Photoessay #719 - Midnight baths

Another post that started out about one thing but halfway through the first line, it turned into something else. I'm going with the flow.

I live in the Pacific NW - have for 30 years. In fact, here's my funny story about moving up here. Dennis was driving the UHaul truck, my brother and I were following in the car. Close to the end of the trip, Dennis kept exiting from I-5, stopping the truck, getting out and looking around. He did this several times, we followed him along. Was something wrong? Then I got it because we had a radio. June 1, 1979; the day that the late Seattle Supersonics won the NBA championship. If fact, it had just happened. So people were honking the horns and carrying on. Dennis thought they were honking at him signalling something was wrong with the truck. Ohhhhhhhohhh.

Before that I lived in central and northern California. Went to high school and college there. Long ago, I realized that people here my own age did not experience the same things that I did. The lunatic fringe. The counter culture. The slow dance in the sun. Seattle, in the 70s was pretty provincial conservative. Ballard was still distinctly scandinavian. People acted openly hostile when they heard you were from California. Those that grew up here, stayed here. Why would you leave?

In California, mobility was the key. Of COURSE, I wasn't going to stay where I grew up. My parents didn't. Nobody I knew did. You were here for the ride but then you would move somewhere else. And hitting UCSC (University of California, Santa Cruz) in 1970? The counter culture was dominant, in full swing. The security guys on campus, they were so concerned about cars up there that they made you park the car down at the entrance which was several miles from the campus and hitchhike up the hill. Even single women. Even in the middle of the night. Even though there were all kinds of crazies, even bodies found on campus. I remember the folk festival at Merrill where part of the official announcements included passing around joints. The professors gave out special contact instructions at the beginning of the quarter (this was pre cell phone, internet) in case of a student strike. My boyfriend and I decided that we wanted to see a play at the ACT in San Francisco (two hours away) so we hit Highway 1, stuck out our thumbs and made it to the door of the theater in 2 rides.

This was the culture I came of age in. Esalen Institute in Big Sur was not far away. Somehow, some guy I knew (not even that well) knew that you could use the baths in the middle of the night. And he knew how to get us in. So, why not? I go off with him, we hit Big Sur maybe at midnight?

Check out the picture. Imagine it in the middle of the night. Candles provide the only light, changed regularly by silent robed attendants. You could sense the ocean; the only sound is the crashing surf far below. Lots of naked people in the tubs. Quiet and steamy. Burbling hot springs in the large stone tub covering your body. You stay there most of the night.

Whoooeeeee, nothing looked quite the same the next day.

Somehow, the folks up here just didn't do that sort of thing. Who else would except young folks on the California coast 35 years ago?

Just gives you a slightly different perspective.....

I stole the picture from somebody's Flickr site. I planned to write about graduation parties. Instead I enjoyed myself writing this.