Are you considering a trip to Hot Springs National Park? Are you interested in trying the traditional bathing experience at Buckstaff Bathhouse?

This is an honest, unpaid review and description of my experience at Hot Springs’ Buckstaff Bathhouse.

This post contains affiliate links. As always, all photographs are copyrighted Reese Moore Photography unless otherwise stated and cannot be used without express permission.

How did this happen?

We are on the road a lot, and half of the fun is trying new experiences as we go… which is exactly how I found myself butt-first in a vintage sitz bath next to an elderly Asian tourist on a random Wednesday afternoon. 

First of all, let me take a moment to admit I read exactly none of the descriptions on what an authentic early-1900s bathing experience would entail, and everything is clearly laid out on the spa menu.

While normally I investigate our on-the-road experiences rather thoroughly, I was also 15 days in on a cross-country road trip in a camper van with a busted hot water heater and staying at a campground without showers in 40-degree weather. (The things one does in a marriage, you know?)

So, I basically read the word “bath” and was so excited I wanted to strip down in the lobby despite my normally modest demeanor. 

Let me back up a bit before we jump straight into the part where you get naked in front of strangers (which doesn’t happen in the lobby, by the way). 

Where was this?

Buckstaff Bathhouse is a historic bathhouse located in Hot Springs, Arkansas. Hot Springs National Park is what’s considered an urban national park, and the ancient thermal springs are federally protected (and covered to protect them from errant visitors; there are no outdoor soaking opportunities in Hot Springs National Park). 

The Park Service did allow the piping hot, 4,000-year-old water to be utilized for personal purposes via the public filling stations and by the bathhouses running through the main drag in the historic district.

Hot Springs’ thermal springs have attracted visitors from all walks of life for centuries, stretching back to when the site was a gathering place for Native American Tribes. In the mid-1800s, people flocked to the establishments on Bathhouse Row for the purported healing and therapeutic qualities of the thermal water. 

You could legit have a doctor prescribe you a tub day back then, and I demand to know why that’s not still a thing. Anyway, at that time, there were a whopping 8 luxurious bathhouses in operation in Hot Springs. 

Today, there are only two remaining bathhouses operating as spas: the Quapaw Bathhouse and Buckstaff Bathhouse. The Quapaw Bathhouse offers modern, familiar spa services like Roman-style open thermal pools, facials, massages, private baths, and blowouts. It was closed for renovations during our stay at Hot Springs. 

The other bathhouse, the Buckstaff, has been in continuous operation since opening its doors in 1912 and offers by and large the same experiences available in that bygone era (save for the mercury massages, which, fortunately, have fallen out of style). 

Now, I do have to stop for a moment to clarify that even if the Quapaw had been open, I still would have opted for the Buckstaff Bathhouse experience. You can go to a modern spa anywhere, but only at the Buckstaff do they put you in a 1900’s metal steam cabinet (read: torture chamber) with your head poking out the top. 

Getting Naked

Since I visited the Buckstaff in January, Hot Springs’ off-season, I got to walk in for a bathing experience at my leisure. There was no line other than the excited group of 4 middle-aged Asian tourists, one of whom I later accidentally flashed at during the sitz bath ordeal to my enduring shame and who didn’t seem to understand my stammered, awkward apology. Sigh.

After paying for a “traditional bathing experience,” I was quickly whisked into an ornate vintage elevator with a bath attendant. The contraption rattled to the top, and the gilded door opened into a warm, steamy lobby. The elevator lady led me into a changing stall with lockers and directed me to disrobe. Gamely, I began peeling off my socks and shoes, only to have a moment’s pause. But like, where’s the robe? Or the towel?

Confident that they must have forgotten to hand me my spa attire upon entry, I poked my head from behind the curtain with a sheepish smile. “Hey there! I think y’all forgot my towel,” I gently pointed out.

“No, ma’am. You let me know when you’re naked, and I’ll come wrap you in the bath sheet,” the attendant responded stoically. 

Do what now? “Ummm, ah. Ok. You know, I think I’ll just do it myself if that’s cool.” 

“I’m supposed to do it for you; it’s part of the experience,” she briskly replied as one of the other tourists shuffled by in an elaborate bath-sheet-turned-toga getup. 

“Oh, um gosh, no, thank you. I’m fine just doing it myself.” We had an awkward, intense meeting of the eyes before the bath attendant shrugged and handed me my bath sheet. In her defense, that is literally her job, and this is where that whole “reading of the fine print” thing I mentioned neglecting to do earlier would have been helpful in mitigating the surprise factor. 

