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Palm Springs' little resorts
They're little-known, enchanting, and cater to romantics
By Jerry Hulse, Globe Correspondent
PALM SPRINGS -- It is one of those glorious desert days when white clouds
drift across a sky so blue that I blink. Temperatures hover in the 70s, and
the air is as soft as a young girl's skin. Winter in Palm Springs can be as
appealing as springtime on the Cote d'Azur, which is especially true at a
handful of little-known inns and bed-and-breakfasts set in this desert spa --
pleasant hideaways that cater to romantics, each featuring its own brand of
enchantment.
The Willows
Without question, the most fetching new inn in Palm Springs is The Willows.
Abutting Mount San Jacinto near the Desert Museum, this magnificently
restored mansion features museum-quality antique furnishings, frescoed
ceilings, clawfoot bathtubs, pedestal sinks, hardwood floors, and handmade
tiles. With its eight guest rooms, The Willows is the valley's choicest new
caravansary, a historic, 1927 mansion whose restoration was completed only
last summer by a couple of young and personable emergency room physicians,
Tracy Conrad and Paul Marut.
The Mediterranean-style villa -- it has provided shelter for a host of
celebrities (including Albert Einstein) -- once was the home of actress Marion
Davies, whose parties in the Great Hall are legendary. The little five-star
newcomer brings to mind an Italian villa I visited once in a village outside
Florence. Indeed, Old World flavor permeates each corner of The Willows. A
mountain waterfall spills into a pool outside the dining room, and guests
sunbathe beside another that's anchored to a deck overlooking the lovely
gardens.
Opened only last October, The Willows is the most talked-about new resort
in the Coachella Valley. Guests arrive for a brief visit and often remain for
several days. A couple from Japan took over the entire home for their wedding
recently. Marriages are performed inside the mansion as well as on a secluded
hillside perch that overlooks all of Palm Springs. At the Willows, days begin
with gourmet breakfasts and reach a shadowy late afternoon closure as guests
gather by the fireplace for wine and hors d'ouvres. Conrad and Marut spent $1
million refurbishing this grand old home with its thick, ocher-colored walls.
The result: one of Palm Springs's handsomest guesthouses.
The Willows, 412 West Tahquitz Canyon Way, Palm Springs, CA 92262; telephone
(619) 320-0771. Rates from $175 (summer), $250 (winter).
Korakia
Like The Willows, Korakia rises in the foothills of the San Jacinto
Mountains. Only Korakia could be mistaken for some exotic refuge in distant
Tangier or a whitewashed retreat on Crete. On a recent moonlit night, an
Egyptian composer serenaded a vacationing opera star while sipping champagne
from the diva's slipper. The diva swooned, the composer bowed grandly, and the
soft evening took on a sensuality that could be described only as magic. It
was at Korakia that TV actors Ted Danson and Mary Steenburgen announced their
engagement. Other theatrical types, along with writers and producers, hole up
here as well. New York Times publisher Arthur Sulzberger Jr. was a recent
check-in.
Korakia, along with other Palm Springs inns, is putting to rest the
resort's reputation as a playground for the old and feeble. Bodies poolside at
these small resorts appear straight out of the racy ads of Vogue. It's all a
trifle reminiscent of haremlike scenes by the swimming pool at Hotel Mamounia
in Marrakech, complete with date palms. Built in the 1920s as an artists'
retreat, Korakia rises like a Moorish castle at the foothills of the San
Jacinto Mountains. Proprietor-architect Doug Smith, who previously skippered
yachts in Newport Beach and served as a sculptor's assistant in Paris, says
Korakia brings back happy memories of days spent in Greece. Indeed, in the
courtyard outside Korakia, one half expects to find Zorba the Greek performing
for guests.
The inn features vases from Greece, chairs from Afghanistan, Persian
carpets, paintings from Paris, and pillows from Macedonia. Whenever a full
moon bathes the whitewashed building and the mountain nearby, everything
gleams like a scene out of a Moroccan night, complete with fountains,
crenelated walls, date palms, and oleanders.
