My favorite thing about travel are the surprises. I travel with the intention of being surprised. Most of the excursions, restaurants, and people I encounter are by chance. I had only been to Asheville once before. Not even a week later, after going up to Chimney Rock, I was on the phone with Shoji, making an appointment. After our trip, my friend Brittany told me that when also planning a trip to Asheville, she tried to book there. They literally had one appointment left for the whole day.
Of course, it was 25 minutes from the time I was calling. And as if the universe wanted to tease me a little more for not booking ahead, the spa was nearly impossible to find. I am however, a hot tub person. I once spent a record six hours in a hot tub, something at the time, I thought was amazing.
The next day however, when my glands were completely swollen and I was extremely dehydrated… so not really amazing. Just really dumb. So after we showered, changed into our swimsuits, got fancy robes, we got a tour.
We indulged in obligatory Instagram pics I mean… this place was awesome , sipped tea and thoughtfully gazed out into the woods. Halfway through our soak time, one of us informed the other that they would be hopping into the cold tub. Sans bikini. That someone went into the cold tub room, got super natural, and felt the water.
So during my staring-into-the-woods-pretending-to-be-poetic time, I thought a lot about this post, and what I would write. How I would position something as indulgent as going to a spa, after writing about hanging out at drum circles and living off rotisserie chicken in Nice.
