Take a Mud Bath

“Sitting on the tub’s tiled rim, I sink my feet into the mud. Never have I seen my body parts disappear so completely beneath a surface. It is as if I am dipping my legs into a black hole, from which no light — nor limbs — can escape. I rise to my feet, intending to step to the center of the tub and lower myself in. But I’m unprepared for the energy required to walk in what feels like an enormous bowl of steel-cut oatmeal. After expending no small effort getting into position, I lower myself, inch by inch, into the slowly yielding mass. [...] It dawns on me: I’m floating. [...] A volcanic mud bath is a tactile experience, to be sure, but it is also olfactory. The smell of this stuff hit me the second Norah opened that door, and now here I am, almost at nose level with it.”

“You don’t actually sink in at first. I tried to pretend it was totally normal for me to be completely exposed like this as I lay on top. But before I could feel too shy, she dug a big gloved hand into the mud—the pure volcanic ash, rather—and scooped heaping, hot mounds onto me—first, my groin and then my breasts, like she was covering me with fig leaves, before burying the rest of me. I felt the heat intensifying under the mass and started wondering what this must be like if you’re at all claustrophobic. [...] They placed cold towels on my head and asked how I was doing. (“I’m starting to feel a little panicked about the heat and I’m not sure I can stick it out!” I thought.) “I’m fine!” I answered as I started to lift my hands and feet out of the mud in an attempt to cool like a sea lion waving about for the sun.”

“The first thud of heavy, wet dirt lands on my leg. The second, and then the third come in close succession. Soon, I’ve lost sight of most of my body. My limbs feel the weight of the mud on top of me. I try to remember to breathe, and some part of me expects to wake up from the fringes of a nightmare at any second. But this is no nightmare, this is a Calistoga mud bath [...] Sound a bit claustrophobic? It can be. On a scale of one to 10, my personal claustrophobia is a four—discernible but manageable as long as I tend to it diligently. It takes me about three minutes of looking around the room [...] to allow myself to get used to the weight of a heavy blanket of mud on my body and calm down.”