When you first get to Olympia, the first thing they tell you to do is to go to the artesian well. At the well, they say, you'll meet the man of your dreams. Or the woman of your dreams. Or your future record producer. Or somebody to hang out with for the day. The artesian well is a meeting place. Kind of mystical, kind of mysterious. And when you go there, you'll meet somebody with whom you're destined to share an experience or two.

So they tell you.

The artesian well is actually a spring, and the source of its water is somewhat obscure. Some say there is an aquifer (an underground river) below the well. Others insist that the city of Olympia is sliding around atop an obscenely large prehistoric glacier, which is melting all the time. Of course, nobody really cares a whole lot about where the water comes from, because it's potable, and everybody knows it tastes good. Nobody really WANTS to know where the water comes from, because actually knowing would ruin a little bit of the mystery. The people you meet at the well would be a lot less interesting, and have a lot less to do with your destiny, if one day you discovered that the well was just a broken city water pipe that nobody's ever fixed. We prefer obscurity and mystery to actual scientific understanding.

As, of course, it ought to be. At least in the case of the artesian well.

Now, despite being a place where lonely souls flock to meet their future record producers, the artesian well isn't very romantic. If you SEE the well before you hear about it, you're likely to be disappointed. To outward appearances, the well is a small metal pipe sticking out of the center of a parking lot, and spewing forth water. That's right: a pipe, in a parking lot. Fun, fun, fun, girls and boys.

Okay, so it isn't pretty. It's not the sort of thing you'd dance around in ecstatic pagan fertility rituals. But then again, the dirt of Chimayó isn't that exciting, but zillions of people visit the Chimayó chapel in New Mexico every year to bring home some dirt that allegedly heals the infirm. Not a reason in the world why a place of power has to LOOK pretty, is there? The well isn't pretty. It's a pipe sticking out of a parking lot. But, insofar as most Olympians know about the well, and apparently most of us are fascinated by it (such that it's often the subject of semi-drunken bar-talk between people who are trying to get to know each other), the artesian well is a place of power.

I do not advise you to go to the well in search of a soul mate or whatever. Go there intending to meet some schmuck you'd never ordinarily talk to, and then talk to him or her. It's okay to do that; it's the well, and at the well, anything goes.

Better yet, go to the Olympia Library, on Jefferson and 8th, check out a Kurt Vonnegut book (the Olympia Library only has one Kurt Vonnegut book available, but you can try your luck...), and then make your way to the well, which is located between Jefferson and Adams, and between 4th and 5th. (Naturally, the well does not have an address. Rarely do small metal pipes sticking out of parking lots have addresses -- though I wouldn't put it past a "special" Olympian to try to write letters to somebody, care of the well; I also wouldn't put it past the postman to try to deliver them...)

The last time I was at the well, "Breakfast of Champions" in one hand, I did not meet a soul mate or a record producer. I did not have a stimulating conversation with anybody. I did, however, get fourteen pages of reading done. I also got the opportunity to pet a large Akita-mutt named "Pooter" (yes, I'm serious) who gleefully carried a feather around in her mouth, and barked for what appeared to be no reason. And, of course, I got a long, well-deserved drink of cold water on a very warm summer afternoon.

On THAT subject:

According to most sources (excluding, of course, TIME magazine, which believes apples give you cancer and carrots give you glaucoma), water is good for you, and people should drink about 64 ounces of it per day. I would dare to suggest that, indeed, water IS good for you, and since you're probably not drinking 64 ounces a day, you should drink more. (Note: I am not medically qualified to be giving such advice, and I did once know a girl who drank approximately nine gallons of water a day to kill her appetite for things like bacon and cheesecake -- and I'm not advocating that. Still, water is, most agree, good for you.)

A 20-ounce bottle of Aquafina bottled water costs $1.19 at the Bayview Thriftway. Currently, it's on sale for $1.09. Nobody knows where Aquafina water comes from anyway. They tell you it's pure, but I suspect it's tap water from Gary, Indiana. Maybe Vestal, NY. Someplace kind of gross. Nobody really knows where Olympia's artesian well water comes from either; we just know it comes out of the parking lot. Forgive me if I'm being presumptuous, but wouldn't you rather get your water from a mystical opening in a parking lot, than from a bottle that costs you a ridiculous amount of money, and probably came from Gary, Indiana anyway? An empty five-gallon costs $6.99 at the Bayview Thriftway. You can use the five-gallon jug forever and ever, and never pay another cent for water.

...And on rare occasions, like when you're tired, and thirsty, and not REALLY feeling like walking all the way over to the Eastside for a Microphones show in somebody's backyard, you might just stop at the artesian well, and find a bunch of interesting people to talk to. You might find yourself talking to somebody about the ancient Mayan calendar, or hanging out with a dude wearing a grey-and-white bird costume. Or hell, you might get fourteen pages of reading done, and get slobbered on by a dog named Pooter. Regardless of the specifics, I can almost promise you it will be a good experience.