A trip to the surreal

By Susan Drinkard
Reader Contributor

A Trip to Bountiful is my all-time favorite movie, but a trip to Syme’s Hot Springs is my favorite trip to the surreal. Having visited the hot springs innumerable times over the past 40 years, I must say Ben Olson hit the proverbial nail on the head with his amusing column about the people hot springs attract [Feature, “Hot Springs People,” Jan. 18, 2024].

There is a certain egalitarian quality of Syme’s Hot Springs, in particular, that I like: Everyone is welcome (just about), even though some of the attendees are compromised when it comes to decision making. 

Once, on a solo trip to soak away the not-so-blissful activity of grading endless stacks of middle school essays, I entered the largest pool at night. It appeared empty and I was just settling in when a hirsute man resembling John the Baptist in a red Speedo popped up out of the water, scaring the bejesus out of me. Someone started yelling at him and he scrambled off the premises. Apparently the guy was a regular sneak in. 

A historic photo of Symes Hot Springs Hotel in Hot Springs, Mont. Courtesy photo.

On another trip, a woman had her baby in a diaper in the pool outside, so I opted to pay the $5 to soak in one of the ancient bathtubs at the hotel in a room full of tubs. I was happily soaking when a man got into the tub next to me. I believe there was a curtain or a very thin wall or divider separating us, but it freaked me out hearing him soap up, etc. Really? He had to pick the tub next to one that was occupied when others were available? 

Another time I stopped for a soak on my way to visit a friend in Whitefish, Mont. I looked for an employee or a person to take my money, but no one ever appeared, and I looked everywhere. The only other visitor was a tall white terrier mix who was busy lifting his leg on a large plant in the lobby. Decades ago, I wandered around the hotel and opened a door to a large room or patio filled with empty, well-preserved chaise longues — so vintage it tore your heart out. Someone told me back then that Syme’s was formerly a sanitarium for people needing a long rest — probably lots of English teachers and the poorest of all professionals — small-town journalists. 

I tried to read in one of those long-cushioned chairs but the energy was suspect, like the chairs were already occupied, and I quickly departed. If you have been there you know there is a hallway reminiscent of a certain movie starring Jack Nicholson. 

For a time they had a vintage clothing store in one of the small cabins by the hotel. No one was ever there, so you were on the honor system. A girlfriend and I stayed in one of the very old cabins overnight because it didn’t have the sulfur smell of the hotel, and I went home with some fabulous quirky clothes back when you could find vintage clothing bigger than a size 0. 

I was leaving Hot Springs one early morning and saw a very old man coming out of his trailer; he was naked as a jaybird. It was summertime and his clothes were on his rail. He wasn’t in a great hurry. So what if someone saw him? I don’t believe the residents of Hot Springs are worried about their home’s curb appeal or their impressions on visitors. 

There is a seemingly abandoned hot springs on the outskirts of Hot Springs. An elderly Native American man ran it years ago as mud baths, says my friend Becky, who went once to soak in the mud. It was short-lived for her, however, when something slithered by her leg, so she got out and never went back. Now the cement containers are filled with mineral water and there is no can for your money, but the rocky bottom hurts the feet.

One takes a chance when you visit a hot springs; you don’t know what you’ll find, but it’s never the same. 

I hesitate to call attention to Syme’s or Hot Springs, Mont., but just like the sweatshirt a friend gave to me with the words “I’m Not for Everyone” emblazoned on the front, neither is Syme’s, or Hot Springs, Mont. for that matter. And there are some of us who go there for exactly that reason.