From Korakia, hiking trails lead into the mountains. And although the
restaurants of Palm Canyon Drive are barely moments away, Korakia seems a
world removed from the action of downtown Palm Springs. Instead of television,
Korakia offers songfests beside an outdoor fireplace and quiet nights
disturbed only by a bold raccoon that occasionally invades the swimming pool.
Smith operates Korakia like a small European inn. In jeans and sandals, he
moves about the property accompanied by his mascot, Marguerite, a lovable,
shiny-haired golden retriever. Architectural Digest described Korakia as ``an
artfully-restored pensione that conjures up a Mediterranean fantasy.'' Like a
scattering of other small inns in this desert oasis, the 18-room resort plays
to the heartstrings of would-be Romeos and Juliets.
Korakia, 257 South Patencio Road, Palm Springs, CA 92262; (619) 864-6411.
Rates: $99-$169.
Villa Royale
Tranquillity is written on the sands at Villa Royale, whose proprietor
passes out radio headsets so guests won't disturb one another while lounging
poolside. Hailed as a European country inn, Bob Lee's 3 1/2-acre Villa Royale
displays a Moorish mood as well, with objets d'art from North Africa, France,
Italy, Spain, Holland, Greece, and other Old World destinations -- brass trays
from Morocco, an armoire from a Paris flea market, hand-painted tiles from
Portugal, German beer steins, and lamps from the Orient Express that glow in
the resort's acclaimed Europa Restaurant.
With only 33 guest rooms, Villa Royale is a rare find, hidden on a side
street off Highway 111, a fountain spilling at its entrance.
Villa Royale, 1620 Indian Trail, Palm Springs, CA 92264; (800) 245-2314.
Rates: $75-$225.
La Mancha
For guaranteed privacy, no resort in Palm Springs matches Ken Irwin's La
Mancha Private Villas on Avenida Caballeros. If one's heart fails to skip a
beat here, then all is lost. La Mancha was created for lovers of all ages.
With 67 villas and 81 swimming pools and spas, the resort has been
compared to Las Brisas in Acapulco and Kona Village in Hawaii. After passing
through its wrought-iron gates, guests find themselves settled in a world as
peaceful as a starlit night, the setting remininiscent of some quiet street in
Seville. Cobbled paths lead to villas surrounded by 6-foot walls; the voices
of Sinatra and Placido Domingo pour forth from stereos while couples sunbathe
in the buff.
Of an evening, guests seek the warmth of push-button fireplaces after
dining in La Mancha's snug little restaurant, the Don Quixote Room. Sometimes
Irwin answers the telephone, ``Man from La Mancha.'' He confesses to being a
trifle dramatic, but insists it's all part of the aura that has drawn such
figures as Barbra Streisand, Elizabeth Taylor, John Travolta, Carrol Burnett,
and other celebrities.
La Mancha is high on the list of desert resorts favored both by sybarites
and ordinary souls. One-to-three-bedroom villas feature $2,000 mattresses,
his-and-her robes, fully-equipped kitchens, oversize TVs, stereos, CD players,
and barbecues. Breakfast is complimentary and guests work off the calories
playing tennis and croquet, practicing on a pitch-and-putt course and running
the treadmill in a gymnasium wall-to-wall with Nautilus equipment.
La Mancha greeter Bob Jones in his black, Paul Hogan-style cowboy hat
chauffeurs guests about town in a vintage Cadillac limousine, delivering them
to La Vallauris, Sorrentino's, and other fine restaurants, as well as on
grocery shopping outings to Jensen's and Vons. Seated up front with Jones on
occasion are the likes of John Travolta, Ricardo Montalban, Lou Gossett,
Mickey Rooney, Tim Conway, and other of Jones's cronies. Jones & Co. stop for
coffee at Louise's Pantry and pick up takeout food at Las Casuelas. After this
it's back to the swimming pool.
Guests arrive at La Mancha by private jet, Mercedes limousine, and
knock-about compacts -- everyone from star-struck secretaries to CEOs. And
everywhere, it seems, they come across their bearded host, the Man of La
Mancha, aristocratic Ken Irwin who entertains guests by reading poems he pens
himself.
