Waking up at 6am is now turning into a routine. I blame Karen, as although the bed is comfortable, it is softer than we’re used to. She was jiffling about in her sleep for most of the night, sending ripples over to my side.
Anyhow, just after 8am we were up and wandering over to The Pantry to boil the kettle for our porridge pots, eating one of the fresh croissants whilst we waited. After polishing off the porridge in our room, we headed out at 9.30am for the short journey to Indian Canyons.
The Native Americans who still own the land scalped me for another $26 to enter the canyons, and we drove first of all to Palm Canyon. When we got out of the car it was already hot, and we could well understand why people used to retreat into the cooler canyons.
The first sign we encountered said: “Danger – You are in rattlesnake territory.” I told Karen she was in charge of sucking any poison out.
The problem with canyons, I decided, is that to be a canyon you have to go down below the mountain. These canyons are very narrow with steep sides. The car park was on a flat area way above the canyon. You can see where this is going, as could we when we spotted the winding, not-very-good path stretching out before us.
We were determined to do as much as we could, both for our own sake and for Neil’s. I assumed my position in front of Karen and, with her hand on my shoulder, led her down the path like the mountain donkey I am.
There was no shade, and we were a tad warm again by the time we reached the start of the trail.
Yet again, the signposting for the trail was rubbish. Considering the risks involved in going the wrong way and something untoward happening, that seemed rather poor.
It was lovely when the path was in the shade of the palm trees, but considerably less so when it wasn’t. The map we were trying to follow was rubbish and not to any sort of scale. We walked a lot further than we needed to before eventually returning to the steep climb back up, which we managed slowly.
At the top we all sat in the shade as the thermometer hit 32°C.
From there we drove to Andreas Canyon, where we decided to have an impromptu picnic on a shaded bench by the stream. It would have been lovely if we’d actually brought a picnic with us, but we made do with whatever snacks we could rustle up between us.
The plan was to walk – or, as the Americans like to put it, hike – the one-mile “easy” loop. Karen managed about 30 metres before sensibly turning back. The “easy” trail rapidly turned into rock scrambling high above the canyon for about half the loop. There was no shade, and touching the red-hot rocks, with the heat radiating back off them, was like being in a furnace.
I’m sure her decision had nothing to do with me warning her, as we set off, to watch out for any sudden chasms opening up in the path because we were walking on the San Andreas Fault. I said one slip and she could find herself falling to the very centre of the Earth.
My thoughts, though, were, I’ve started so I’ll finish. Besides, I knew Neil was keen but, quite sensibly, wasn’t sure about doing it alone. Halfway round we climbed down to the stream and followed it back. This involved even more unnecessary rock scrambling. Disney would have done it better with a moving walkway.
Eventually we got back to our picnic bench where Karen was waiting. The trouble was we were on the wrong side of the stream, and it was a long walk to the bridge to get across. I surprised myself by managing to get across some rather dodgy stepping stones without slipping or getting my feet wet.
I felt a great sense of achievement but couldn’t wait to get back in the car and sit in some air conditioning. It was now approaching 37°C. Surprisingly, there was no one else in the car park. Apparently only mad rattlesnakes and people from Norwich attempt the trail in the blazing midday sun.
We all agreed to head back to our lovely hotel and chill by, and in, the pool for the afternoon. We were surprised by how many other guests had had exactly the same idea, but it still didn’t feel busy.
After changing into our swimmies we went outside. It was like sitting in an oven. From tomorrow it is going to get much worse, with temperatures forecast to reach the mid-40s. We are so glad we’ll be moving on to the coast where it should be much cooler. Quite why people come here in the peak summer months is beyond us.
We found some shade and read for a while before I needed to get in the pool to cool down. I was eventually joined by Neil and we spent some time putting the world to rights before I needed both a wee and a very cold drink back in our room.
Whilst sitting inside on my own, holiday potential crisis number two reared its head. I realised the apartment we were due to stay in tomorrow hadn’t sent through the check-in instructions as promised. They had said I’d receive them a few days beforehand, although I’d assumed it would be about 24 hours before check-in. I’d paid the full balance as requested a couple of weeks back.
I got onto the live chat with Booking.com, who said not to worry and that they would resolve it. They tried calling the owner but got no answer, then sent an email and said to expect a response within the next 48 hours. I asked where we were supposed to stay in the meantime, but they assured me they’d sort that as well.
Naturally, Karen took all this information in a very laid-back way. There was absolutely no recrimination or derogatory comments about my organisational skills, which, as always, was tremendously helpful to the situation.
Eventually I tracked down the owner’s number myself and simply sent a text. They replied immediately, apologised profusely, admitted it was entirely their fault and not mine, and promised I would receive all the details before we left Palm Springs.
In fact, they apologised more than a certain someone else.
Just before 6pm we set off for the short journey to downtown Palm Springs. Pleasingly, there was a free multi-storey car park, and we left the car in the shade, which was just as well as it was still registering 104°F outside.
As we walked to the main drag we passed the famous 26-foot Forever Marilyn statue. It is rather impressive, and we were glad to see it back in Palm Springs. I had my usual photograph with it and, like everyone else, had a sneaky look upwards to see under the billowing dress.
Unbeknown to us, and possibly just for us, Palm Springs had closed the main street for VillageFest. It seemed a very big deal to the locals. There were dozens of stalls selling local products and produce. There was a great vibe and atmosphere as we wandered along.
For dinner we chose Lulu’s California Bistro, somewhere we’d eaten before and somewhere that hadn’t made us want to “Shout”. It was cool inside, full of locals and showing the World Cup. Neil and I both had the dinner special of a half rack of ribs, whilst Karen opted for fish and chips. I thought it was perfectly good, although Neil only scored it 6/10.
Afterwards we realised the other end of VillageFest was devoted to street food, where I think Neil would have much preferred to have sampled the offerings, which all seemed reasonably priced, including one stall selling food from El Salvador.
Instead, Neil made do with an ice cream from a local shop that was obviously popular as people were queuing out of the door. That got a big thumbs-up.
We continued our walk, but by now Karen was tiring in the heat and needed another drink, so we headed back past Marilyn to the car park and drove the couple of miles back to the hotel.
I made us some tea in The Pantry, and we sat drinking it in our room before retiring for the night. We didn’t sit outside because someone had lit the fire pits for guests to gather around, despite the temperature having plummeted to only 95°F.
Thank goodness for air conditioning.
