You never really need an excuse for a girls' weekend, but when our friend was stationed out in San Francisco for a job, my girls and I knew we had to go out there to visit her. Upon arrival, we checked into the modern and luxurious Hotel Vitale. The hopping after-work scene in the first floor lounge indicated to us that this place provided a glittering nightlife in addition to Zen-inspired lodging. After two days of luxuriating in the sanctuary of the hotel's sunken bathtubs and gallivanting on the rooftop deck, we were ready for a dirtier brand of fun. There was nothing left to do but head out to Napa Valley, get naked and have fertilizer spread all over our bodies.
None of us had ever had a mud bath before, so we had no idea what to expect. When we arrived at the spa, we were told to strip down and put on toga-like sheets. Having expected to find an earthy and tranquil setting similar to the one we'd been experiencing at the Hotel Vitale, we were surprised to enter a room that looked more like a girls' locker room, circa 1950. A sulfuric stench greeted us and three not-so-inviting pink tiled bathtubs waited for us, bubbling over with hot mud. Unceremoniously, we dropped our sheets (and any shred of modesty) and slid into the steaming piles of brown as three stout attendants slapped layers of dirt on us until the only things showing were our shower-capped heads. After fifteen sweltering minutes, we slowly pulled our limbs out of the pit and into a communal shower.
"You wash good!" the attendants insisted as they circled the showers, observing our rinse-off. And there I had thought I was perfectly capable of removing the mud from my own butt crack!
We weren't sure if the mud bath had made our skin any smoother, but it was definitely a bonding experience.
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