Eureka Springs is a quaint little place. Its main streets are deep in the valley between two ridges; its shops terraced along the steep, curving streets cut out of the cliff rock.

I arrived at The Crescent Hotel a little worse for wear after my GPS going into melt-down mode when the grid structure Americans use to navigate their towns failed to work due to the actual roads following the cliffs and ridges instead of a neat pattern of grids. Numerous times I was instructed to turn right literally off the edge of a cliff; it is enough to make you paranoid that your iPhone is out to get you. As I climbed higher and higher I could see an impressive structure perched on the edge of the tallest ridge, its presence imposing and demanding attention against the green surrounding forest. When I finally ignored my GPS and made my own way using sense of direction, I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I saw the looming "The Crescent Hotel, est 1886" sign marking the entrance to the car park. I pulled in, and felt a wave of joy sweep over me, for the Hotel truly is magnificent, the grounds manicured in a perfect echo of the old time glory of the building itself. My joy was short lived however, when upon impulse I decided to check my itinerary (something I hadn't done in days), and to my dismay discovered that I was meant to be staying at The Arkansas House in Jasper - a town I'd passed through around four hours earlier. Worse yet - I'd already paid (in full) for this hotel room. Dangnabit!! Not to be disheartened, I rang the owner and apologised profusely and explained my predicament, and he gruffly agreed to refund my room and promptly hung up on me. Oh well, at least I got a good outcome, I told myself as I shook it off and made my way to the grand entrance of the Crescent. Old world manners live here, and I was greeted by a dashing young man opening the huge silver and glass door for me. In a matter of minutes, I had: patted one very cute cat who reminds me uncannily of Henri Le Chat Noir; been given the king balcony suite with jacuzzi for $99 instead of the initially quoted $269; and handed a glass of raspberry iced tea by one of the lovely hotel staff. I have to say, I felt rather chuffed at this point. I booked in for the 8pm hotel ghost tour and took my suitcase upstairs to the awaiting luxury suite. It really is a thing of beauty - massive antique king bed made from cherrywood, delightful curtains complementing the wallpaper, huge jacuzzi positioned to look over the balcony but with white gauzy curtains for privacy (the balcony is shared between two suites). The balcony itself was wonderful - massive, compared with the usual balconies I've had attached to hotel rooms - you could easily host a part of 30 out there. Lovely garden furniture, including tables with mosaic crescent moon symbols inlaid on the table tops. Best of all, I had been given a suite with a view of the valley and the opposing southern ridge. Beautiful. Make sure you check out the photos of the view and the "HC" hedge seen by looking directly down from my balcony. I decided a long hot jacuzzi with book in hand and balcony doors wide open to let in the mist was just what the doctor ordered.

The Crescent Hotel has been many things in its long life, one of which is a hotel set up for the rich and famous, indeed only those on the elite invitation list were able to come and holiday there for quite some time. Quite on the opposite end of the spectrum, a torture house and morgue for wealthy elite suffering from cancer. Advertised as a cancer-curing treatment retreat, the unscrupulous new owner (bought from the original owner after the great depression set in and no one could afford lavish hotel stays anymore) had no idea how to cure cancer, and was only interested in making a quick buck rather than actually treating people. He injected them seven times a day with a horrid concoction of herbs and acid. Many people tried to write their relatives to tell them that the 'treatments' were hurting them worse than their original disease, however his racket wasn't discovered for many, many years. When you entered the treatment facility, he would have you sign a blank letter. If you happened to die at the facility, he would fill in the blank letter with something along the lines of "I'm great! Improved dramatically, very happy, keep the cheques coming!" and post it to your family. In addition to treating your cancer, it was supposed to be a nice retreat, a break away from the stressful 'real life' back home. Well, many of his patients were in agony from their illness, and doubly so from their treatments. Some people in severe pain have been known to moan, wail, and even scream. Well this was disrupting the other guests' stay, so he had reinforced steel rooms built to be completely soundproof, so he could put these noisy creatures in and shut the door, and not have the peace disturbed for the other patients. As you can imagine, being locked up, writhing in pain and near death's door... many of these poor folk who died in these rooms aren't the most restful of souls. Indeed so many people died, he had to build a morgue in the basement of the hotel, to cope with the bodies. I'm sure by now you're getting a picture of the people who haunt this building, and why they're so unhappy and restless. The ghost tour was informative and very interesting; I realised I had already encountered two of the phenomenon earlier in the afternoon. I was out on the back porch, enjoying the view when I could smell the beautiful sweet scent of fruit tobacco, and I thought at the time how odd it was, because no one else was on the back porch with me, and I couldn't see anyone walking the gardens either. I did a bit of a sniff around and strangely, the scent was gone as quickly as it had come. Later on that night, we were told about one of the doctors who worked at the original hotel (as an on site doctor for the wealthy hotel guests) who was always seen wandering around with a pipe in his hand, his tobacco of choice? Cherry flavoured. Apparently it's quite common to smell the tobacco in small whiffs every now and then, and his ghost has actually been seen several times, crossing from the elevator across the hallway into his old office.

