In the previous three years, we were fortunate to have found ourselves abroad in February. In 2019, we were enjoying tea in Ireland. The year before that, we were watching the clouds part to reveal Manchu Picchu. And the year before that we were driving around Dorset, England. We had equally grand plans for 2020. We had aims to fly to Copenhagen, then off to Svalbard and Tromso in Norway to chase the Aurora Borealis. Like all good nonrev travelers, we had a backup plan in case the weather did not look great. We thought we might go to Rapa Nui and Tahiti. And if that didn’t look good, there were other variations in Europe that involved going to Poland instead of Norway. We had options. It didn’t matter.
I blame a child for infecting Nicole with some kind of virus. She took ill the night before we were supposed to go away. With a sore throat, congestion, a headache, and fatigue, it didn’t seem wise to put her on an 11 hour flight to Europe. A normal person would probably have still done it because airlines are not known for being accommodating with flight changes for sickness. A normal person would also probably feel compelled to follow through with their original plan because most likely they would have reserved hotels. All we had was a listing on SAS and a rental car in Tromso. It took me about two minutes to make the cancelations and got full refunds, so we had that working for us. We waited a few days and Nicole wasn’t improving much. We initially thought that Poland could still work by itself, but even that no longer seemed too feasible. We limited our scope to flights less than three hours. Eventually we narrowed that down to the Baja peninsula in Mexico or Victoria in Canada. With an unusually high amount of sun for this rainy and grey part of the world, we thought it the perfect time to trek up to British Columbia.
That brings us to yesterday, at the airport, ready to board, and no seats available. This was frustrating because I often operate this flight personally and there are usually at least two seats open somewhere on the plane. Not that day. Air Canada and all other flights to Vancouver looked like a lost cause, so we went home. We listed again the following day as it was showing three seats. When we woke up, it was oversold by one and the seat map was full — generally a bad sign. Rather than go to the airport and deal with defeat all over again, we didn’t even try. As soon as I canceled, three seats opened up on the seat map, and that’s how the plane left — empty seats. Figures. It was not a lucky week for Bricole. Our plans changed about five times, I had three separate rental car bookings, listings on about 8 different flights, and travel books for no less than 12 different travel destinations downloaded to my iPad. In the end we would see none of them. We ended up hopping in the car and driving two hours to Palm Springs. We had to go somewhere, even if that place wasn’t outside our own state.
Nicole booked us a hotel when we were about 45 minutes outside of Palm Springs. Like many buildings in Palm Springs, it is both midcentury modern mixed with Spanish revival. Staying there is like going back in time and they have made a conscious effort to make it feel like one has gone back to the 1950s. A rotary phone lies next to the couch. A retro speaker sits in the kitchen (with Bluetooth capability of course). All of the furniture, lamps, and decor have been matched to the style of the era. We had lunch at Sherman’s Deli, a staple of my overnights in Palm Springs as a pilot. I had a brisket sandwich. We were the youngest people in there by about 30 years minimum. There are two groups of people who one might encounter in Palm Springs — Q-tips and gays, but not often anyone who spans both of those groups. At Sherman’s we were surrounded by Q-tips. After our hearty lunch, we decided to relax at the pool of our hotel. After all, this was something that we would not be doing in Victoria. It was about 80º, which was only about a 10º difference from where we live in LA, but I’m sure people in other parts of the country would be very annoyed with us for “settling” on Palm Springs in the end.
After the sun set behind the mountains, we reconvened in our room, which truly does seem more like someone’s house than a hotel room. Usually when booking on HotelTonight, we get a room next to the lobby and elevator, or some windowless closet next to the ice machine. Not so this time, and after all of our nonrev woes, it seemed like we deserved it. Since there are numerous outdoor areas, we decided to get takeout and bring it back to our place to eat. We picked up some pizzas downtown and ate them outside of our room. One of the staff came in to light our fireplace, I put on a Spotify playlist for some 1950s easy listening, and we relaxed on the bright orange sofa (or davenport as my Grandma used to say). Palm Springs may be close to Los Angeles, but I think we just needed to get out.
passports & pepto bismol 