La Mancha Private Villas, 444 Avenida Caballeros, Palm Springs, CA 92262;
(800) 255-1773. Rates: $165-$650.
Ingleside Inn
Back in the '70s, Mel Haber discovered, fell in love with, and bought the
Ingleside Inn, all within one hour. Set in a garden behind wrought-iron gates,
its sweeping driveway lined with limousines, Ingleside Inn reflects a period
when desert innkeepers instinctively indulged the vacationer.
Antiques occupy niches throughout the resort, including a bust of
Petrarch's Laura, a 15th-century vestment chest and Corinthian columns
matching those discovered in the ruins at Pompeii. No two of Ingleside's 30
guest rooms are alike. Haber says, ``The beauty of this place is that there's
nothing to do.'' Well, not exactly true. Guests play backgammon in the
library; they sunbathe by the swimming pool; they stroll over to Crown Books
for a new read. And they check out Palm Springs Desert Museum, which is just
up the street.
Operating as an inn since the 1930s, Ingleside has provided shelter for
celebrities since Hollywood's infancy: Greta Garbo, Clark Gable, Howard
Hughes, Greer Garson, Lowell Thomas, Samuel Goldwyn. During the '60s, Lilly
Pons stopped by for the weekend and remained for 13 years. One evening last
summer, Liza Minelli paid a surprise visit to the resort's popular restaurant,
Melvyn's, and retired afterward to the bar, where, unannounced, she sang to
Haber's guests before vanishing into the night as unobtrusively as she'd
arrived.
On Sundays, jazz flows from the bar at Ingleside along with good
conversation and the best Bloody Marys this side of Casablanca. Pictures of
Haber with celebrities crowd the walls at this saloon, which Haber describes
as a cross between Manhattan's old Stork Club and Rick's joint in
``Casablanca.'' Daily, the innkeeper occupies a booth at Melvyn's, where he
exchanges chit-chat with guests while keeping up marathon conversations on the
telephone.
Ingleside Inn, 200 West Ramon Road, Palm Springs, CA 92264; (800)
772-6655. Rates: $95-$385.
Esrella Inn
Like Ingleside, the Estrella Inn on Belardo Road dates from the '30s, its
Spanish-style bungalows set on three garden-like acres at the base of the San
Jacinto Mountains. Couples cozy up before individual fireplaces and sunbathe
beside three swimming pools. Here there's a sense of being on holiday at a
very ritzy, very private, Old World estate. The mind conjures up thoughts of
F. Scott Fitzgerald, who would find the Estrella Inn as relaxful as he did
Hollywood's Garden of Allah. Clark Gable and Carol Lombard hid out at Estrella
Inn in the '40s, as did Bing Crosby, William Powell, and other early film
stars. Only a whisper removed from the action of Palm Canyon Drive, this
peaceful little enclave offers complimentary breakfasts, outdoor barbecues,
shuffleboard, volleyball -- and loads of peace.
Estrella Inn, 415 South Belardo Road, Palm Springs, CA 92262; (800)
237-3687. Rates: $150-$275.
Casa Cody
A couple of blocks away, Casa Cody, with its wood-burning fireplaces and
private patios, is another Palm Springs gem. Backed up near the San Jacinto
Mountains, the little resort with its 23 rooms and bungalows dates from the
'20s. It's a peaceful adobe that evokes images of old Santa Fe.
Casa Cody, 175 South Cahuilla Road, Palm Springs, CA 92262; (619)
320-9346. Rates: $69-$185.
Orchid Tree Inn
Only a whisper from Casa Cody, the Orchid Tree, with its red tile roofs,
embodies old Palm Springs. The onetime hideaway of actor William Holden is
the jealously-guarded secret of discerning tourists. Accommodations (studios
to Spanish-style bungalows) are surrounded by the prettiest gardens in Palm
Springs. Guests soak rays by three swimming pools; they nap, they read; they
study heavens without smog.
Orchid Tree Inn, 261 South Belardo Road, Palm Springs, CA 92262; (800)
733-3435. Rates: $95-$130.
This story ran on page M1 in the Sunday Boston Globe on October 19, 1997.
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