Ol' Blue Eyes, architectural marvels and searing heat in the Palm Springs desert

By Paul Oswell

Welcome to the desert: Paul was startled by the 100-degree weather


In hindsight, it was probably optimistic to walk. The smug looks people gave us as we entered the bar said: 'What on earth are you doing outside? You should be inside. Like us.'

It was hard to argue.

Outside, the temperature was nonchalantly dancing around the 100 degrees Fahrenheit level. This is the first lesson you learn about the desert: it’s hot. The second lesson you learn is that you should not challenge the heat, especially if you’re a pasty Brit like me, who has grand ideas about walking twelve blocks or so from the café where they’d just had lunch, back to their hotel.

And so it was after two blocks that my girlfriend and I, caught in the glare of that insistent sun, ducked into the Hair of the Dog Saloon. Apparently Palm Springs’ only English pub, it was in any case somewhere where it didn’t feel like I was being sautéed from the inside.

To be fair to the desert, we had arrived just as low season kicked in, when most people leave town, presumably to escape the feeling that you’re just walking around a huge frying pan.

But turn down the heat between October and May and you have a weirdly magical place. Palm Springs is a low-rise city that sits unassumingly outside the San Bernadino National Park, around 100 miles east of Los Angeles, California.

On first impression, it is a quirky but discreet place, without the brash neon swagger of Las Vegas. No surprises, then, that since the glory days of cinema, it has been a haven for A-listers keen to remove themselves from the dizzying swirl of a Hollywood social life.

Far enough away from the glare of the camera lenses, but close enough to get back in couple of hours should some kind of acting emergency occur, Palm Springs began to attract big name weekenders in the 1950s.

Think Sinatra and the Rat Pack. Marilyn Monroe and Liberace. They all came, and commissioned the most sought after architects of the day to design and build the most outrageously suave houses.


Home sweet home: Frank Sinatra's pad in Palm Springs. The singer used to raise a flag when he was ready to serve guests cocktails.


Just two hours from LA, Palm Springs remains popular with Californian's seeking a sunshine hideaway


Before lunch that day, in the relative chill of the 90-degree morning, we'd taken a fascinating tour of these less-than-humble abodes with local architectural enthusiast Robert Imber.

Gliding through neighbourhoods of varying exclusivity, Imber pointed out the trademarks of Palm Springs architecture, and the ways in which they had been incorporated into the homes of the stars.

With everything so low-rise, the houses look less ostentatious than they actually are – deceptively low-key entrances hiding sprawling mansions, the views of which are blocked by clever use of angles or foliage.

Imber’s easy charismatic enthusiasm bought to life the times fifty years ago when the city was little more than a couple of roads. As we drive past Sinatra’s Rancho Mirage – a trifling pied a terre at just eight buildings and 8,000 square feet – he tells us how Ol’ Blue Eyes would, instead of phoning round, simply hoist a flag to let his celeb pals know that he was receiving guests for cocktails. Well, it beats a Facebook update.

I’m not usually one for architecture and couldn’t tell a buttress from a, well, slightly differently-designed buttress, but the buildings came alive and by the end, we were looking at the entire town with new eyes.


Imported charm: Palm Springs boasts several 'Swiss Miss' style homes that look more like chalets


That evening, we dined on the main drag, South Palm Canyon Drive, at oh-so-Italian joint Johnny Costa’s. Over meatballs with spaghetti sauce and some fine chianti, Sinatra intrudes again, this time over the airwaves.

One of Johnny’s sons sat down with us and explained that Frank came to the restaurant once in the 1970s, and was so bowled over by the food that he immediately hired Johnny as one of his personal chefs. A few Funtime Frankie stories, some taller than others, made for an entertaining nightcap.

Driving around the next day, it struck me how different Palm Springs was to anywhere I’d been before. Sure, there are the retro-chic hotels and throwback shops that would look more at home in an up and coming neighbourhood of New York than a holiday resort town. That in itself endeared the place to me.

But having never been to the desert, there was something about the light. The way it filtered down unhindered by clouds, intensifying the colours while at the same time giving everything a dreamlike haze. It was calming, though being anything above laconic in this heat was not really on the cards.

The city may fit snug and low across the landscape, but Palm Springs is surrounded by mountains, and we took the chance to get up high for a visual overview by taking the Palm Spring Aerial Tramway.


Heady heights: Palm Springs Aerial Tramway offer amazing views across the desert


This is actually the world's largest rotating tramcar, and as we ascended, any thoughts of this being a gimmick were immediately beaten down thanks to the breathtaking journey up the sheer cliffs of the Chino Canyon.

After ten minutes, we were 8,500 feet up at the Mountain Station, with what seemed like the entire state laid out below us. You could make out the ways that the valleys had been formed, see the undulations of the desert and, not unimportantly, walk around without fear of your eyebrows being scorched.

There are around 54 miles of hiking trails at the top, through light forest and mountain nature trails. We would have taken the time to record all of this, but it was cocktail hour back at the hotel, so we took in some revitalising fresh air and gaped all the way back to ground level.



Frank Sinatra, pictured with wife Barbara, introduced a whole new audience of A-listers to Palm Springs. Frankie liked the meatballs at Italian restaurant Johnny Costa's so much he employed the owner


An hour or so later, we had iced margaritas in our hands and shaded sunbeds in our sights at our hotel, The Riviera. Its pool area had a delightful country-club atmosphere which led to remedial lolling, some dozing and not a small amount of lying on the two-person li-los.

The most traumatic event of the afternoon was a small inflatable collision with another couple, who were equally as disinterested in steering their vessel as we were.

Without the need to exchange insurance documents (a small iced drink was the only casualty), we swapped smalltalk.

'Are you here long?' I asked.

'Not really,' came the reply. 'We’re from LA. We just come here to escape for a few days.'

I tried to work out if I should recognise them from Heat magazine or the Hollywood news channel, but they were just an ordinary couple, getting away from the craziness of LA.

I guess you don’t need to be an A-lister to appreciate a good hideaway.


Travel factsKuoni (01306 747008 or www.kuoni.co.uk) offers seven nights on a room-only basis at The Riviera, Palm Springs in a Riviera Room, including flights with United Airlines from Heathrow with car hire in resort.

Prices start from £1,020 per person based on two sharing. Paul Oswell was provided with car hire by Avis: www.avis.co.uk, which can cost from around £20 per day.

For more information on Palm Springs, visit www.VisitPalmSprings.com


source: dailymail