Seeking Nirvana With Kate Berlant and Jacqueline Novak

Comedians Kate Berlant and Jacqueline Novak are co-hosts of the wellness podcast Poog. Berlant's latest special, “Parmesan,” was released on HBO on October 16, and Novak's next tour begins November 20.

I'd heard about the Golden Door many years ago from a gently famous, beautiful actress who had gone for a week to lean out after the excesses of the winter holiday. Her positive testimonial was echoed by a downer-loving millionaire who attended with her brilliant and terrifyingly thin mother for her 70th birthday. Zen gardens, sunrise hikes, five-star health-oriented meals, daily scrubs, wraps, and massages—and it’s been offering all this since long before it was fashionable, having opened in 1958.

Imagine my surprise and delight when I got the chance to go with my dear friend and Poog podcast co-host Jacqueline on assignment for Condé Nast Traveler. I'd just filmed my stand-up comedy special “Parmesan,” and I was eager for the week off. Previously, I'd thought the Golden Door was a space I would perhaps only visit in the afterlife. Now that I’ve been, it’s no exaggeration to say that the Door exceeded my wildest fantasies—and I’m plagued by the fear of never returning. We're both still talking about it. Below, Jacqueline and I unpack the experience. —Kate Berlant

Act I: Anticipation

Jacqueline Novak: How lovely that instead of death, it was, essentially, podcasting that got you to the Golden Door. We should tell them why Traveler sent us, two comedians, to write about this place.

Kate Berlant: Our podcast Poog is an ongoing conversation about wellness, beauty, and travel. It’s Goop backwards.

JN: But it’s not a satire. As touring acts we are constantly in hotels analyzing their features together.

KB: And a core tenet of the podcast is trying to get luxury items or spa experiences for free.

JN: I would argue this was our biggest “get.”

KB: Yes, even bigger than the Lyma laser.

JN: Remember the first night at dinner when we had to introduce ourselves in front of the group, I referred to the Golden Door as “our white whale,” which made sense to no one.

KB: This was moments before a woman stood up and announced it was her 118th visit. An elder. And she credited the place with…this is a direct quote: saving her life.

JN: The first visit saves your life and then visits two through 118 are more like…

KB: Maintenance phase.

JN: Upkeep.

KB: I really want to crunch those numbers.

JN: We did, remember. In my room before bed. It equaled 1.5 million. But profits go to charity.

KB: If you go over 100 times you get a brass plaque.

JN: And they hang it on a brass tree in the bamboo forest. We walked by it on our last day.

KB: But we should back up.

JN: So we knew ahead of time the Japanese gardens were immaculate, the luscious grounds were expansive, the dining was world-renowned. But for me the wow factor started weeks out with a leisurely but extremely detailed call with a kindly staffer who took down all of our details. Allergies, preferences…

KB: What classes I might want to try. Intuitive pottery. Taiko drumming. Chakra Yoga?

JN: Spring water or Alkaline in your room daily? I said, “What did Kate get?”

KB: Spring. Would you like a Keurig in addition to your daily French Press?

JN: Whenever I was unsure, the staffer said, why not both?

KB: They say, please don't bring jewelry, makeup, perfume. You could truly show up with only underwear and you'd be fine. They provide your clothing. They ask you details of your diet and how large you want your portions to be—small, medium, tall, or tall plus.

JN: And they offer to pick your ass up and drop you off at the end.

Act II: Arrival at Golden Door

KB: On arrival, we were escorted across a wooden bridge to the famous ornate jewel-laden golden door.

JN: Halfway across, under the canopy of Camellia trees, they ask you to pause. The bridge changes direction. It goes fifteen degrees to the left. The idea is dark energies can’t follow a direction change.

KB: So they ask you to take a moment to reflect on what you want to leave outside the doors.

JN: To cast off anything unsavory.

KB: Right then a couple from New York blows past us. We hear them explain they’ve been here many times before. This was our first glimpse of another guest.

JN: The place runs on a weekly rhythm. A group arrives Sunday and departs on Sunday.

