The mineral baths date back thousands of years, to when Native Americans of the Esselen tribe would gather and - I assume - get naked in a ceremonious way. When he comes back to our room, an hour after I have already been here waiting for him, I furiously interrogate him about his whereabouts. We are inseparable for two hours, until he goes to his workshop (“Esalen Massage: The Basics”) and leaves me.
My assigned roommate, James the nurse, is instantly my best friend. Everything smells vaguely of lavender oil. The lodging is rustic with comfortable flourishes, like soft duvets and hotel furniture. Esalen is verdant - everything within campus limits is remarkably green, thanks in part to a sustainable irrigation plan that involves processing laundry water.
One by one they spilled out over the grounds, which are, I cannot say it enough: stunning. Businessmen barking their last business commands into FaceTime Audio calls (the campus has very spotty cell service), yogis wearing beanies, thoroughly bleached women wearing expensive premium sportswear, a haggard couple who, I’m not joking, arrived in a yellow Volkswagen minibus.
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