See, museums are really just beautiful storage facilities. Whether you’re looking at a Dalí or a dinosaur fossil, behind every exhibition are temperature-controlled, humidity-monitored, dimly lit warehouses of carefully boxed and cataloged treasures. At art museums, they’re paintings and sculptures. At the San Diego Natural History Museum, the doors beyond the exhibits lead to impressive archives full of deceased critters.

These creatures may be dead, but their remains—now preserved, stuffed, and numbered as specimen—carry valuable information. Their role as study subjects keeps them alive in a sense. Like zombies, minus the hunger for flesh.

Their skin, bones, fur, and feathers—even the contents of their stomachs (see our story on the Natural History Museum’s massive rattlesnake collection)—tell tales about the lives they lived and the challenges they faced. These stories can help researchers better understand how rapidly certain ecosystems are changing and develop strategies to support native species. If environmental policy is based on science, these critters are data points, so properly storing them is everything.

And this storage is a sight to see.

Imagine a college library—big arched windows, light pouring in—but, instead of books, rows of shelves hold bighorn sheep skulls nestled against each other like rowers crouched in a shell boat. In endless drawers, rows of iridescent, red-throated, thumb-sized Allen’s hummingbirds; snow-white, cotton-stuffed albatrosses with foot-long beaks; trays of tiny voles; skunks as flat and large as manhole covers; and countless other species lie in rest together, some of their skulls removed and carefully cataloged next to the bodies, preserved for eternity. Down a hallway sit two massive tuna skeletons.

In the big room where birds and mammals are stored, white stacks of crank-apart shelving units house even more species. Wildlife biologist Drew Stokes spins the triangle-shaped handle, separating the shelves to show me drawers full of bats—mini bottle cap–sized bats, and bigger eclair-sized ones, too.

“We have both the smallest and largest bats in the US here in San Diego,” Stokes tells me. He sports a large, black bat tattoo on his arm. (“My stamp of dedication,” he says.)

Of the roughly 45 different bat species in the US, nearly half can be found in SD county. Twenty-two of California’s 27 species of bats reside here. San Diego is bat country. Big time.

For the last 16 years, Stokes has been working as a field biologist at the San Diego Natural History Museum, helping collect data on bats using sonar-detecting wildlife audio recorders and other high-tech gear, like butterfly nets.

“Sometimes the bats are huddled in a cluster, and, with one swoop, you can net 20 bats,” he tells me.

Once he has them, Stokes gathers as much data as he can. He tests the animals for a specific bat-killing fungus that’s going around and swabs them where food goes in and comes out to check for disease. Then he releases them back into the night. (He and his fellow scientists never kill the animals they study—many of the Nat’s preserved bats died naturally and were donated.)

“It’s just the coolest thing to catch them and hold them, even after all these years,” Stokes says. “Bats are so elusive and mysterious, almost mythical creatures. They’re operating on a realm beyond our senses.”

Meanwhile, over in the entomology department, there are enough bugs to film a horror movie franchise. “We have over 1.2 million insect and arachnid specimens dating back to the 1870s,” Pamela Horsley tells me. As the entomology collections manager, it’s her job to oversee these millions of spiders, scorpions, beetles, wasps, millipedes, roaches, and… well, you get the idea.

When I ask why we need so many lifeless creatures packed in a room, she patiently explains.

“Every one of the 1.2 million specimens has a label that tells you everything about it,” she says. “Where it was collected, what plant it was collected from— the who, what, where, when. Collections allow us to answer questions like, ‘Why was this species here and now it’s not?’ You get a really good understanding of how the ecosystem can be functioning.”

You also get glimpses of how brutal nature can be.

“There are all these science fiction–esque stories in the insect realm,” Horsley says. “Like parasites preying on other parasites.” (See our story on the San Diego Spider Society to learn about the horrors of tarantula wasps.) “You know in the movie Alien when the alien pops out of [someone’s chest]? That’s what happens all the time.”

So it’s not just skeletons you might run into back here. Zombies and aliens also call these back rooms home. Won’t find that in an art museum.

The post The Undead Come to Life at the Natural History Museum appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Deep underneath the San Diego Natural History Museum lives a collection like none other: nearly 80,000 reptiles under dim basement lights, all of them suspended in liquid within jars large and small, peering dead-eyed into the semi-darkness. Lizards by the hundreds, turtles by the dozen. Frogs, iguanas, crocodiles, axolotls, and even rare limbless amphibians called caecilians.

But it’s the rattlesnakes that make this place truly special.

“This is the largest rattlesnake collection in the world,” Adam Clause tells me. He’s the collection manager down here in the herpetology department. He’s the one you talk to if you want to come study one of these shaky-tailed biblical misfits.

“We have just under 10,000 rattlesnakes,” he says. “We’re larger than the next three biggest collections combined.”

It’s an overwhelming slew of serpents. Towering shelves are packed with western diamondbacks, sidewinders, and the deadliest rattlesnake of all: the Mojave green. Each jar-dwelling snake possesses unique information scientists might access for generations to come. The oldest snake here dates back to 1891. That’s more than 130 years of hiss-story.

