Back from the mountain

My spa-challenged daughter and I just returned from a successful trip up to Mohonk Mountain. This is the third year of this outing, which began when a friend suggested the wives get away, while the husbands were off skiing on their own adventure. Unfortunately not everyone from the original group could come this year, but we changed things up a bit and had a great time.

True to my upbringing (or trapped by it) I had decided this year to look for a more affordable alternative to the Mohonk spa package, which is all inclusive, but pricey. My plan was to stay six miles away in Gardiner at the considerably smaller Minnewaska Lodge-an A frame building with about 20 rooms as opposed to the 300 room Mohonk Mountain House castle. The castle is a beautiful building and setting, which should be experienced at least once, but the lodge was a cozy alternative. Off season with only two rooms occupied on Sunday and a few more on Monday, Minnewaska offered friendly staff and a healthy breakfast buffet. We ate breakfast enfolded in comfy,cushioned mission-style furniture in the great room, gazing out at the mountain. The other advantage of my plan was we had a chance to explore some of the interesting restaurants of the New Paltz-Gardiner area. 

My friend and former college roommate, being even more spa challenged than we are, joined us just for lunch on Monday at the Main Street Bistro- a popular college vibe place with pine booths and a diner sized menu. Portions were big and the food was good, although couldn't compare to our favorite lunch place The Main Course, which was closed on Mondays. (Missing you, lobster club!) While we ate and talked, my friend's husband trotted off to the used book/used vinyl record store. Awesome-someone actually will buy that collection of 60's records cluttering up my basement? I may need a return trip to New Paltz very soon.

Years ago I had eaten lunch once at the Rock and Rye Tavern (named The Locust Inn at the time) next to the New Paltz municipal golf course. The building is red clapboard and stone farmhouse/country tavern with slate floors, fireplaces and rooms whose floors sloped slightly left or right. Trip Advisor/Yelp recommendations were good, so we checked it out for dinner. Located just beyond the Huguenot Houses from the 1700's, the place has an aura of authenticity and promises good food. Well sort of. On the first exterior door, a typed sign announced that the chef had left abruptly and the new one would not start for another week, so the menu was limited and they were coping as best they could. Not exactly an enticing invitation, but we were hungry and reluctant to plunge back into the foggy night. We asked our waitress first if the chef had disappeared under suspicious circumstances. Was there a ghost of the tavern lurking in the low lit rooms that we should worry about? We were assured that it was simply the matter of a better opportunity and then proceeded to order and eat one of the best meals we'd had in a while. Wherever the R&R chef had escaped to, he must have left behind detailed recipes to follow.

The weather was crazy-lots of fog. Initially we couldn't see the mountain behind our lodge.  Morning dawned bright and sunny, but soon turned cloudy. Drifts of fog descended so quickly that it looked like a forest fire was sending up clouds of smoke. In 2011, we had enough snow on the trails to go snowshoeing. The next year, it was crisp and cold, but the trails were snow free and hikeable. This year with temperatures in the 50's on Sunday and Monday, the trails were officially closed-too muddy and slick. Who knows what augurs for 2014--trees sprouting leaves in a prolonged, global warmed January thaw? 

For the missing outdoor exercise we substituted a "shop crawl" through the town, visiting interesting little gift shops, tie dyed emporiums, and stores filled with unique clothing, jewelry and treasures. My favorite tee shirt: "914 Westchester: Manhattan with trees." (Deluded thinking, but gave us a laugh) We noted there was no "516-Long Island: not Manhattan, no trees" or  "201: Jersey: Not Manhattan, but lovely trees (in the burbs)."

As for the spa, my daughter and I finally decided we've got the routine down correctly. The hot rocks massage is the way to go for us. Nice warm, smooth rocks applied with slight pressure after your skin is oiled up---you feel young again! Our more adventurous friend opted for the body scrub, which she described as invigorating but mild. And, yes, this is the same procedure said daughter had last year, but described it slightly differently: "painful, raw and never to be repeated."


