Transformative Travel /Ashram Spa

In the living room of my luxury cottage at Rancho La Puerta, the original destination spa, in Tecate, Mexico, was a reprint of the San Diego Union dated July 13, 1949. The headline read: “Romanian Professor Founds Cult Across the Border at Tecate: Essene School of Life Springs from Brain of Visiting Cabalist.” The Professor was Edward Szekely, a biochemist who came to Mexico with his wife, Deborah, in 1940 as part of a French commission to locate the most healthful climate on earth. The young couple were stranded by World War II, so they bought a ranch, dug a couple of pits called Mesopotamian sun baths, and founded the Essene School: “$17.50 a week; bring your own tent.”

The Essene School begat Rancho La Puerta (now $2,800 to $4,300 per week; no tent required), which begat the American spa business. The professor died in 1979, but Deborah Szekely remains the grande dame of an industry that is second only to churches for providing spiritual practices. That is not to say that all spas are spiritual, but the rubs and wraps and anointments have deep spiritual roots, and the founding father’s passion was an ideal set by ancient, ascetic desert-dwellers known as the Essenes.

So it is not entirely surprising that when Deborah Szekely attended a retreat by the spiritual visionary Swami Veda Bharati, of the Association of Himalayan Yoga Meditation Societies International, she was reminded of long afternoons under the oak trees listening to “the Prof.” Mrs. Szekely decided that her guests at the spa had to listen to Swami Veda and she invited him to hold his annual teacher training at the ranch. For a month last August, Rancho la Puerta became an extension of an ashram in India.

I was invited to experience this experiment for a week, so I flew to San Diego and was picked up by the charter bus for an hour ride to the Rancho. A few of the 100-plus guests had come for the ashram, but many arrived with no idea that it was taking place. I, too, had little idea what I was getting into. Would this be the worst of two radically different worlds? Or the best?

Each day, along with the full schedule of regular ranch activities — the morning hikes up the sacred mountain, the myriad fitness classes starting at 50-minute intervals, the numerous pools and hot tubs, the strategically placed hammocks, the cooking school adjacent to the organic garden, and of course, the glorious spa treatments — one could also take part in the life of a Hindu devotee. Morning prayers began at 6 a.m., followed by a mindful hike, breakfast, a guided meditation, and lecture by the swami. The ashram actually had four different tracks led by experts from the ashram: meditation, silence, yoga sutra, and ayurveda. In short, the number of choices was completely overwhelming — and all of them proved to be good.

From the various introductory classes at the beginning of the week, I learned (finally!) to sit comfortably in meditation. Being comfortable made me much more appreciative of the swami’s guided meditations and lectures. It also made the kirtan singing more joyful. What was the cure? Lots more pillows!

But the best part of the week, a sentiment I heard echoed from just about everyone, was the ability to move back and forth from the sacred to the luxurious — from joy to joy. I spent a day in silence, wearing the simple white costume of the ashram, and felt entirely at ease among guests talking excitedly about facials. And, after a long meditation with Swami Veda, I got my first facial — and that, too, became spiritual.

Some of the ashram’s teachers-in-training were upset that the regular guests didn’t, for example, stand up whenever their beloved swami entered the room. We came and went, much as we came and went at the other classes at the spa. The swami didn’t seem to mind. Mrs. Szekely was not there because she had injured some ribs, but I suspect that both she and the Prof were smiling. They had created a deeply spiritual spa.

Stephen Kiesling is editor-in-chief of S&H.