Palm Springs

Palm Springs is a handy little stopover point between San Diego and Las Vegas, which would be an 11 hour trip on the bus if you did it all in one go.  As it was, it took 6 hours of cramped, unpleasant travelling through the desert aboard our Greyhound.  Still, at least it was relatively cheap and we got to see the desert up close.  It is pretty awesome.  

As Caro said, it just doesn't look real with all those extreme pinks and bright oranges - The Painted Desert is a cliche, but it's true, littered with tumbleweed and Joshua trees like some Hollywood matte background that the union chaps forgot to take away.  Occasionally we'd pass a town that consisted of a row of shops on either side of the highway and a motel.  It was just like "The Last Picture Show".  Then we’d spot an old building in that lovely hacienda style like they had on "The High Chaparal".  (I still have fond memories of that fiery minx Victoria - but I digress.)

Then, just when the blood supply was totally drained from my arse, and I was trying to shift position without sucking me boxers up me bum-crack, there was the surreal vision of a whole forest of electricity windmills - hundreds of 'em - wherever I looked.  Some people think they're eyesores, but not me.  I think they're amazing to look at, all spinning in unison like a bunch of synchronised swimmers.  Except on dry land.  And big.  You know what I mean.

(A note on bus travel:  Am I the only person who feels vaguely gross when a huge fat person brushes past them with a butt cheek???  If you too feel this way then a tip for you - avoid bus travel.)

There were a number of outrageously fat people on the bus.  In fact, California seems to be split between the morbidly obese or the sickeningly healthy.  I don’t know where all the in-between people have gone.  It seems to be either all toned abs and muscular thighs or flabby bellies and planet-sized arses.  I have a theory:

MY VERY SCIENTIFIC THEORY ON SKINNY/FATTY CALIFORNIANS
I think that the reason many Californians are thin is because it is a very outdoors exercise intensive place and they are very active people what with all that water-skiing, roller-blading, bullet-dodging and so forth.  However if, for some reason, a Californian should suddenly have to cease activity - say they have to spend a week with their leg up due to illness, THEN they suddenly expand - WHOOMPH - like a bag of Microwave Popcorn until they resemble a space-hopper with shoes named "Don" or "Arlene".

Don't get me wrong.  Many Americans are very attractive, cool and sophisticated people.  But none of those people were on our bus.  Instead we had a whole bunch of women who seemed to have purchased their make-up from the Bette Davis Cosmetics Counter and an AWFUL lot of men with Village People moustaches, out-of-control mullets and young lads with those ridiculous little tufts of hair on their chins that look like their face is being shagged by a hamster.

I shut out such unpleasantness by listening to what I felt was an appropriate selection of traveling across the USA music.  This included the "Oh Brother Where Art Thou?" soundtrack, Ray Charles singing "Hit the Road Jack", and "Watermelon Man" by Mongo Santamaria.  Maybe that last one isn't particularly appropriate, but isn't that the best name EVER???  If ever I have a child I shall definitely be naming him "Mongo".
Then there was the billboard, "Welcome to Palm Springs" on the roadside.  Caro and I breathed a deep sigh of Bus-Body-Odour relief as we pulled past the extremely upmarket main street.  This was once the home of Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Bob Hope and Elvis, amongst others and it is still a very wealthy-person popular spot.  

We didn't buy ANYTHING.  I hardly dared step into the shops.  The place has the exclusivity of Aspen.  Only HOT.  And when I say hot - well - on stepping out of the coach and onto the street, I felt like someone wrapped a hot towel around my head and shoved a chili up my arse.  Fortunately, we got a taxi straight away which took us to the Palm Springs Mountain Hotel, a very nice place (even if there was a sign on the wall saying it was built in an area known to create birth defects and other Reproductive Problems).  

Our room gave us a nice view of the mountains and the ever-busy pool.  Once inside, we both plopped onto our beds like the Human Slugs we are and ordered a Greek delivery.

To be honest, there didn’t appear to be much more to Palm Springs than this.  It's in a stunning location but seems to consist mainly of gift shops and restaurants.  The most striking feature of both being that they all have OUTDOOR air conditioning, which is a fine mist they spray into the air.  It all seems very decadent, but what the hell, presumably this is all powered by the windmills.  

I wasn't looking forward to another day on a bus - this time the trip would take 5 hours - but I had to smile as we drove away and Caro and I were greeted by a farewell sign saying, "Missing You Already!!" and another which said "That's Not The Wind You Feel - Palm Springs Is Blowing You A Kiss."

"I'll remember that next time I fart," countered Caro.