the desert and its conflation of nature and Albert Frey-inspired
boutique hotels wouldn't be restorative? Yes, I opted to visit the Palm Springs area when faced with the cool weather that awaited me in the north. But no, I did not find the area devoid of value. Like LA, the desert seems rife with mystery. For instance, who broke into my car as I relaxed in a stone jacuzzi the first night of my stay? Was it the son of a country club member or the homeless young woman I met standing in front of a "date shake" purveyor on Palm Canyon Drive? (I choose the former but don't wan't to discriminate.) Why is every desert hotel employee I meet a terrifyingly articulate drifter who wants to sell me real estate in a different part of Canada and/or Mexico? And what, despite the fact that Sinatra enjoyed the culinary progression, is the allure of Oysters Rockefeller before a hearty entree of Pork Tenderloin in a sweet brandy cream sauce? All interesting questions, but let's look at some instances of desert modernism instead.
