A Great Place to Take a Bath

Never heard of the place, nor the town, but naked lust for a bath drove me 67 easy miles, almost all freeway, to get to Okawville, Illinois, in about an hour and ten minutes, and find in the tiny old German town a turn-of-the-century building, The Original Springs Hotel (established 1867), built over a mineral spring discovered after the locals noticed how the spring's water affected their pots and pans. The hotel building with 36 rooms and a quaint lobby has at its center a huge beautiful
modern utterly clean heated mineral-water swimming pool beneath a two-story skylight and because I went on a Thursday morning I had the pool all  to myself. Weekends are the busy time. (The Divine Cabin has no tub, only a shower.)

The bath attendant gave me towels and a robe, and I put my bathing suit on in the women's locker room and swam in the pool for 45 minutes. Then in one of the many little private tub rooms, the bath attendant ran me a hot bath with whirlpool. I luxuriated in it for half an hour practically weeping with joy; I had last had a hot bath in January. Iced mineral water is served everywhere including the bath. Then there's the dry sauna. That much and all the mineral water you bring jugs for you can get for $23. Spa services at additional cost include massages, wraps, and scrubs, and I got a salt scrub and a heavenly 50-minute Swedish massage in a beautiful pink room with soft music, scented candles, and chimes, and my skin (toughened by the hard water at home in rural Missouri) is now baby-butt smooth, and I felt as if I had entered as a caterpillar and come out a butterfly.

On Having No Bathtub

Among the few liabilities the Divine cabin has is no bathtub. A shower stall only. Been renting here since ‘01 and wouldn’t never bathe unless I called people up and say, “Can I take a bath in your bathtub?” or, once a year in winter, I reserve a motel off I-44, take a bath and watch their cable TV and use their high-speed Internet all night. It don’t get more decadent than that.

Haven’t yet found a old-fashioned zinc bathtub like in the picture, nor a modern galvanized washtub big enough to hold me. I’d heat the water on the stove. I'll do a lot for a bath, it does so much for me. It's a time-out. Softens the skin and hair. Softens up the spirit, too. And in winter it's one of two or three things that can get the chill out of your bones.

It’s only a very very close friend you can ask, “Uh – can I take a bath in your bathtub?” Two people I call for their bathtubs every couple of months are Demetrius and Hawkeye. They say they don't mind. I bring my own towels and stuff, and if I clean up my bathtub ring I am more than welcome.