Following the Lambda Literary Foundation awards ceremony in Los Angeles last week, Connie and I went to Rancho Mirage in the California desert. The area is generally referred to as Palm Springs, but there are eight “towns” in the region. Rancho Mirage is one of them. Known since the 20s and 30s as a celebrity playground for the likes of Frank Sinatra, Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, and Gerald Ford (who was living there at the time of his death), RM is not the sort of place we normally frequent. We are neither rich nor famous.
We went there because we wanted hot sun, a place to play some tennis, and a pool to lie beside. A modest resort hotel seemed the perfect choice. We were going out of season–ie, when the temperatures would top 100 degrees–and so the price was reasonable.
Leaving aside the fact that we got our sun, tennis, and pool, I want to say something about the place itself. The region is between the San Jacinto mountains and a ridge that marks the San Andreas Fault. It is a desert. But our resort and the many large mansions and gated communities all sport closely cropped lawns, greenery, pools, waterspouts, and air conditioning. One has to drive everywhere. Even the ritzy shopping area in Palm Desert, El Paseo, is a strip mall, in effect. Along the roads and highways, large vehicles crawl, eating up all the gas there is without a care.
I was struck by the artificiality of it. We were in a natural environment, to be sure. Birds flew around. Ducks waddled by begging bread. The wind blew through real trees. But the manicured environment barely kept the sands of the desert at bay. Just beyond our compound the sand blew and hills of rock and scrub baked in relentless sun. We lay by the pool sipping cold drinks. This nature was one conjured like a movie set out of someone’s imagination.
As we were leaving to return to Portland, we crossed an intersection where the sand had drifted onto the road. An SUV was stuck in the sand. Clouds gathered over the San Andreas Fault–ominously dark, the first clouds we had seen in a week–and soon we were driving through a smog or fog and splattering rain. It seemed, again, like a bad movie.
In the end, it felt like we had been in a microcosmic version of the world we inhabit, where people go about their daily business sucking up gas and energy, converting inhospitable environments to playgrounds (see Las Vegas, for example), and spewing water about as if it will never be used up. (The water in RM comes from the Colorado. A cab driver told us that there is no water rationing, although the Colorado is running low this year. Did I mention that the lawns are watered daily or that even the tennis courts are washed down daily?)
There are fields of energy-generating windmills along the highway to RM, and that’s an encouraging sign. But the energy needed to run a place like RM and the other towns in this valley is, for the most part, wasted on the maintenance of an unnecessary consumer playground. We could imagine, as we left, that in time these towns would burn up in the heat after the gas runs out and the energy to maintain the cool rooms and lush golf courses is gone. It was a vision of the future I probably will not live to see, but my children will.
And here I am not just talking about Rancho Mirage. We are all living in a mirage and just don’t want to admit it.
This morning, after writing this post yesterday, I saw an article in the New York Times titled, “Water-Starved California Slows Development.” Part of it concerns the area of the state in which we were vacationing. A water emergency was declared on Wednesday, the day we left Rancho Mirage. Perhaps the mirage is beginning to take on some solid dimensions.