The Book

Bob found a book in the library about the history of Harbin Hot Springs. It's called "Harbin Hot Springs, Healing Waters, Sacred Land." It's actually quite interesting.  Miwok Indians once lived on the land. They were hunter/gatherers and basket weavers who lived off deer, small game, fish and acorns. The hot springs was a revered place for them, a communal space where tribes from other areas sometimes traveled to gather at the sacred waters.

The Spanish came, saw and conquered. As usual, they enslaved or killed off the Indians with a combination of religion, hard work, and disease -- or so I gather. I don't know the grisly details because I skipped that chapter. I couldn't bear to read it.

After that, the first Americans arrived. Spanish land grants, avaricious speculators, shady real estate deals and ruthless property acquisitions abounded. The Gold Rush increased the number of settlers. There was a lot of wheeling and dealing, skullduggery and greed. California was a land of squatters and squabblers, impecunious adventurers and wealthy entrepreneurs.  Sometimes the wealthy entrepreneurs became impecunious or vice versa. It was not unusual for the rags-to-riches cycle to repeat several times in one man's life. Then again, a few men became tremendously wealthy and stayed that way. Those were the men that shaped the California that we know today.

Borax was discovered in Lake County and mining it became a major industry. A Welshman named Richard Williams ended up owning Harbin Hot Springs, which he developed into a resort. In time, it became a popular Victorian spa. Several large hotels were built on the property and people came up from San Francisco and Oakland to "take the waters." The mineral waters were supposed to cure rheumatism, dropsy, and all manner of other diseases.

It was a nine hour journey from San Francisco to Harbin so once arrived, a guest or a family of guests tended to stay for the whole season, which lasted from June to September. One drove one's buggy to the San Francisco wharf, took the ferry to Oakland, met the train to Vallejo Junction (now Crockett), took another ferry over the Carquinez Straight to the city of Vallejo, caught the Napa Valley train that traveled through the vineyards to Calistoga and from there traveled in (or on top of) a private stagecoach that climbed the steep narrow road to Harbin. I don't know how elderly people with rheumatism endured the trip. It sounds utterly exhausting.

The Look

Now that I'm sixty, I'm having a problem communicating with most people under thirty. Those arrogant young whippersnappers! When we arrived at Harbin, we were greeted at the reception desk by just such a one, a tattooed chick in the uniform of her tribe, a batiked sarong. We told her we'd been coming up to Harbin for about thirty years and commented on how much it had changed during those decades.

"Change? What change?" she challenged us.

"Well, there's been a lot of construction," we stammered in response to her feisty attitude. "New buildings and such."

"New buildings? There aren't any new buildings," she said in her know-it-all, sassy young whippersnapper way.

We crumbled under the pressure. "Well, how about the gate? That wasn't there before. And additions to the old buildings. What about The Dome? That's new, isn't it?" But our voices faded off in response to her impatient stare. You know, The Look, the one young people give to old people when they're being a nuisance. I know The Look well since I used to give it myself to The Invisibles Ones when I was but a haughty young girl.

The truth is, there's been constant construction at Harbin since we first discovered it in the early 80's. Back then, there were only a few rundown buildings on the property, inhabited by the so-called "residents" (seedy hippies and crazies living a marginal existence "off the land"). But there were the warm pools, of course, and the beautiful unspoiled land, which is why we put up with their bullshit.

Since then a veritable labyrinth of buildings, remodels, and additions have sprung up, not to mention an actual labyrinth, built for spiritual purposes, of course. Everything at Harbin is built for spiritual purposes: the serpent gate, the gardens, the restaurant, the Internet cafe, the conference center where New Age workshops are held, the Temple where people gather to dance and practice yoga, the movie room, (a tiered space covered with cushions where rented DVDs are viewed nightly ) and the new dome, which looks like a science fiction movie set. Actually, it resembles the buildings in Woody Allen's movie "Sleeper, " his 70's comedy set in a pretentious New Age future. Welcome to Harbin.

In Situ

One of the problems I had at Harbin was that my knees were giving out. Harbin has a lot of hills and stairs so it was difficult for me to get around. Bob kept wanting to go on walks, but I refused because I knew that my aching knees would only ache more. He thought it was a shame that I couldn't get out "in nature." I thought so, too, but as it turned out, I was able to experience nature without exerting myself much.

The main buildings and hot springs are surrounded by trees and gardens. One morning two blue jays settled on the railing just a few feet from where I was sitting. They were so near that when they spread their wings, I could admire the iridescent blue sheen of their feathers in intimate detail. It was a pretty spectacular sight.

That afternoon, two deer strolled up the lawn and then stopped about three feet from the seated statues in the photo. I had to wait for them to move before I could continue up the path, but they didn't move. They stood completely still, as immobile as the statues. They weren't scared of me at all. I finally detoured around them, but for a few minutes they were so close that I could have reached out and touched them. I didn't, afraid that I 'd catch lime disease, but I could have. They were that close.