KB: The Golden Door warns you on the website not to bother notable people nor solicit donations.

JN: When we got to our rooms, I was shocked to see a printed list of the guests’ names and cities of origin.

KB: This way I was able to instantly Google and see we were sharing space with billionaires and authors and Gestalt therapists, oil heiresses, venture capitalists.

JN: You sent me a screenshot of an article about someone and his picture popped up on my phone screen, thankfully in front of nobody. I left my phone in the room after that.

KB: The confidence of giving guests a list, as if to say, we know you bastards want to know who you’re sitting with at dinner. We'll save you the uncomfortable line of questioning: So what do you do?

JN: It gets it out of the way. So you can compose yourself in your room if someone important to you is there. So many details of the Golden Door were like that, clearly the result of the wisdom of the gazillion years they’ve been doing this. They also give everyone a chance to add their email to a list before the end of the week so no one’s trying to secure anyone’s contact.

KB: To be clear, there were no celebrities from film or television or the stage. There were some well-known people from the finance world.

JN: One “handsome financier” mentioned that if he ends up in the piece, he’d like to be referred to as such. You’re welcome, Herbert. That wasn’t his name. I didn't get the feeling anyone was back in their room googling us though. The second morning on the 5:45 a.m. hike, a group of New Yorkers asked what we did.

KB: I ended up screaming “we're both Emmy-nominated!” in order to endear myself to the venture capitalist.

JN: You also said we were accepting scholarships.

KB: Initially I had anxiety about being trapped there for four nights. The communal meals. I’d even said to Jacqueline, you know we can have meals in our room. But the uncanny happened. We made friends.

JN: We ended up taking every meal with the group. There’s a middle school lunch vibe because you do choose where to sit. So to offset that, we tried to sit with different people. I almost wish they assigned seats for each meal.

KB: We were there during co-ed week. Most weeks at Golden Door are women’s weeks, but they also have men’s weeks and co-ed. I initially wanted Women's Week.

JN: It was fun to meet couples, lifers who keep coming back. Going as a couple, by the way, is not a money-saving technique. The $13,000 rate is per person.

KB: They let you sleep in the same room.

JN: But you pay per person.

KB: One couple was celebrating their anniversary. But you see people go there in times of grief, of desperation, of sadness. You can really imagine it helping to reset a bitch.

JN: I was fantasizing about securing more money and more problems in the future so that returning to Golden Door would be inevitable. I want to one day be burnt out but rolling in it, and be dropped on their doorstep.

KB: The food, we really must discuss.

JN: I was nervous the portions would be too small, so as you know I smuggled in a box of Ezekiel cereal and several Dr. McDowell’s ramens, but didn’t end up needing them.

KB: A multi-year veteran of the Door told us that in the old days they used to weigh and measure you on check in.

JN: They’ve rightfully moved away from that approach.

KB: They were very accommodating with food.

JN: Like when you saw my black bean tempeh ramen or my mochi dessert, you were jealous, and they swiftly prepared one for you too.

KB: When I returned famished from a hike, and felt my breakfast tray wasn’t going to cut it, I requested more, and in under seven minutes sourdough pancakes arrived.

JN: The thick coconut yogurt and berries.

KB: Almost all ingredients are foraged directly from their sprawling farm. At the helm is Chef Greg, a towering and—I'll say it, gorgeous!—chef, who one day I found myself high-fiving wildly in the pool, while playing water volleyball for the first time.

JN: And scoring the game-winning point, if I recall.

KB: Damn straight.

JN: The garden was immense. It was like walking through the aisles of a grocery store built by the earth.

KB: An Edenic paradise. Edenic, a favorite word of mine.

JN: Even the little flowers in the drinks came from their garden.

KB: Best iced tea of my life. Best tempeh I've ever had in my life.

JN: The gazpacho. My tofu.

KB: Fajita night.

JN: Bento Box day. The potassium broth poolside midday, with pepper and turmeric and flax fixings.

KB: The ginger tea.

JN: A pot after every meal. Made of a fresh ginger slurry.

KB: Also you're not deciding what to eat four times a day.

