African Terror Dream

I had a terrible dream last night and Joe is quite bored with listening to the rambling remnants of my unconscious, so I'll share with here. It's a mashup of my trip to Sudan, a recent New Yorker Philip Guerivitch feature on Rwanda and a discussion about the Amazon we had last night with the Willis family:

I was in Africa with a group of kawaja who were staying in a resort/lodge which was quite western in its construction and materials. Our program was structured like school. We met with a leader (also kawaja/muzunga but somehow more officially a part of the community) in a lecture hall space daily. A lobby/lounge and communal kitchen were at the other end of the recently completed lodge-style wooden building. There was minimal engagement with the locals, except for when we ranged about during our free time, exploring the nearby fields and the wild, rushing and muddy river flowing behind the lodge.

Another co-leader was involved with us as well, but he was African, although very much a member of our group. Knowledgeable and quite independent, he confidently discovered and used special parts of the lodge for storing his material and was intrepid about exploring.

Although the facility was built in a style familiar to Americans, it was still very much African with a distinct absence of any Western amenities. Also, the building was built cheaply and although it was recently constructed, things were beginning to break and not be repaired.

Much worse however, our group was slowing disappearing. Team members who were either outspoken or otherwise distinctive, were disappearing or being killed. We had discovered some hacked up bodies in bedrooms and lounge areas, never knowing who would be next. The team, although terrified, was complicit in a behavior which ignored these discoveries and concealed anxiety and fear. The remaining team tried to find projects to demonstrate our value, by trying to fix broken elements of the lodge. We also were collecting money each day (?) and had quite a stash. We quietly schemed at how to escape before the end of our visit but were concerned about leaving our leader and his colleague behind, potentially to suffer for our fleeing the lodge.

Outside, contractors were building yet another bank of rooms at the lodge. Like mercenaries of some sort, they seemed to be unassociated with the natives but also completely unengaged with our team as well, barely speaking as they went about their work. I went to the river and floated alone downstream, using some large pieces of canvas and bark as a floatation device. The river was fast-moving and muddy. Chillingly, the pieces of canvas were handmade missing person pleas which were floated downriver in the hope of communicating with neighboring communities. Apparently the murders and disappearances were not limited to our group. As I floated down, I blinked open my eyes and was shocked that the mud had coated my eyes, making me temporarily blind. I stumbled to shore and made my way back.

Upon my return to the lodge, I discovered that our leader and his colleague had disappeared. We didn't know where they were and hoped they were in a meeting of some kind. We were filled with anxiety and busied ourselves, trying to find ways to be helpful to prove our value and save our lives.

The end. A never-to-be completed cliff hanger!

Not your average bathroom art

This was in 21C, an amazing art hotel in Louisville, Kentucky founded by Laura Lee Brown and her husband Steve Wilson. The video screens are set into the mirror over the trough sink. These are all the eyes of blind people. By Sein Bidic.

My touchstone, the Jefferson Pools

I drove to Louisville and back this past week to see my dear mama. The trip out on I-64 was through blinding snow and I had a great page-turner of a book on CD. Coming home was more monotonous and I was inspired to visit Warm Springs and take the waters at the Jefferson Pools.

The Ladies' Pool

I've been there many times for the immersion in the carbonated, sulfurous water, the history and the serenity. There are two bath houses, one for gentlemen and one for ladies. Naturally the men's house was built first and yes, Thomas Jefferson took those waters. It was quite the destination for city folks who would travel to Warm Springs annually as a part of the social circuit. Now it's more of a quaint oddity, but well-managed by The Homestead, who now owns the properties. Of course, the price of admission has increased from $5 to $17, but it's still worth it. You get a nice towel from the lady who has tended the pools for decades.

Occulus, with many gaps in old roof

Interior

The buildings haven't been modified in a long time - not even painted. Each of the two round frame buildings has dressing rooms on the internal perimeter of its pool. Large river stones cover the bottom and the only nod to the present are the bright foam noodles which keep the users afloat. The buildings have lots of gaps and holes with a large occulus in the top, open to the sky. Floating in the 98 degree water, gazing at the timeless structure and through the roof with blue sky and occasional passing hawks grounds me in Virginia with a rootedness that no spa can match. Early 19th century immersion therapy.

There's no heat of course, so it's quite chilly to be out of the water. During the winter months, The Homestead only operates one pool and it's co-ed. Yesterday, I floated in the gentlemen's pool for the first time. It was also the first time I wore clothes. Options are open for either one's own bathing suit, one's birthday suit or a timeless, handmade romper sewn for the more modest, one-size-fits-all visitor. Co-ed bathing removes the most fundamental option and also, apparently, the encouragement to be quiet. It was a bit like a cocktail party atmosphere, but with my ears below the water the sound was muffled and i could focus on places where the bubbles were most plentiful from the bottom.

Suzanne in her dressing room, in a rick-rack trimmed romper

Since the water is continually bubbling up from the spring, there is a runoff room to one side. The ancient steps are covered with astroturf and there's a rope to hold onto while you lean to allow the rushing water to massage your back. It's also where I have many times rinsed off after returning from a West Virginia backpacking trip, dirty and sore. Time was, I could shampoo my hair there, but I haven't seen small bottles of Homestead shampoo down there for several years.  Dimly lit and roaring, the runoff room seems like it could be slimy and possibly inhabited by critters. It's not for everyone, which leaves more room for those who want the entire nuanced experience.

Historic hot springs are worth the detour. Virginians prefer total immersion, especially if Mr. Jefferson did it.