In the day, one could sit on the porch and look out at the dramatic panorama of hills; at night, the stars. One night I saw a whirling circle of color moving through the trees; then I heard voices and laughter. It was a large hoop of flashing neon -- like a hula hoop, only larger. Its owner was spinning it; then tossing it up in the air -- so I'd glimpse it whirling through the branches -- flashes of red, blue and white dancing through the dark.

The next day Bob took me up to The Dome, a new building complex at Harbin. Again, I couldn't walk much so I sat in the car while he explored the site. Before me was a row of boulders dotted with small solar lamps. One lamp seemed oddly shaped until I realized it was a lizard. He was sunning himself on the rocks, so still that I thought he was an inanimate object.  Then another lizard came scurrying out of the crevices and he turned his head to say hello.

Soaks and Sulks

Hello, All. I'm back from our trip to Harbin Hot Springs. I took a few days off from blogging while we were up there because I didn't have access to a computer. Actually, not having access to a computer was quite relaxing. In case you didn't know, Harbin Hot Springs is a resort located on a 1600 square mile tract of land north of Calistoga. It's the hippie version of a spa, meaning pared down to basics. At Harbin, nudity, tattoos, and long-haired New Age types abound.

Bob and I have been making trips up there for 30 years or so. We usually find it restorative, returning to the urban world refreshed and at peace with ourselves. This was the first time that didn't work for me. It wasn't Harbin's fault. I just got into a very bad mood. I spent much of my time up there sulking. I was still in a foul mood after I returned home so I waited a couple of days before resuming my blog -- so as not to take it out on you, dear readers.

Harbin is a good place to sulk. While Bob took walks and soaked in the pool, I stayed in our room and read books that I filched out of the Harbin Library. No one messes with you there so I could pretty much brood in peace. I did take a few dips in the warm pool, but mostly I hid in our room.

Double Feature

I saw two movies at the film festival, The Trip and Incendies. The two films couldn't have been more different. The Trip is a buddy film, a simple story about a road trip that two old friends take to the north of England. The characters carry on a love affair with language: word-play taken to absurd extremes with wonderful build-up and impeccable timing. I laughed the whole way through. 

Incendies, on the other hand, is a family epic with a Shakespearian plot (complicated and improbable) and the dimensions of a Greek tragedy. It's the story of a woman who emigrates to Canada from a war-torn Middle Eastern country. After her death, her children embark on a quest to find their roots. Their quest takes them to an unnamed country that closely resembles Lebanon in its geography and political history. The movie is horrifying. It shows the grim reality of war and its long-term consequences. I usually shy away from war films, but this one was so powerful that I was gripped by it from beginning to end, even though it was two hours long. 

Only at the film festival could I have seen two films back to back that were so different in tone and subject matter. I'm glad I saw the comedy first!

Remembrance

I had a peaceful, non-eventful day. Bob spent the night in San Francisco at his friend's house so that they could attend a 11 pm movie at the film festival. Since he's retired, we spend a lot of time together so it was nice to have some time alone. I spent it reading The London Review of Books, cleaning out the fridge, and lazing about on the couch. I picked two perfect pink roses from the backyard bush and arranged them in a bud vase, which I then placed in the center of our dining room table. 

The roses reminded me of my friend Ralph McNeill, who died almost a decade ago. Once when I brought him two roses from our yard, he did a painting of them, which he then gave to me. (See above.) Ralph was generous in that way -- in all ways, really -- generous with jokes, laughter, friendship and advice. He was a gifted artist who worked hard at his art and he enthusiastically collaborated in any wild project that I came up with. He let me use his drawings for Samwich, my now defunct home-made "zine" and he designed a hilarious rabbit Tarot deck at my request. I wish I could link to a Ralph McNeill site on the Web to show you his work, but he lived in the pre-Internet world.  Actually, the Internet did exist back then, but Ralph wasn't very interested in it. He was too busy making art. 

Later in the evening, Bob, returned home, was sorting his wash and I was lying on the bed half-listening to the radio when the BBC reported that Osama Bin Laden was dead. We were surprised at the news, but not as surprised as we were back in 2001 when we heard that the Twin Towers had fallen. The pundits and news reporters kept saying that Bin Laden's death was "symbolic." Symbolic of what? The end of a nasty era, one would like to hope.

Mangoes and Birdsong

I went to the Farmer's Market again. This time I bought a roast chicken and two cartons of strawberries. I had unrealistically envisioned the chicken lasting over the weekend, but since we had it at lunch and then again for an early dinner, most of it was gone by the late afternoon. Our friends Carol and Wu stopped by. They brought us two ripe mangoes. Wu sliced them up and we shared them on a single plate. It was a warm day so we had both the front and back doors open. Carol kept walking from one to the other, pressing her face against the screens and exclaiming how lovely it was to hear the birdsong. Their flat in San Francisco is too cold and dark, she says, and not as many birds outside, though she does love it. She's been living there for over thirty years.