JN: In general, the reduction of decision-making to easy choices was, for me, possibly the most relaxing element of all. Falling into the Golden Door daily rhythm, floating through the day according to the printed schedule, from activity to treatment, all optional.

KB: Like it’s 12 p.m. I could go to a Pilates class. I could do water volleyball. I could do a butterfly tour in the garden.

JN: Or walk the grounds. Hang at the pool. Float up to the art studio.

KB: I took everything from Japanese calligraphy to Ikebana to Archery.

JN: I learned taiko drumming. Found out my Aura might be green. You were shocked yours was yellow.

KB: My favorite thing was the five-mile hike departing at the impossible hour of 5:45 a.m. I thought I'd go the first day just to experience it and never return, but I ended up doing it every morning.

JN: You were a god for that.

KB: Rolling out of the deliriously comfortable bed and into my provided hiking gear. Leaving in the dark and hiking as the sun came up. Thinking, this could be my new life!

JN: One morning we were led on a silent hike with another couple and a leader that involved sun salutations to the actual rising sun.

KB: Followed by a contemplative labyrinth walk and silent breakfast.

JN: In the first couple days I kept hearing people go, you know, it's summer camp for adults. You were saying it felt like we were in kindergarten, munching on dessert while they made announcements.

KB: Everyone's in their identical Yakuta robe. Some people have hair wet from the shower or the pool. You're tired, you're satisfied. And then a sweet person who works at the Golden Door comes out and goes over some of the activity updates for the next day.

JN: It was a little vintage, like Kellerman’s from Dirty Dancing, but amidst the Japanese Gardens.

KB: Then there's the communal walk after dinner to the golden door gates.

JN: Knock three times and set intentions.

KB: The ten-minute stroll reduces glucose sensitivity…or does it increase glucose sensitivity? I never know.

JN: To blunt the spike.

KB: Right.

Act III: Extending the stay

JN: Though stays are usually seven nights, we were initially booked for just four, but pretty quickly I started to feel somber that we'd be leaving early. On the morning we were supposed to leave I sent an email begging them to let us stay. We had already made a big show of our early departure and goodbyes to the fellow guests, but then showed up at dinner to say, we’re staying.

KB: To think I was worried I’d feel trapped after four nights.

JN: There were many elements that felt surprisingly simple and wholesome. Stopping by the pool to take in the lunar eclipse on the way back to their rooms.

KB: Laughing and whispering in the pool during our night swim.

JN: You bringing your breakfast tray over to my patio to dine and discuss the day.

KB: Hunched over bowls of berry-speckled oatmeal, overlooking the Koi pond on the property’s impeccable Japanese gardens.

JN: The nightly evening programming, if you weren’t too sleepy. There was a self-love coach who led us through a ritual of flowers and affirmations.

KB: A magician. We crowded into a small, overly lit room with not enough seats to watch him.

JN: I was looking around during the magic show thinking, okay, the uber-rich are paying to have a sort of goofy evening, to not be overly accommodated by the staff. Having to figure out the chair situation themselves. And you won an Almond Joy. And one guest attempted to sabotage the magician’s trick.

KB: By shuffling the cards when he wasn't supposed to.

JN: You and I were staring at each other, identifying more with the hired act, of course.

KB: We lay in bed after analyzing the various characters and actions.

JN: Why would someone want to sabotage the magician’s trick? I loved chatting in your ice-cold room before you fell asleep. Then I’d sit on my patio, surely the last one up.

KB: Other programming included a self-love coach…

JN: An electric cello concert and light show.

KB: Presented beside the Koi pond.

JN: I’ve never seen Koi that size.

KB: A breath work guide who played the singing bowls, where you had your big release.

JN: Yes, the second night’s program. We were lying on our backs in the dark for a sound bath while engaging in a 20-minute breathing practice.

KB: Two inhales through the mouth, one exhale through the mouth. I thought, this could get me high.

JN: Halfway through my hands and feet went numb, then felt like fire, and then contorted into strange positions like lobster claws. I was physically unable to open my hands. Like in an exorcist film. The teacher whispered in my ear that I could stop the breath if it was too uncomfortable.

