Deserted Expectations

By Julia Beeson

"NO WHINING. No puking. No bleeding.” My Palm Springs weekend getaway is getting off to an unsettling start. As our Desert Adventures Jeep Eco-Tour driver and guide, Morgan, barks out the rules, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a fire-engine red Jeep Scrambler. It’s a military-style vehicle with rugged all-terrain tires, a beige canvas ragtop and conspicuously absent doors. I’ve retreated to the desert for some poolside R&R, and to partially excuse a weekend of total indolence, I signed up for a Jeep tour. But as Morgan fires up the engine and instructs us to fasten our seat belts tightly, I wonder if I’ve unwittingly been cast in Survivor: Palm Springs.

Not helping matters is my suspicion that I’m already on Morgan’s bad side. Spotting my flip-flops—deemed “frou-frou” for the outing —she waited while I raced back to my hotel room to change into sneakers. She pretends not to notice when my Starbucks latte spills into my lap on the bumpier stretches of road. I get the feeling she’s had innumerable passengers like me—the urbanite tourist helplessly unaccustomed to desert life—in her 17 years as a tour guide. For the next three hours, the cowgirl-meets-geologist entertains with a stream of historical and regional trivia, injecting her dry humor at every dusty turn.

I’ve come to Palm Springs with certain preconceptions.

First, that it’s a haven for retirees, golfers and tennis enthusiasts. As the Jeep rumbles past numerous country clubs and golf courses, surprisingly verdant in the shadow of the sun-scorched Santa Rosa Mountains, I am reminded more than once of my minimal skill with a racquet or a club. So those activities aren’t a draw. In its heyday in the 1940s and ’50s, Palm Springs was the Hollywood retreat for celebrities like Garbo and Gable.

But what’s the take on Palm Springs for a generation that more closely identifies with Britney and Brad?

For starters, no visitor need look hard to appreciate the dramatic beauty of the region’s landscape. Towering palms pierce an azure blanket of endless sky, and rugged canyons and natural oases teeming with wildlife recall California’s Wild West origins. In the springtime, the desert bloom is spectacular—the West’s resounding answer to East Coast fall foliage. With a section of the 800-mile-long San Andreas Fault running through the area, it is a hotbed of geological activity, pushing up mountain ranges and carving out canyons.

Morgan kicks the Jeep into four-wheel drive, and we’re swallowed up by Serpentine Canyon. I’m more than a little apprehensive when she leads us on a hike down into a massive (and active) fault crack. But as Morgan drops us off at the tour’s end, I’m unscathed —and rejuvenated.

Hours later, tour trivia still swirls in my head: The Cahuilla Indians inhabited these canyons 95 years ago; bell peppers and table grapes are the leading crops; those spooky sci-fi windmills generate nearly 2 percent of the state’s energy; there are 52 kinds of reptiles.

TOURISM IS THE TOP INDUSTRY in Palm Springs, and I make the 20-minute drive from my hotel, La Quinta Resort & Club in neighboring La Quinta, to sample the downtown scene. Typical of late September in Palm Springs, the midday high temperature has hit triple digits, and unsurprisingly, there are few willing to leave the comfort of air-conditioning to stroll the shops and eateries along Palm Canyon Drive, the main artery.

A 1950s sensibility is reflected around nearly every corner—from the streets named after the era’s personalities (Gene Autry, Dinah Shore and Bob Hope, to name a few) to the sleek mid-century modern design of the hotels, buildings and shops. But I’m more excited when I glimpse the name Trina Turk, the popular L.A.- based fashion designer who has just opened a boutique in town. Shoppers will delight in the offerings throughout the area—there’s the high-end El Paseo shopping district in Palm Desert, and the Desert Hills Premium Outlets west of Palm Springs in Cabazon.

Later, an exploration of some of the nighttime options leads to the conclusion people don’t come to Palm Springs for its thumping nightlife; they come to retreat from the city scene and its trappings. There were some lively spots: Augusta in Palm Desert has a fun outside bar with live music and dancing (think Del Mar Plaza crowd), and Citron, in the trendy Viceroy Hotel in the heart of Palm Springs, is the desert satellite to the super-chic L.A. bar scene. But few nightspots rival a poolside chaise at La Quinta Resort & Club, lounging beneath the starry desert sky.

Owned by the same parent company as the Hotel del Coronado and La Costa Resort & Spa, La Quinta Resort & Club offers modern amenities in luxurious Spanish-style casitas nestled among fragrant citrus groves and 41 pools. Its spa pampers (try the orange- blossom body facial), and the celebrated Mexican cuisine of its Adobe Grill lives up to the hype. No wonder Hollywood elite (Gwyneth Paltrow, Clint Eastwood and Oprah among them) still flock here.

As I begin the two-hour drive home, I’m disappointed my desert retreat has been so short-lived. But you won’t catch me whining.

If You Go
La Quinta Resort & Club’s rooms and suites vary in price seasonally from $225 to $3,500; peak rates are from late December through Memorial Day. Call 800- 598-3828 or check laquintaresort.com. Avoid travel to Palm Springs during major tournaments, as large crowds can detract from the overall experience. For more information on the Desert Adventures Jeep Eco-Tours, call 760-324-5337 or visit red-jeep.com. Contact the Palm Springs Official Visitor Information & Reservation Centers at 800-347-7746 for additional information.