It's the Light and Hotel Zoso Palm Springs

Once you’ve reached a certain age, you’ve probably had this experience. 

You look in your friendly bathroom mirror, and while you acknowledge the careful application of makeup or hair color if you’re a woman or maybe quickly applied Grecian Formula (to control your dandruff only, of course) if you’re not, you say to yourself, “I still look pretty much the same as I have for decades.” 

Later that same day, however, someone pulls out her iPhone or camera, and when you see your picture you are surprised to discover how you look to the world.  A recently circulated email about two friends sitting at a bar hits the nail on the head.  “See those two drunks sitting at the end of the bar.  In ten years, that could be us.”

His friend replies, “You idiot.  That’s a mirror.”

No wonder they call that bathroom sink area a vanity.  While it may have something to do with how comfortable we are with the “home court advantage,” I think the lighting has a lot to do with it.

Properly lit, our faces are shadowed under the cheeks, whereas the unforgiving camera flattens the image.  An unfriendly mirror in Fantastic Sam’s does the same.  Bags under what formerly appeared to be bright eyes seem to pick up plenty of shadow in either of these situations.  What’s the solution?

Find better light.

Ever since Bob Hope essentially invented Palm Springs by purchasing a bunch of real estate and making it a chic weekend escape from Hollywood for golf and nightclubbing, Southern Californians and snowbirds from all over have been going to Palm Springs for that amazing light.

It’s no surprise to find lots of art galleries in the area, because artists love to paint with that light.

The sky is bright blue, and the desert sun beams down glorious light seemingly unrefracted by whatever grabs it in ordinary city streets and turns us into relics in public.  Sure, you can get similarly great light in the South Pacific, Mediterranean or Caribbean, but they aren’t a two hour drive from Los Angeles.

And the fact that the sun tan that comes with the exposure gives us a healthy-looking glow doesn’t hurt either.

I know what you’re thinking.  "Stay out of the sun, because it’s bad for you."  My wife certainly tells me that, even as we are resting between snorkel dives on the beach in Moorea, sipping ouzo at a Cliffside bodega in Santorini or lounging by the pool bathed in that glorious Palm Springs sun.

But I ask you this: when you see someone your age who avoids the sun, do they really seem younger to you? 

In contrast, Palm Springs attracts lots of retirees who seem to think they are twenty or thirty years younger than they are.  I see them out walking in their jogging suits at sunrise when I head out to find a Starbucks or McDonalds, and at lunch I see women dressed to the casual nines including carefully selected jewelry and shoes along with men wearing what George Castanza’s father called “cabana wear,”sipping margaritas or coffee and munching chips or bagels at sidewalk cafés.  Apparently, none of them got the health guidelines and live to ripe old ages in ignorance.

When I glanced at the obituaries over coffee, expecting to see a long list of octogenarians, I found mostly people with Hispanic names born in the 1950s.  I’m not sure exactly what that means, other than perhaps they’re the product of more recent immigrations, working themselves to death doing the jobs Americans won’t do.  Then again, maybe it just means the families place the obits in the home town papers where the old folks lived before retiring, but these sunshine aficionados seem to be at least delaying the reaper.

In any case, Julie and I have been going to Palm Springs for years, sometimes with the kids and sometimes as an extended date night.  We stayed at Doral Desert Princess in Cathedral City so often that we called it our desert house.  For our 26^th Anniversary, we decided to go to Palm Springs once more, partly because our youngest daughter Amy, who is on winter break from UConn, said it would be fun to go again.

Doral Desert Princess seems to have been discovered finally, after years of serving up amazing views of the golf course and mountains from a lovely pool at bargain rates, so we looked for an adequate replacement.  Using the B.E.A.C.H. (booking engine for air, cars and hotels) at CruisePlanners1.com, we found Hotel Zoso, a four star property in an excellent central location with an astonishing low price. 

Julie read the reviews and found them to her liking, and I looked at the pictures and figured that even if they were taken in perfect lighting immediately after a remodel, the place still must be livable, and we booked it.

Stylishly decorated in a modern motif harmoniously combining glass, shiny metal, natural materials and vibrant red, Hotel Zoso exudes panache in the public spaces and comfortably appointed rooms.  Does that sound like me?