One disadvantage of my vacation itinerary was that there was some driving involved--through the fog, past open fields, dark woods--a dead deer on the side of the road, a wandering opossum meandering across the blacktop. My friend took one wrong turn and ended up on a long journey down a lonely dead end road and then a circuitous ride back. Looking a bit frazzled when she met us at the Tuthill House at the Mill that was our next dinner location, we contemplated starting the meal with shots all around but then settled on a St. Germain gin and tonic and some soothing, smooth white wine.

On the five minute ride back to the lodge, like Comic Book Guy on the Simpsons, we had to say it: Worst relaxing spa vacation ever! We comforted ourselves by stocking up on the home made chocolate chip cookies in the lobby for any late night munchie attacks. Our too short getaway ended the next morning after breakfast and relaxing in the lounge. Temps had dropped, so sitting on the outside Adirondack chairs was out of the question. Maybe next year?

Missing the "SPA" Gene

Hard to believe, but I'm in the 1% of women who are missing the SPA gene. Relax and read on---I'm not talking about new breast cancer research. No, I'm speaking about every woman's innate longing for relaxing, rejuvenating spa treatments to restore the body and de-stress the soul.

I am spa-challenged, but I'm wondering now if it's nature or nurture? Perhaps I just got off to a bad start with spas? Can I trace it all back to my first Nordstrom spa seaweed wrap? Many years ago, with 3 kids and the hectic suburban child-centered lifestyle, I remember being thrilled with my husband's gift of a spa adventure. The seaweed wrap seemed perfect-- I love the ocean! So, why not be painted with soothing green paste of mashed kelp and fragrant herbs, wrapped in a warm blanket and allowed some alone time to just breathe in and out without a care in the world? Alas, if only it were so. The green seaweed was fine, but I began to sweat in the cocoon-like wrap and worried about the green goo dripping into my eyes. I would have snuck my hand up for a quick wipe, but my Houdini skills failed me and I was unable to liberate my arm from my organic cotton strait jacket. It was too hot and the lingering, faint odor of lightly simmered seaweed was giving me a headache. My attendant finally returned and I gratefully followed her directions for the cleansing finale. I'm sure there was a shower involved, but my memory returns only one image--the attendant manning an elephant-sized hose aimed in my direction, blasting me sparkling clean, my body plastered against the wall.

I wrote all this off as beginner's bad luck, and persisted over the years in giving it "one more try." I learned to avoid Swedish massages, since they often involved a large Swedish-like woman who would comment on how tense my neck and shoulders were and then proceed to isolate a knot of muscle which she would "work" until it became rock hard, permanently ensuring that it would remain a proud emblem of my tenseness for all eternity. Perhaps this was part of the strategy for return visits?

I decided to switch to water cures. Sitting in a $120 hot bath of brownish cappucino-colored water, I thought: "Could I get the same results in my own tub at home by just not cleaning the tub?" Of course not!  

I progressed  from plain water cures to a hot mud bath. I knew I would never have the energy to drag bags of mud up to the 2nd floor bathroom of our house, so it was worth a try and, after all, we weren't just talking plain old ordinary backyard sandbox mud. I was in the Northern Napa Valley and this was primo Calistoga deep earth primordial ooze. My daughter and I shared a gloomy room with 2 huge metal tubs filled with bouncy oatmeal-laden mud. It was springy to the touch, warm and welcoming, until Beth asked: "How do you think they clean this mud between customers?"  Hmm... I pondered this as I sank deeper into the lumpy, chunky mud. Before leaving us alone for a half hour of slippery solitude, the attendant had covered our eyes with a soothing eye pillow--soothing?... or a way to discourage us from examining our muddy entrapment too closely?

"Beth," my lonely, disembodied voice floated over the tubs. "Have you stopped sinking in? Do you feel like the mud is creeping up your neck, your chin...?" Was I being pulled slowly downward to death by suffocation? "Don't struggle," I yelled, remembering the quicksand from the Tarzan movies of my youth and the admonition to stay calm. (not my strong suit!)   "Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm!"  I screamed, unable to free my arm to remove the sensory deprivation mask. Could the attendant not hear me? I finally pulled my arm out and pushed the mask back, tried to breathe slowly, until our attendant returned to liberate us from the black holes. Sucked out of the mud bath by the hefty arms of Shana of the Jungle (names have been changed to protect the guilty) we were momentarily relieved until Shana produced --- yes, you've guessed it --- the elephant-sized hose. 

