On our way to Palm Springs, we stopped to soak in a natural hot spring. In my mind, such a pool would have been found in a natural desert oasis, surrounded by trees and flowers and curious wildlife. In reality, it was in the backyard of a generic suburban house. But it somehow seemed like a fitting scenario for the California desert in 2025.
We spent approximately two hours in 105-degree water that was directly pumped in from somewhere deep in the earth. ‘Do you feel healthier?’ Stephen asked me as we approached the end of our session. ‘I think I do,’ I said, wondering if I had taken the first step to becoming an anti-vaxxer.
The next morning, our first in Palm Springs, we drove to Sunnyland, which is the former estate of some very wealthy people who, despite being very friendly with the worst Republicans of their era, managed to give a lot of money to good, progressive causes. ‘I still believe that good government is better than charity,’ I said to myself as we toured through guest rooms where the Nixons and Reagans and Bushes (and Queen Elizabeth) had all slept.
We weren’t allowed to take pictures of the interior, but I managed to get a shot of one of many beautiful backgammon boards that could be found on the premises.
The minimalist, mid-century architecture and design were elegant and sophisticate. The interior was adorned with many interesting objets from all over the world. As I read about the interior designer, I could not help but put air quotes around the phrase ‘associate,’ because we all know what that means. I resisted the urge to ask our nineteen year-old tour guide for the foundation’s thoughts on gay erasure.
We stopped to admire Nancy Reagan’s tombstone.
After the house tour, we walked through the gardens, which were similarly modern and minimalist in design.
The next morning, we went on the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway, which is a cable car that hauls visitors approximately 8,500 feet up into the mountains.
The base station was very mod.
While killing time before our departure, I encountered several viewing machines.
‘Wtf is ‘a quarter’!?’ — a nearby teenager.
We were finally invited to cram onto the tram, where I was whipped in the face by a ponytail. I was a good reminder of where I was from and where I would soon return: the New York City subway.
The ride up the mountain was even more frightening than I had anticipated. I did a lot of praying to a god I don’t believe in, especially when we passed each of the five towers and the tram swung back and forth. ‘What am I doing here?’ I asked myself, knowing that I could have been sitting next to a pool observing a bunch of gay men in various states of undress pretend not to watch each other.
But I felt better after we landed. The views from the top of the mountain were breathtaking.
And terrifying.
I did my best to get close to the railing, but I was overcome with sickening visions of dropping my phone down the mountain.
I had similar fears in the tram as we made our descent. I don’t think I’ve mentioned that the platform also rotated, which meant that there were many opportunities on the way up and down to drop my phone through one of the open windows. Even though I was several feet away from the window, I could see the phone slipping from my hands and, as I tried to grasp it, tumbling through the air and out the window. More than a fear; it was inevitable. It did not occur to me to put my phone in my pocket.
‘We should do this in Switzerland,’ said Stephen as I blanched.
‘That sounds fun,’ I said, seconds away from passing out.
Going down was smoother than going up.
Somehow, I managed not to drop my phone.
And I was able to download the mandatory photo we were required to pose for prior to boarding the tram.
Palm Springs, I learned, in addition to having an almost embarrassingly large (but if I’m being honest comforting) population of older white gay men, has many beautiful hiking trails in the surrounding mountains and desert.
On Friday morning, I hiked to a waterfall at the end of a canyon that was unfortunately mostly dry.
But it was still very serene and beautiful.
I arrived at eight o’clock in the morning to avoid the hordes.
The morning light was muted, but I loved wandering through the rocks and plants that bordered the trail.
On Saturday afternoon, we went to a cactus garden.
I was mesmerized by the careful structure of the plants.
We spent time in what was supposedly one of the world’s first ‘cactorium.’
It was hard not to love Palm Springs. The air was warm and dry; the landscape was breathtaking, and we were surrounded by elderly gays.
Every restaurant we went to had delicious non-meat options. I also appreciated the lack of ice in the water for the table, as I have long maintained that ice water is overrated. ‘Ice is important but does not belong in drinks.’ — me, on my soapbox.
Thanks to rehabbing in the pool and in the hot tub — and thanks to the passage of time, aka ‘the great healer’ — my ankle improved enough so that I was able to go on several runs. The cool air, morning light, and flat, desert terrain made me feel like I had died (in a pleasant way).
I ran through the flood plains and tried to picture the floods.
The desert grass glowed in the sun.
Could I live in the desert?
A river of green grass whispered in my ear.