Perhaps another element of Palm Springs influenced my description.  Hotel Zoso apparently attracts a significant number of gay and lesbian guests, or at least there were quite a few same-sex couples in town for the film festival who were enjoying the pool area.  If you’re homophobic, then Palms Springs may not be a good choice.  Amy and I walked past a clothing store called Gay Mart on our way to the Circle K to buy Diet Pepsi, which turned out to have an expired date code (check date codes on sodas, as the taste definitely fades in the can).

Despite the odd tasting Diet Pepsi, which we drank in a poolside cabana, flaunting a sign that prohibited outside beverages from entering the pool area, we enjoyed reading as we lounged under that glorious desert sky.

Acknowledging my turtle-like reading progress, I am still making my way through Mark Twain’s first book, “Innocents Abroad” on Julie’s Kindle Fire.  I’ve found, by the way, that Fire may not be as good as the traditional Kindle for reading in the sun.  I say “may not,” because I am only going with the reputation of the original Kindle.  The Kindle Fire, in order to have the full color images apparently, has a more reflective screen which makes colors pop from the internet but also obscures the black and white book pages.  I adjusted the size of the font and carried on, and as I read Twain’s descriptions of Napoleon III, I was happy to be able to toggle over to the internet to read more about this fascinating historical figure, who for me had been a footnote in history as the nephew of “the great” Napoleon Bonaparte but I have recently learned was obviously much more.  Being so easily sidetracked contributes to making book reading a longer term proposition for me than Julie, but she also reads faster and more regularly.

You may be asking yourself if Wes has become an untracked train at this point, since this article on Palm Springs (or is it about self-image or lighting?) seems to be twisting this way and that, like the Kuranda Railway, but in fact this is the way I used to write before I became more focused in my approach.  In reading Mr. Twain’s first book, I find that he writes in this manner, and I rather enjoy reading it, so I thought, “Why not regress to my natural inclinations, at least for this one post?”

Whether it is embarrassing or simply factual, this is how my brain often works, bringing tangentially related subjects together to find some synchronistic, holistic truth.  As a travel consultant, this type of thinking allows me to help my clients find what they really want, moving beyond "interchangeable commodity" thinking where price and simplistic notions of category and slogans that otherwise result in less than optimal choices for specific individuals.

Anyway (how’s that for an awkward transition back to the topic of Palm Springs?), strolling out to the pool, you can see the craggy peaks that, along with the natural desert topography, resembles a Martian landscape in some low budget scify movie (and perhaps was used as such before the little metropolis of Palm Spings grew up).  Neither pool nor hot tub are unusually large, but they don’t need to be based on what I saw.  Like others, we took a couple of turns in the hot tub, but the pool was more for a quick cool down rather than a swim.  In fact, I never saw anyone swim a single lap in the pool. Most were content to while away their time chatting or reading in the padded lounge chairs, which were also more than adequately numbered.


We took advantage of the complimentary cabanas, which allowed me to both see the Kindle Fire screen that almost disappeared in the bright sun and allay Julie’s fear of me getting too much sun exposure.  Plus, they were cool, literally and figuratively.  I would surmise that one day there probably will be a charge, but for now cabanas are presumably covered by the $15 per day (actually, that is an understated amount, because HZ assesses a tax on it in the final bill) resort fee.

The resort fee would also cover the spa, which will probably conform with the rest of the property but was closed while under construction.  More significantly, the resort fee does cover free internet, which is how I could access the web on my Kindle by the pool.  In the room, we at first thought the wireless would not work, but Amy eventually figured out that she needed to simply point her Mac and iPhone at the “Conference” network rather than the one Hotel Zoso provided in other parts of the property.

While this resort fee is mentioned in the small print while booking, whether on my website or at the hotel itself (which actually cost more than my site), you would be wrong to assume this includes parking.  Valet parking is another $15 for overnight, or $6 for day use.  We found we could park on the public street behind our hotel for free and actually be closer to our room.  During the day, however, we parked in the free parking garage about a block away so that the black Jeep stayed cool.

