Hello. I’ve been back from my trip for a few days, but if I don’t BLOG IT right now, I’m going to forget about it forever and that’s precisely the kind of thing I’m trying to avoid these days. So I’m drinking yerba maté now and here we go.

Andrew and I spent 9 days in the Coachella Valley, in California. Both of our respective parental units wound up spending a lot of days there all at the same time, so naturally it provided a good opportunity for a cheap, low-key vacay.

Palm springs is a weird place! I almost feel cautious writing about it because I feel like I write for a mainly American audience and everyone reading is like “no duh”. But for a Canadian, America is always a weird and wonderful and slightly scary adventure. P-Sprangz is a sunny desert ghost town full of overly-tanned old white people waiting to die. In a sense, Andrew and I weren’t received well. Andrew’s theory was that we reminded them of their mortality… But, like, I smile at old people all the time here, and I am often RELIEVED to be in the company of old people because where I come from, they’re usually sweet and friendly and smart-as-whips. Palm Springs old people are bitter and mean and scowly. At times it was like a non-stop sense-of-entitlement parade, complete with pushy-elbows, queue-hopping and other rude antics. But, because of that factor, it meant (for me anyway) not really talking to anyone other than each-other and our families, and not having to engage in the usual Vancouver looks/fashion contest OR uncomfortable, wince-inducing interactions with half-friends and other humans in my general demographic/age bracket. PHEW. 

Like, at Andy’s parents’ complex, we were always the only one in the pool. Do you think I care about having matronly upper-arms, dog-wet hair or mascara drips? Not on your life. At least not when the only person other than your boyfriend and brother who might see you probably has grey pubez and a metal hip.

Having adopted the purposeless, meandering lifestyle of our parents, we didn’t get out much. For the most part we were pleased as punch to bake in the desert sun, play Sudoku (Andrew), read young adult ficiton (me), go to bed early (Andrew) and smoke American cigarette after American cigarette (me — so much for my “tobacco vapouriser”). My favourite of our rare and elusive outings was a visit to the Living Desert zoo! I got a good 25 minutes in the Goat-Petting enclosure and I’ve been riding out my Elvira-from-Tiny-Toons, animal-touching high ever since. A lot of the animals were rescues from extravagant douche-bs who decided to keep exotic pets and probably surrendered them when the recession hit and they couldn’t afford to feed them anymore. There were some exotic cats with 3 legs (and one who was declawed). Tiny tears. 

Palm Springs makes you yawn — often. NOT THAT I’M COMPLAINING!

The lack of a nearby ocean in such a warm climate was a disappointment only really assuaged by the wonderful 20th century eye-treats that awaited you as you drew nearer to Palm Springs proper (we were staying in “La Quinta”, where the only buildings were of the big-box sprawl, “faux”dobe variety). I live in what feels like the newest city in North America, one that routinely scraps anything that would possibly give me a warm feeling of nostalgia for the kind of antiquated things that were still around when I was a kid, so this was pretty special to me. It’s pretty meaningful to see heritage plaques slapped on buildings built after the 1920s. I really wish Vancouver had done that.

The second photo down is of a fallow house that I daydreamed of owning, and the last is of my favourite of the many old motels you see when you’re entering “downtown” (hah) Palm Springs. Any reviews I found of it on the internet were terrible.

Adios Palm Springs, we’ll be back to carry on our love/indifference relationship soon!

Also: Most of these photos were edited with K. Miller’s photoshop actions, and please stay tuned for a post about our dream of a stay at The Ace Hotel and Swim Club, Palm Springs.