All of this was valuable research for future experiences. We composed our guidelines for reading a spa menu, concentrating on red flag words to avoid: 

scrub -- being scoured with a brillo pad

removing dead skin -- (they neglect to tell you that live skin can go with it)

exfoliating -- same as above

pressure points -- see knot story above

petrissage--French for muscle torture

brisk friction -- see brillo pad 

grit  -- best left on dusty roads
sea salt -- best left in the ocean

invigorating, stimulating -- it will hurt, but you will rationalize that it was worth it.

I was beginning to get really worried. It was enough for me to be a spa-less outcast, but was I poisoning my daughter and relegating her to a life of misery when female friends suggested a "fun weekend getaway." Did Beth lack the SPA gene, too, or was I just starting her down my path of experience? I decided the second annual mother-daughter spa-cation at Mohonk Mountain House would be a test and my last ditch effort to let Beth happily join the 99% of women who love to spa.

It didn't start out well. Beth had to catch the NFC wildcard final of the Giants vs Atlanta, as soon as we arrived on Sunday. Can you say football and spa in the same breath? Luckily there was a tv room, filled with all males who looked like they had been reluctantly dragged by their wives to a romantic getaway vacation. The Giants won convincingly and Tebow and Denver won the 2nd game. After all those body slamming tackles and punishing falls, I hope the teams all got relaxing aromatherapy massages after the game. Yes, there is a football-spa connection!

Beth must have been identifying with her football heroes, because unlike her weaker mother, she successfully managed the Swedish massage. She did arrive at her appointment a little late, was whisked through the application process and spent the first few minutes of her stress free treatment wondering what she had signed and worrying about whether tips were included.

Her downfall came with the Moss Hydrating Body Mask with Exfoliating Body Glow. Had she not listened to the spa wisdom her mother had tried to convey over the years? Does moss hydrating mask not sound suspiciously like organic seaweed paste? Did she not fear the elephant hose? She had some choices for the exfoliating scrub, but I've bolded the red flag words:

• Rosemary Citron – a traditional stimulating sea salt scrub
• Espresso Mud Scrub – a rich, earthy mud scrub featuring ground Arabica beans    -- ground up beans? really? 
• Lemongrass Mimosa – micronized walnut shells and bamboo; remove dull, dry skin --Getting more serious now grinding up walnut shells and bamboo. Hope nothing goes under fingernails.
• Lemon Verbena -- the most gentle, yet effective exfoliation, for sensitive skin, with jojoba beads and oat proteins --Ah, not to worry . Here was the perfect choice.

Trouble was when Beth entered her treatment room, her 250 pound, ex-roller derby attendant said she was out of all those choices and substituted the Mohonk Fragrant Earth -- a melange of dandelion and pine essence mixed with Mohonk Preserve rock salt from the parking lot. To be fair, Organic Osama (names have been changed...) warned Beth the first part would be rough, but it would get better. Despite Beth's protests that it hurt and Organic Osama's attempts to ratchet down the intensity, OO really only knew one effort level--full speed ahead. That evening at dinner, I could see Beth was becoming a convert. She extended her arms out and proclaimed to our table: "Feel my skin- it's soft as a baby's butt!"  It got a little embarrassing when she got up and visited three other tables of strangers, exhorting them to stroke her soft skin.  "Beth," I said, maneuvering her gently back to her seat, "they just want to finish their dinners."

me and Beth

I'm glad there's hope for Beth and spas. As for me, I've identified the one foolproof treatment -- the hot stones massage. No probing fingers knotting and unknotting your muscles, just smooth pressure from warm stones and lots of moisturizing oils. Heavenly.

All kidding aside, it was a wonderful vacation-- relaxing with friends, enjoying fabulous food and good conversation in a beautiful mountain setting. Here are some pix:

Me and Carol

At the entrance

sitting room

on the trail

Nancy and Cindy

Nancy and Megan

Rocking chair pavilion

The shining?

Mohonk Mountain House and Lake

The green team