If it feels like you will get nickel and dimed at this place based on those two fees, relax.  Beyond those, you won’t, and keep in mind that the hotel is quite affordable, at least currently.  Plus, there are a couple of perks designed to get you to spend more money there.  The indoor/outdoor restaurant gives overnight guests 50% off breakfast, whether that is the $19.95 buffet or $10.95 eggs bennedict or some other choice.  We chose our usual non-cruise vacation gourmet fare, McDonald’s, for breakfast instead, but this deal in a lovely setting would beat most of the restaurants in town. 

There’s also a chic bar which features a daily happy hour from 5 to 8 PM (did I really need to point out that it wasn’t AM?), with $3.50 well drinks and $3.25 draft Stellas.  There were other special prices as well, but those were the deals.  For what it is worth, I asked if ouzo and ice water would be considered a well drink, and it would not.  We had happy hour drinks in the lobby both nights.  On the second night, about five minutes before nine, a formally dressed lady told us we would need to leave, as there was a scheduled function for the Palm Springs Film Festival.  We were about to exit anyway, but I have to say it looked like they could have used us as seat fillers until the stars arrived.  From what I heard, George Clooney and company had split by the time we arrived on Sunday morning to learn the Film Festival was in full swing, and I presume the stars were big donors like the one or two early arrivals.

We didn’t see any of the movies in PS, by the way, but Julie and I did go to see Mission Impossible 4, Ghost Protocol, on Saturday back home, and I doubt any of the these art house movies would have been as impressive to us.  Two thumbs way up!  I should offer the caveat that unlike the old TV show, this movie used considerable exposition and other spoon feeding to make it easy to follow the plot.  Personally, I liked that spoon fed story to go along with my popcorn and soda in this case.  Jump on a couch, Tom Cruise, you deserve the exuberant celebration.

The location of Hotel Zoso is terrific.  One downside of Doral Desert Princess or even the improbably designed J. W. Marriott Desert Springs is their isolation from downtown Palm Springs. 

We enjoy wandering up and down the streets, checking out cowboy clothing at Pony Express or surprisingly good selection of women's clothes at some S16 and under store.  Okay, I don’t really like the shopping that much, but I like walking around with a sense of purpose before grabbing a frozen yogurt. 

And of course, downtown Palm Springs has lots of great restaurants.  Our favorite, Las Casuelas Terraza, is a short walk from Hotel Zoso.  We often eat there immediately upon arriving in Palm Springs, and after checking into our hotel, we did so on this occasion.  Julie’s half order of beef quesadilla ($7.50) and Amy’s sweet corn tamale special ($8.95) satisfied them, but I won the award for best value (and flavor as far as I’m concerned) with the two item combo, which for me was a chicken taco and chili relleno served with beans and rice for $8.95.  We like sitting in the outdoor patio by the palapa bar, but on Sunday an excellent band attracted a crowd that filled that section, so we sat on the other side at a table by the sidewalk, which was just as good.  Because they were busy, service was on the slow side, but the assistant waiter kept bringing chips and salsa to replace our empty bowls.  When we were first dating, Julie and I used to go to El Paso Cantina on the Long Beach Marina to play backgammon and have a glass of sangria before dinner, and we inevitably ate so many free chips that we begged off on dinner.  Things haven’t changed too much, except that at Las Casuelas Terraza we ordered our meals as soon as we sat, and we dutifully finished them, too.  Only Amy had any left over.

On Monday, we decided to return to Las Casuelas, and again I won the award for best value when I repeated my order, while Julie went for a beef tostada ($10.95), which for all intents and purposes is a giant salad served in a big fried tortilla, and Amy a chicken salad ($10.95), with a major difference being a large leaf of purple lettuce as a bowl instead of a tortilla.  However, Amy did snag some of Julie’s tortilla bowl.  Apparently, word of these bottomless chip-eating gringos from the day before had spread through the kitchen, so they made sure to get our food out pronto on this day.

You’ll notice I skipped dinner on Sunday.  I will sheepishly admit that we drove to Panda Express and split a three piece combo three ways, which we found quite amusing.  I’m happy as long as I get to have Kung Pao Chicken as the third item in one of those little to-go boxes and shovel it in my face with chopsticks.

