Weeks before our planned departure for New York state, Michael emails me information on Eureka Springs.  I get the hint.

The Crescent Hotel

The tires squeal in protest as Michael noses our car up the steep, slippery residential street. This seems like a rather difficult—even dangerous—way to get to the Crescent Hotel in hilly Eureka Springs, Arkansas. Past experiences tell us that there are easier ways to the top of the hill overlooking this town, where the valley is so deep that houses seem to be stacked one on top of the other. We continue to listen to the GPS, turning when Gladys tells us, lamenting the fact that we have no map.

Finally, after following the rat-maze directions given to us by our GPS, we arrive at the steps leading to the front porch of our hotel. It is an old friend—a very old friend. Our first acquaintance being made thirty-seven years ago when she was not yet one hundred years old. Today she is a venerable one hundred and thirty. I remember the Crescent as being grand but shabby and frayed. I loved her anyway. Twenty years ago, she embraced new owners who invested, renovated, revamped, added numerous amenities, and new layers of paint on top of the century of color that went before.

Approaching the entrance, we are greeted by mellow stone walls and a profusion of pink and green; the flowers are glorious. However, when I enter the warm, humid lobby, I begin to wonder at my choice of forever seeking out the old, and I worry about the condition of our booked room. The desk clerk smiles.

I have walked back in time. The interior remains tattered genteel, looking and feeling like the Crescent Hotel I remember.  A black cat sleeps peacefully on the baby grand piano. I negotiate for a room with balcony access overlooking the valley rather than the parking lot. I am tired but happy as we take the elevator up to the second floor. On our way to room 219, we pass by another sleeping ball of fluff; this time, the cat is gray and curled up in front of someone else’s room.

A Room with a View

Pushing open the door, I am pleased with the change wrought by the new (to us) owners; we see a room filled with antiques and memorabilia from Eureka Springs’ past. The air-conditioning works, the room is cold, freezing cold. We access the balcony from the bathroom through two ancient doors that creak and groan when pushed.  Choosing two rockers as our own, we sit and watch tendrils of fog rise up from the valley floor, all the while wishing for a glass of wine. We have been on the road for over eleven hours; it is a while before we move.

Dinner

Hunger finally trumps exhaustion, and we make our way down to the Crystal Dining Room, which speaks to the days of the Victorian past. The tables are draped with black cloths and white toppers.  Crystal chandeliers twinkle from the ceiling. The menu is elegantly simple, and once served, we are pleasantly surprised by how very good the food is. Michael orders bacon-wrapped pork that is so tender and so flavorful with its accompaniment of smoked-apple-fennel chutney and Gouda mashed potatoes that I am sorry I didn’t order it myself. But then I taste my grilled salmon with avocado risotto and eat the whole thing—licking my lips at the end.

Before calling it a day—a long, long day—we walk outside and try the rockers on the ground floor terrace, enjoying the dark and the quiet and the gentle night. We sleep for nine hours.

Morning

The beds were so comfortable to sleep on last night; now that I am awake, I want to strip the sheets and look for the label that will tell me the brand I need to purchase. Instead, I go looking for Michael, finding him where I expect to find him, sitting on a balcony rocker, enjoying the sun as it shines through the thin morning fog.

Breakfast in the sunny dining room is cheerful and free, with guests given a choice, the buffet or something from the menu.  Michael walks toward the buffet; I wait for our waitress. Once fortified with an ample supply of bacon and eggs, we make plans to trace our steps of trips past. Leaving the hotel, Michael starts walking down the street and then stops when he sees my sad expression. The peacefulness and beauty of the church below the hotel beckons. We walk across the grass, down the hill toward the bell tower.

Exploring Eureka Springs

After a brief trip to the church, stopping to admire the well-kept grounds, I tell Michael I want to take one of the trails that lead to the center of town—not walk on the street.  You can walk on a street anywhere. Slowly ambling down this trail, with no one else in sight, is like a secret gift.

An hour of trekking and window shopping in melting, burning, scorching, sweltering, deeply humid heat forces us to agree that exploring the city by air-conditioned tram car is a brilliant idea; this town is a town for the seasons, and for us, that season is autumn. We purchase an all-day ticket for $6 each, take three tram lines, the blue, the purple, and the red, stopping in between to walk uptown and have lunch and icy drinks at the Basin Park Hotel Balcony Restaurant.

Being here makes me remember why I fell in love with this quaint town, why we used to run away from our daily reality to the charm of this valley on a regular basis, and why we need to run back here more often.