KB: I would have screamed.

JN: But I took it as encouragement to power through in case I was on the brink of nirvana. The teacher afterward said I’d had a big heart chakra opening.

KB: I was envious. Because I had felt my hands tingle and got scared and slowed my breathing.

JN: But you were right to. In bed I was googling what I’d experienced and the internet said it was Tetany, brought on by a CO2 imbalance where the body lets the extremities “go” first. I choose to believe both are true.

KB: Definitely. The founder of the Golden Door by the way is still alive and apparently “sharp as a tack” at 104. So she knows something. It was said she enjoys tuna melts and a daily mushroom tea elixir. Needless to say, I'm listening. By my fourth day, I was crunching the numbers, convincing myself this was actually a deal.

JN: I think by your fourth hour. The real question though: Would we pay out of pocket to return?

KB: Seven nights will run you about $13,000 with tip.

JN: Should someone save for years to go? Would the Door want someone to come on those terms?

KB: I’ve heard some people leave early because it's not, quote, nice enough. It really is so fucking luxurious, but it's not geisha level.

JN: A woman did perform tea service on her knees for me during check-in.

KB: Oh right. But there's a certain kind of person who wants a person's back broken, bent over, in servitude. Or amenities. Like our bathrooms. They could be considered too dated for someone.

JN: Right, and yet I never noticed the bathroom. It all felt right. The Golden Door has this vibe, like they’ve been around long enough to not chase trends. They know better than you. They know that you don’t actually need a free-standing soaking tub.

KB: There’s a whole bathhouse for that.

JN: And a “Watsu pool” just up the path.

KB: You don't need the self-warming floors. Or a TV in the mirror.

JN: Or anywhere. The resort knows exactly what it is. They are exactly who they are.

KB: They're fucking exactly who they are.

JN: The history of the place gives it credibility and confidence. It’s not insecure. Which can sink a place that has otherwise good features.

KB: And service is unmatched in terms of what matters.

JN: You ask to move a facial and then they appear at dinner to drop off your new schedule. It’s excellent service, like a militaristic operation under the surface,

KB: I left something under my dinner chair. The next morning, it’s resting atop my breakfast tray.

JN: I lose my shades and they appear on my nightstand.

KB: One of the things that I love is that while it’s a prohibitively expensive, luxurious experience, it still retains this feeling of old California health food culture. It feels free from the overwhelming polluted space of optimization and wellness culture that is so soulless. People who are going to the Golden Door can go anywhere, they can afford to go anywhere on earth. And they are choosing to come here.

JN: If you’ve worked every day in your life, and you say fuck it, I’m gonna cash out and finally leave this two-horse town, your first trip probably shouldn't be Golden Door. Your first stop should be Europe. Or a beach vacation. Not because those are better. But because the Golden Door is a sophisticated and nuanced experience. It’s the billionaire's last stop, where he finally finds a place worth returning to. Or if you can swing it, an opportunity to cosplay as one. To imagine you’re tired of all the empty luxury and peak experiences, that you just want to have a meaningful place to commune with family and friends.

Act IV: Re-entry

KB: I will say I left Golden Door as I was entering an extremely emotionally stressful week and I swear to God, on some level, I felt like I was more able to cope with it. I felt like Amy Jellicoe, Laura Dern's character in the Mike White series Enlightened.

JN: After she connects with that tortoise underwater.

KB: When she leaves her Hawaiian retreat, she feels like a new person. Of course, I found myself desperate to hold on to the Golden Door. So I bought the Golden Door broth. A gorgeous loaf of sourdough, which I froze, and I've been eating in pieces.

JN: I bought nothing, but since coming home I have instituted the Golden Door post-meal gate walk, where my fellow and I walk to the gates of our own apartment complex and knock three times.

KB: They also send you off with a packed lunch. That helps.

JN: The daughter of a brass tree guest told me that on the last day, her mother pulled her aside and offered a somber warning.

KB: What?

JN: Re-entry is hard.