Monday night was our anniversary, so we actually went out for a nice dinner at Zin American Bistro, where we sat at a candlelit outdoor table.  Julie’s fillet mignon ($31) was thick and juicy, definitely not some top sirloin masquerading as the real thing.  Amy’s chicken schnitzel ($23) was fried to perfection, and though she at first wanted to substitute for the pickled vegetable side dish, she loved the reality it proved to be.  I once again won the prize for best value and flavor with the fish special of the evening, a macadamia-crusted Mahi Mahi served with mashed potatoes and spinach at $25.  This restaurants gets three thumbs up, or whatever the designation for good food and atmosphere happens to be.  As we patted ourselves on the back for splurging for such a nice anniversary dinner, Amy schooled us on an alternative reality where a college friend of her boyfriend spent $120 for his own share of a birthday dinner.  How do kids have so much money to spend?

When Amy went to Paris, she said she planned to get a haircut there.  I’m not sure if I dissuaded her or she just ran out of time, but in Palm Springs, she insisted to accomplish the task.  We gave her $25 that we would have paid for The Haircutters in Manhattan Beach (assuming she wouldn’t follow my Fantastic Sam’s lead), and she chose Raphael’s, which prides itself on the perfect haircut, according to their ads.  On our way there, we passed another salon that would have been $18 less, but Amy had made up her mind.

And the $46 plus tip she paid made her quite happy.  It included a massage as well as a 20 minute shampoo leading to a haircut that took over an hour to complete.  When she came back to our hotel, her long locks were gone.  While a haircut may not seem like that significant an occasion to those of us who go in every few weeks to maintain equilibrium, Amy’s hair previously stretched to the middle of her back, and when properly brushed it elicited compliments wherever she went.  Eliminating such a crowd-pleasing feature would be tantamount to cutting off a nose for most people, but Amy is fashion fearless, and it turned out great.   With the eight inches cut from the bottom, the hair that remained sprang back into angelic curls, and I think she looks even prettier than before.  I told her to send a photo from her iPhone to her Aunt Darlene, who as a former hairdresser would appreciate the beautiful transformation, but Amy said the last time she saw my sister that Darlene had specifically complimented her on growing out her hair.  Amy didn’t want to say, “See, I did the opposite,” although I know Darlene understands. 

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and after reading this long, long post, you now fully understand that statement, so here is a photo of Amy après haircut.

As these things seem to work, while Amy indulged in her Palm Springs salon session, I came to a section in "Innocents Abroad" where Mark Twain wrote of his less satisfactory experience getting a shave in Paris, where no fit barber could be found and the "wigmaker" nearly skinned him alive.

Symmetry between introduction and conclusion is a key to a well-crafted story, although at this point you probably have come to the conclusion that brevity is vastly underrated.  Can you imagine if I took this blogging approach to an entire cruise?  I dare say you would be able to psychoanalyze me better than Sigmund Freud or Carl Jung if you slogged through it all.

Anyway, somehow I have returned to contemplating image, in this case my youngest daughter cutting her hair.  Despite changing what many thought needed no change, Amy emerged more beautiful than before.  Certainly she has that unfair advantage of youth, when she can look at herself in pictures and see the same face that was in the friendly vanity mirror, but it is more than that.  It is that she enjoyed a nice vacation, an escape to a land of beautiful light and sumptuous dinning, where strangers discuss interesting concepts we haven’t recently pondered and familiar habits are forgotten, at least to some extent. 

While driving home yesterday, I glanced at the driver of a new BMW convertible next to me.  She was a middle-aged blonde, and with the top down in her new car I would have thought she’d look relaxed and happy.  Instead, I saw stress in her taut facial muscles as she glanced worriedly at her Blackberry.  As to what she thought she saw there I don’t know, but what I saw was someone who thought happiness would come with shinier possessions, when in fact happiness and perhaps youth come from embracing the present moment.

In looking back at photos of our Australia and South Pacific trip from a year and a half ago, I couldn’t help noticing how Julie and I changed over the course of the trip, actually getting younger if I didn’t know better.  One of the best ways to remember that happy person is to escape on a vacation, and with that rediscovery of your inner self, you may find the mirror image begins appearing with your public persona.