Next Thanksgiving, Maybe Book Yourself a Spa Weekend
Driving into Sedona can be as exhilarating as reaching the Pacific after a cross-country roadtrip, the rivulets of runoff gaining contrast as you get closer to the red rocks, engulfing you with their warmth. Roadside markers point to Horsethief basin, Agua Fria, or Arizona ghost towns like Bumble Bee and Crown King. I half expected The Marlboro Man to come galloping across the valley on horseback, silhouetted against the dense pampas grasses and giant cactuses.
It’s a dreamstate that feels inexorably American—something I rarely still seek over Thanksgiving, but welcomed in the end.
When I was younger, I had three hard mandates in the kitchen: whip up two platters of deviled eggs (heavy on the horseradish), peel and sort at least five pomegranates (a surprisingly back-breaking task), and mix my own eggnog and Southern Comfort (no one ever made it strong enough). The parade would be playing in the background, followed by the football game and some terrible Hallmark romance. I never watched any of them. At the end of it all, I like everyone else would return to my life and tell friends that I gained 10 pounds of love handles but it was worth it.
Being an only child of later divorced parents, holidays have now become more fluid and open to adventure, Thanksgiving in particular. Where we dine or what we eat is a central activity, but by nature of being rooted to a new location, rarely traditional to my childhood. So when my mother proposed visiting a wellness retreat in Arizona this year, I didn’t hesitate.
I do sometimes eschew the more wooy elements like guided meditation, chakra balancing, and heaven forbid any chanting. Things that make practical sense to me are forest, or in this case, canyon bathing, strength or movement classes, LED light therapy, steam rooms and dip pools, and plant-based eating and biodegradable wine. When places lean more toward “wellbeing” in description of their services, I do listen in. The state of being well is as amorphous as it is hard to achieve, but something we all chase in our own way. I was certainly up for the challenge over a holiday.
Enter Mii amo, the spa nestled within the larger Enchantment Resort, surrounded by Boynton Canyon on 70-acre grounds that five different Native American nations have considered sacred. The most singular rock formation Kachina Woman, a representation of a Hopi tribe deity, acts as an entrance guard and constant reaffirmation of good vibes. It’s rumored that a local often climbs to the top to play his flute and drop small clay sculptures in the shape of hearts to passerby listeners. I received no visual confirmation of this charming diddy, but I believe it.
On Thanksgiving proper, following my soon to be determined Sedona routine, we participated in a craft workshop for prayer arrows—wrapping yarn around a hand-written wish, along with goose feathers and crystals. This can be read as either white-people-take-the-Southwest, or an homage to the tribes and traditions of the area. Either way, it felt more soothing and intentional than most modern Thanksgiving pastimes. The resort’s Che Ah Chi restaurant (translation: beautiful red rocks) had a holiday prix fixe available of pumpkin soup with pomegranate seeds and sage, turkey with squash and polenta, and tiramisu. I found myself ordering the beet salad and mormon tea smoked duck breast instead, with no less a feeling of festivity. When I climbed into bed later that night, a fire was roaring in the room, and a friend texted me “sleep tight, don’t let the vortex bite.” The next day, I continued like I would had I visited any other time of the year.
Each morning we got up before sunrise to make a 6:45 a.m. stretching class, followed by a four mile run, meditation in the crystal grotto, and a leisurely breakfast with an obnoxious but brilliant assortment of beverages—a ginger shot for congestion, a spring juice of snap pea, carrot, fennel, and watercress for digestion and anti-inflammation, and thankfully, espresso. I’m not enough of a lunatic to deprive myself of the latter if I am to be well. The breakfast menu ranged from wellness café classics like avocado toast and acai bowls, to more bonhomie options like buckwheat pancakes, all primarily organic and locally-sourced. Whether in service of your energy or your allergy aversions, it’s incredibly easy to find the right diet.
They say the vortexes are where you experience the greatest concentration of energy, helpful for healing and meditation. As the weather would have it, snow came early to Sedona this year, and consequently many hikes were cancelled lest people slip on the ice. I instead followed a steady sauna-pool-fireplace rinse-repeat regimine, cup of tea and novel in hand. Even surrounded by snow-blotted canyons, watching the steam from the pool waft in the cold air was restorative in my mind. Any hikes we did take were lower lift, end of daylight strolls, and still in no way sub-par.
I comforted in traditional spa treatments like a hydrating facial and swedish massage, but made sure to experiment with an Aura-Soma consultation and interactive aura photography session. Aura-Soma is a color system and process of healing that was developed by blind herbalist Vicky Wall in England in the 1980s. To date, there are over 100 “equilibrium” bottles combining essential oils and flower essences. The ones you are most drawn to and select, as well as the order in which you do so, leads to an in-depth reading of your potential.
I can be skeptical of practices like this, so I was rather taken aback when my specialist Bhakta led me through the most perceptive therapy session I’ve ever been privy to. Her reading was nurturing and substantive, with just the right amount of scolding. My aura is, apparently, a lot of red and deep magenta. (In short: I’m intense.) It’s important to note that given the number of bottles and the call for a selection of four, there are over 100 million possible outcomes. Despite 28 years of constant study and practice, Bhakta had never before consulted on my specific combination. And yet, be it my relationship to work, romance, purpose, body, or otherwise—she nailed it. Armed with her guidance, I felt more calm and renewed than I have in a decade. That feeling permeated throughout my stay, up until I was crammed into a middle seat on Delta headed toward the snowstorm back in New York. And actually…even then.
Looking back, while I missed strawberry rhubarb pie and the overly stuffed fridge you fiddle around in for days after, that pang was fleeting. Every face I met at Mii amo was good-natured to the bone, no family drama ensued, and no pounds were gained. The retreat left me overall less likely to wage war against wooiness, and more likely to hug my mother. That, I think, is something to be thankful for.
Originally Appeared on GQ
