didn't you just drive back to your chilly hotel room in Little Rock?" To which my answer would be this: if you were to throw a tiger down to the bottom of the ocean, sure it would be dying quickly, but it would still probably be fascinated by its surroundings and want to explore this never-before-seen territory. So I was like the drowning tiger. Exploration is in my DNA. I just needed to walk around this place and soak it all in. Every last drop of thick, wet, Arkansas air. And I met all sorts of quirky, cool characters while ducking in and out of stores and bathhouses trying to dodge the scorching sun. Notice the jacked gentleman in park ranger uniform, welcoming me into the dream-come-true, crystal cool Fordyce Bathhouse lobby that breathed life back into me rapidly withering self. Don't be fooled by his tough, tatted exterior. This blue-eyed teddy bear was as kind and accommodating as humanly possible. At first, he tried to hurry out of my frame, "I don't want to ruin your picture!" he said sincerely with a smile. I insisted that his presence would only enhance my picture, and he complied. He proceeded to tell me everything I wanted to know about the park, the bathhouses, and the untimely heatwave. I learned that before it was common to have a private bathroom in your home, public bathing was the norm. And in Hot Springs Arkansas, Bathhouse Row was the place to bathe.

I also learned that this particular bathhouse boomed from 1915 to 1962. But today, the bathhouses are more like modern-day spas, and the fanciest of all, Fordyce, is now the visitor center for Hot Springs National Park. And after the urge finally left to lay my face and body on the glacial marble floor beneath my feet, I continued wandering. A sweet little lady, old enough to be my grandmother rung me up in a souvenir shop. She was very kindly inquisitive, hilariously opinionated, and couldn't believe I had driven all the way down from North Dakota by myself, but she understood the appeal in traveling alone. She asked where I was from, I told her New York, and she must've assumed scary inner city because she looked horrified. "Oh no, no! You've got to get yourself up outta there before you get raped and robbed! Oh no, no – that's no place for you, sweet girl. You've got your whole future ahead–no, no, gotta get outta there. Can't have you endin' up dead." Maybe I shouldn't have been, but I was so amused by her reaction. I couldn't help but giggle and assure her that NY wasn't so bad. I mean, anything can happen anywhere, right? "No, no, miss, you just keep on traveling on. That's what you're s'posed be doin'. That city's no place for a sweet young girl like you." She was a hoot! Every time I felt like I was overstaying my welcome in her cool, breezy store, she urged me to, "Stay right there in front of that fan, miss. That heat is sickening. You just stay right there and cool down." She was adorable and in a unique way, encouraging. I couldn't help, but feel like our meeting was somewhat serendipitous.

We chatted about life, love, marriage, being alone, a mutual hatred for barbeque sauce – until I felt like it was time to be moseying on. And she said so confidently, "Well you take care now sweet one. I just know I'll be seeing you again sometime. I know you'll be back here someday." It was such an interesting thing to say. My mind switched into movie mode – envisioning her as a visionary predicting my future, imagining all the possible ways we might meet again. It was another one of those lovely encounters with a wonderfully kind-hearted stranger, a kindred soul I'll never forget. All in all, I left Bill Clinton's hometown with most of me yearning to return to Hot Springs, but a small part of me wants to keep my memories filed away and preserved as they were that day. Every place I've ever been has a feeling attached to it. Places I've been multiple times have a medley of memories and feelings surrounding them. The vibe I took from this place on this day can never be replicated and will always be remembered, but a fall or winter trip could add a whole new hue to my memory mix.