THE STRANGEST NATIONAL PARK

Without a doubt, Hot Springs National Park is the nation’s oddest.  It claims to be the oldest national park, having been “set aside” as a reservation in 1832 by the federal government to protect the purity of the water, but little effort was made to establish boundaries.  Claims to seeps and springs sprang up all over, the town of Hot Springs encircled the reservation, and by the 1870’s the government had licensed private bathhouses to be erected along Central Avenue, now known as “Bathhouse Row.”  In 1921, Steven Mather, the first director of the National Park Service, convinced Congress to make it the 18th(!) national park.

So, what is it?  It’s just a row of restored classic bathhouses, but only one is still operating.  The rest are just pretty faces, although some are in the process of interior renovation for future operation.  The old Fordyce House, dating from 1915, and renovated n 1989, serves as the park headquarters, where I relax:

The “Row” spreads out on both sides of the headquarters.  Here’s the north end:

The Park occupies only this side of the block; the other side is an unbroken row of the sleasiest souvenir and trinket shops you’d ever want to avoid.  Rather sad that the period elegance has to face modern blight. 

The headquarters building has been renovated back to period authenticity, and it’s a hoot to see how folks came to “take the waters.”  The equipment verges on the Star Chamber, with soaking tubs, needle sprays, virtual fire hoses, and Frankenstein’s lift (below):

 

The facilities were gender segregated, and the men’s side always was much more elaborate than the distaff.  The women’s basically looked like the rooms above, but the men languished in splendor.

Boorish behavior was frowned upon:

Yeah, mind that vapor!  The water itself is ancient stuff.  Scientists have determined that it fell as rain over 4,000 years ago, percolated downward through the rock, getting heated at +4 degrees F for every 300 feet it dropped.  It’s not heated volcanically, but rather from the heat generated from radioactive decomposition! Eventually, the seeping water meets faults in the sandstone which leads to the surface, and rises up, emerging at 143 degrees.  There are fountains around town where you can fill a jug or take a sip.  It’s odorless and tasteless, so what the heck:

Maybe it’s a fountain of youth?  I could use one.