The Bath

Naively thinking I had outsmarted the early 1900s bathing customs, I shuffled to my seat as well as my hurriedly swaddled bath sheet would allow. Within minutes, another bath attendant called my last name and whisked me into my private bath stall. She instructed me to drop my towel. 

It turns out that for liability purposes, given that you’re hopping from steamy antique tile floors into really large vintage bathtubs, getting naked in front of the bath attendant is mandatory, possibly sensible, and not actually that big of a deal. They want to make sure you’re safely assisted into the oversized porcelain bowl without flopping around like a fish out of water. 

Once I was in the tub, my attendant gave me a tiny, cold cup of water to sip while I enjoyed my 20 minutes of glorious tub therapy. After several days of questionable van-life bathing attempts, I’ve never been happier to be in a tub of 100-degree water in my life, even if it was sans soap, candles, and bath bombs. 

As I happily wiggled my feet over the lone, surprisingly forceful jet, I took a moment to ruminate on how cool it was to actually be in a circa 1912 bathhouse, enjoying a very similar experience to those ladies of distinction from centuries ago. The clanking of metal and the roaring of the pipes was vastly different from the stock-music-filled spas I was used to, but it felt more real somehow. 

The Heat Packs

At the end of my bath session, the discreet attendant quickly helped me out of the tub, wrapped me in my bath sheet, and herded me over to a large room filled with what sort of looked like massage tables but maybe also looked like autopsy tables, I wasn’t sure. The lady beside me was huffing along with her eyes closed, clearly alive and on a deeply personal yet still public wellness journey.

Slightly surprised, since this part of the experience was detailed in the fine print I didn’t read, I was handed another tiny glass of cold water, instructed to sit down, and piping hot towels were applied to my back and shoulders. The attendant held the towels as I assumed the appropriate prone position, and then added one freezing cold one over my head, which came as quite a shock. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, however, and I settled in for what was either 10 minutes or a small eternity. 

Ok, I thought, I’m into this. This is unusual but nice.

The Vapor Cabinet

The attendant returned and informed my dumbfounded self that it was time for my vapor cabinet. (This is, again, clearly noted on the spa menu directly under the “Whirlpool Mineral Bath” header, but I literally read no further than the word bath before whipping out my debit card.)

Have you ever seen a 1900s vapor cabinet? Let alone been in one?

Basically, you get naked (again), sit on a towel on metal shelf inside a giant cabinet thing, and then they lower these doors with half-moon openings that come together to let your head poke out. It’s like a vapor-filled toaster oven with a box on top for your head. 

With your body shut into the metal box, they wrap towels around your neck, shut the frosted glass upper cabinet door, and steam you like a delicious little dumpling… unless you are an anxious claustrophobic. In that case, the bath attendant will leave the head compartment door open for you to smile nervously at everyone who happens by like a Michael Sera bobblehead for precisely 5 minutes. 

The Sitz Bath

Once the 5-minute period elapsed, my ever-vigilant attendant freed me from the vapor cabinet and escorted me over to the sitz bath, which I was damn well shocked to realize was included in my bath experience.

For those not in the know (it was me, right up until that moment, so no judgment here), a sitz bath is a targeted hot-water therapy for one’s nether bits. Basically, you hike up your bath sheet and plop down in what looks like a giant butt sink. You then fill the tub with hot water and soak. 

After sitzing to the fullest, it was time to wrap up my traditional bathing experience. My attendant lent me a hand to gracefully extricate myself from the giant butt sink, but I accidentally pirouetted to the right instead of the left and managed to fully and graphically moon the poor middle-aged lady to my right. And thus, in a flurry of awkward apologies and wet bath sheets, completed my traditional bathing experience! 

Would I do it again?

Hell, yeah. And, if I were to do it again, I would also sign up for a massage or facial. 

Listen, you can get modem spa treatments in virtually any strip mall in America. It’s only at the Buckstaff that you can experience a day in the life of a lady of luxury in the 1900s. Who doesn’t want to experience living history when it involves soaking in a private thermal bath? You might be a little out of your comfort zone, especially if you didn’t read the spa menu, but isn’t that what travel is all about?!

Finally, I want to end with a heartfelt thank you to the hard-working, graceful, and gracious bath attendants at the Buckstaff Bathhouse.

Have you been to a 1900s bathhouse? Have you bathed in thermal water before? Drop your recommendations in the comments below!