In her new book, Ryvas documents how people engage with hot spring water and the many meaningful rituals that stem from it.
I grew up in Idaho, which is home to (depending on how you count) some of the most soaking hot springs in the United States. It's part of our outdoor experience, and we took the time to condition our fingers after a day of hiking and skiing. Sometimes, if we saw steam on the side of the road, we would stop and look for man-made pools. River stones were stacked and moved around to create the right ratio of hot and cold water. Idaho's hot springs still have a vestige of the Wild West, and while some people bathe quietly, they are often noisy.
When I was a teenager, my parents took jobs teaching in Japan and learned about the culture of hot springs and public baths. It was very different from my hometown in Idaho. Bathing with neighbors and family members was routine and ritualized. People soaked before and after work, making sure to follow the complex rules of scrubbing and cleansing their bodies, and then quietly immersed themselves in the heat. It was a quiet and reverent experience.
I studied cultural anthropology and photojournalism at the University of Montana, and on weekends I went to hot springs with friends. After that, I moved to Maine, where there are no natural hot springs. But I found work as a freelance photojournalist documenting people who live close to nature: farmers, fishermen, homesteaders, foragers, gardeners. They teach us how how we interact with nature can shape our minds and determine how we understand the world and our place in it. He gave it to me. I started remembering the time I spent in hot springs and became interested in how people interact with hot springs. How to build a palace or a simple pool in the earth. How we have built our culture and traditions around the warmth they bring. For some people, a hot spring is a novel, once-in-a-lifetime experience, and for others, it's an everyday hot spring. I spent several years researching hot springs and eventually visited dozens of them to write my book. Hot springs: photos and stories about how the world soaks, swims and unwindspublished by Ten Speed Press, was released later this month on March 19th.
I learned a lot about the world while visiting hot springs. Locals told me about Greenland's unique approach to land ownership, where people cannot own land, but they can rent it. I visited a spa in South Africa that was one of the first examples of land reparations. I learned that Hungarian doctors often prescribe heat therapy, noting the medical benefits of both mineral water and rest. I spent time in several municipal bathhouses in Tokyo and observed how important sense of community and rituals were formed. I've visited hot springs in Iceland, India, and Turkey with stories of outlaws, queens, and gods.
At each bathhouse, we met locals and tourists alike enthusiastic about the power of hot water. Like me, they felt that the experience of being immersed in warmth had some deep meaning. Hot springs clearly demonstrate nature's generosity and providence. We just sit in the water and just marvel at the phenomena of the earth and how it takes care of us. However, most hot springs come from the earth and are too hot for the human body. They also require care, including protection and mixing with cool, fresh water. They are metaphors for reciprocity.
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