My wife Rita and I recently vacationed in the fabled city of Palm Springs, Calif. Sonny Bono was its mayor once upon a time-I suppose that fact contributed to the making of the city's reputation.
Plus, many so-called famous movie stars lived there as advertised in the 276 sidewalk-stars of fame. All I can say is: "Where's the beef?" Ok, ok, let me elaborate.
Thank goodness Alaska Airlines flies nonstop to the Palm Springs airport, because we hate making plane changes at airports. Their terminal would fit easily into a corner of our Seatac's megaplex. It reminded me of Maui's old terminal-open air type with sparrows flying about. Quaint.
A call to the Hotel Zoso brought us a van and pleasant driver. We selected this odd-sounding hotel based upon research and a few calls to the local chamber for references. We desired a facility close to shopping areas. They reassured us that all was within walking distances.
But we soon learned that their concept of "close walking distance" was based upon astronomic concepts rather than the microscopic measurements our arthritic limbs require. We suspected something was amiss at this hotel when we ate lunch one day in their touted restaurant simply named "EAT." The place looked like it could seat 100 diners, yet Rita and I sat alone for the entire culinary experience. My salmon sandwich needed to be returned for additional cooking.
The end result was entirely disappointing and we never returned to the hotel's diner. We had more fun eating at a Ruby's old-fashioned hamburger joint up the street .We had a fabulous buffet at the Spa-Casino. After the buffet Rita and I decided to test our formerly acquired gaming skills. We once lived a spell in the high-stakes state of Nevada and learned the odds of "the come bet" from experts. But we were surprised at the pit bosses conversation when I queried: "Could you point us in the direction of the craps tables?"
I was not stunned, but neither was I prepared for his blunt answer: "California laws do not allow them, nor KENO."
So we tried to locate a dime one-armed bandit slot machine; all they had were fancy push-button machines.
Rita and I conceded defeat. Our old memories and experiences had been replaced by flavorless gadgets that input one's paper money and pays out in paper not unlike a grocery store receipt. We missed hearing the sound of real coins clanking when a slot machine lined up three cherries.
However, we tried a couple of the noiseless, armless, push-button adult toys; damn if we didn't hit for a few bucks! We walked away with a printed receipt redeemable at an automated customer service machine. I'd go back for the food again, but as for the gaming part-I'll take a pass. I must shower accolades on Palm Springs' Follies stage production. It's analogous to the Las Vegas Follies; however, membership in the Palm Springs troupe is unique-senior citizens need only apply.
Everyone is age 55 or older. The eldest was 82 years old and could sing and dance like you'd expect to see in Nevada's casinos, albeit a tad slower and with more deliberate high kicks. I had heard that golfing was a favorite sport in the Coachella Valley, so when one of our drivers pointed out that 126 golf courses exist in the region we gulped hard. I am only reporting what he told me-I know, it sounded kinda high for me too.
Can you imagine paying $6,000 per month for green fees? Apparently one club charges that amount, along with a $50,000 membership. "Where do I sign up?" I asked rhetorically.
I became curious about home prices in the valley. Would you believe that homes hit a record median sales price in February of $418,500? This was published in The Desert Sun newspaper.
Furthermore, the news article noted that the median price per square foot was $295 for homes sold in Palm Springs. Compare that figure with those published in this newspaper's April 12, 2006, edition on real estate.
I'd say Magnolia homes are on par with those in Palm Springs, dollar-wise that is.Would I ever desire to live there? No way! Their own newspaper apologetically noted that only 10 percent of the local residents can afford the costs of current homes for sale. And those who live there take off for half of the year due to high temperatures during the summer. I think Palm Springs is an overrated tourist trap. With few wealthy people as permanent residents and local laborers earning minimum wages, the area is headed for more troubles than we will encounter in Seattle.
Rita and I love our town. We're staying put.[[In-content Ad]]