I did love this hotel, with all its quirks and freaky sensations and even the trip to the morgue which was slightly terrifying, was also enjoyable. Incidentally, SyFy did a show on The Crescent Hotel, and two amateur ghost hunters went down to the morgue with a thermal camera, and captured a rather creepy very clear image of a man standing in what appeared to be a civil war uniform, right next to one of the ghost hunters. Freaky, freaky stuff. I stood in the spot where this was caught on film and it was a little unnerving - the ghost caught on film didn't exactly look like he wanted to be best friends.

Slightly unnerved, I headed back to my room to try to get some sleep.. which just didn't happen. A combination of me being paranoid, and the ghosts (and guests) making all their unwelcome noises kept me waking every few hours. I packed up all my kit (which by now had grown to almost unmentionable size) and lugged it downstairs, unsure what I'd be doing for the day, but knowing that I wasn't going to stay another night in a hotel I just cannot sleep in, no matter how comfortable.

I drove towards downtown, wondering what I'd do for breakfast, when I happened to see a little house with a sandwich board sign out the front, advertising Oscar's Café. BINGO! What better way to get to know the locals, than get to know the locals off the beaten path? This proved to be a really wonderful idea, as the delightful English & American couple were happy to let me sit and plan my day, and he took time out of the kitchen to make suggestions and draw me a very helpful mud map. The homemade bagel with smoked salmon and massive side salad with absolutely perfect light lemon vinaigrette was a total hit. I walked in at the same time as a man covered in glitter, and as he twinkled in front of me, and ordered the same meal as me, I decided I'd like to get to know him. He turned to me once we'd ordered at the counter and said "so! where are we sitting?" YES. We chose a table on the porch and got to know each other. Sparky hails from Hot Springs, and is relatively new to Eureka Springs, but is finding everyone delightfully whacky (like attracts like!), and was in the process of getting ready for the afternoon's art street fair. I do now, with the benefit of hindsight, sincerely wish I'd just taken his hand and said "lead on!", but silly me, I thought I'd visit Branson. If you're ever in Eureka Springs, go and pay them a visit. The street is gorgeous - residential, so not covered in tourists - the house is very sweet and quirky, and the food is so good and healthful you'll forget you're in America.

One of the places the owner/chef had suggested was Black Bass Lake - a totally off the beaten path, not even signed, down a gravel road and round a few bends, locals' spot. You can walk the perimeter of the lake, take in its beauty, observe the wildlife, fish, sunbake - whatever takes your fancy. I did just that - whatever took my fancy - and spent a whole lot of time getting good photos of beautiful bright blue butterflies.

Downtown Eureka Springs is a gorgeously quaint little town; its shops built into cuts in the ridges, terraced shops lining both sides of the winding, climbing street. Dangerously steep in places, ramshackle (but not unsightly) in others, squeal-worthy cute in some - the two main streets were definitely worth the few hours I devoted to walking them.

But as is life, all good things must come to an end, and I was as far North in Arkansas as I could be, so the next stop was Missouri. I bode Eureka Springs and Arkansas a very fond farewell, and began the climb into the mountains to cross the border. Another beautiful countryside and forest drive, and I was over the border, and into the grand lakes of Southern Missouri.

If you'd like to see some photos, click here.

Till next time,
M x