“The collection really is like a real-life time machine,” Clause says. Many specimens have dwelt here for decades. “You can see what its parasites are like, what it was eating. That’s a really special thing.”

And while museum admission won’t get you down here, this is technically a public collection.

“If someone has an amateur interest in rattlesnakes, they are welcome to use our collection,” Clause says—meaning that you don’t need university affiliation or a fancy research grant to check out the reptiles.

“We’re basically what a library is to the general public,” he continues. “But unlike a library, where every book has multiple copies, every specimen in our collection is unique, so it’s like a super library.”

The post Step Inside the World’s Largest Rattlesnake Collection appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

As the birthplace of contemporary California, the neighborhood remains haunted with history. This is where California’s first European settlements took hold on land long-occupied by the Kumeyaay. Since the 1700s, San Diego has been growing and changing around this nucleus. No other city can claim such a start.

Today, much of that history lives, while other aspects are buried in the ground beneath vibrant restaurants and shops housed in buildings whose footprints date back hundreds of years. These are streets and alleys in which to linger, to get a bit lost. But worry not—if you find yourself bone-dry while wandering, divine drinks await. Here are five cocktails and beverages worth seeking out next time you’re in our oldest and most uncommon ’hood.

Garden Of Death

Oculto 477

Confess your sins on your way into this cemetery-adjacent speakeasy and belly up to one of SD’s most photogenic bar programs. The Garden of Death is a mezcal-forward affair served in an ornate pewter globe, garnished with fresh marigolds. The smoke of the mezcal shines with lemongrass and ginger, but the kick of pasilla-chile liqueur and serrano bitters lingers on the palate like a kiss from a lost love. Though it’s spooky back here, don’t be afraid to order off-menu. Since 477 bodies are buried just outside these walls, may we suggest a Corpse Reviver #2?

Tequila Mule

El Agave

El Agave is a shrine to the sacred succulents that give us tequila. The walls of this restaurant-slash- tequila-museum are practically built from backlit bottles. It’s a gorgeous place to sip a shot of something rare or to enjoy cocktails paired with food in the intimate dining room. The Tequila Mule—made with passionfruit and ginger beer and served in a copper cup (properly)—is a day drinker’s delight or the perfect pre-dinner liquid hors d’oeuvre before digging into El Agave’s massive mole and margaritas menu.

Chicle

El Sueño

Opened last summer next to Casa Guadalajara by industry veterans Pietro Busalacchi and Gustavo Rios, El Sueño is one of the newer kids on the Old Town block. The restaurant and bar’s upbeat party atmosphere pairs nicely with their cocktail offerings, with technicolor bevs ranging from classic mezcal and tequila combinations to margaritas and creative shots. A standout is the Chicle, a bright pink drink named after the Mexican gum and made with Casa Noble Blanco, watermelon, Amaro Montenegro, and pistachio, served in a classic coupe glass with a floral garnish.

Michelada

Elote

Simultaneously heating you up and cooling you off, the michelada might be the perfect noon beverage. Made with Escondido’s Cultura michelada mix and rim paste, the spicy beers here are hot enough to be served in hell, but delicious enough to bring you back to heaven. Located in the Old Town Urban Market, Elote occupies a cute corner perfect for a lunchtime drink and Instagrammable fire-kissed corn (served on the cob or in a cup).

Queen’s High Tea

Coral Tree Tea House

A visit to Old Town doesn’t have to involve alcohol. There’s plenty to do before darkness drowns the daylight and the devils come out to play. Coral Tree is located in the haunted McConaughy House (built 1887), so you can sip proper English tea surrounded by ghosts. The Queen’s High Tea includes all the standards, like fresh-baked scones, tea sandwiches, tiny desserts, and even Waldorf salad (mayonnaise and fruit!). Keep your ears open for phantom footsteps from above, where original homeowner John McConaughy is said to wander upstairs.

For more Main Dish, tune in to Happy Half Hour, our food and drink podcast, every week: sdmag.com/hhh.

The post 5 of the Best Old Town Drinks and Cocktails to Try Right Now appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

The first issue of San Diego Magazine hit newsstands exactly 75 years ago in October 1948. We still have a copy in our archives. I love looking through it. Love seeing how far we’ve come. From the cover to the articles to the ads, it’s a time machine.

Truly, all 800-plus of our issues over the years serve as historical artifacts. From the black-and-white pages of the ’40s and cigarette-soaked ads of the ’60s to the glossy, big- haired fashion failures of the ’80s, looking back at San Diego Magazine through the years shows us how much San Diego has changed and what has stuck around. But that first issue will always be extra special. It’s a cornerstone for all that this magazine has done and continues to do.

San Diego is no longer the small coastal city it was when San Diego Magazine debuted, and SDM is no longer simply a monthly mag. We’re a vibrant, multi-platform media company, award-winning social media (a must-follow), and an expanding repertoire of not-to-be-missed events (Best of San Diego, Best of North County, and the Del Mar Wine + Food Festival, to name a few). We’re covering San Diego in ways that the editors could never have imagined back in 1948. And we’re proud to be doing it. It’s an honor to continue this legacy and to tell the stories of our city.

This month, we bring you our annual issue exploring medicine and technology in San Diego. As a hub of cutting-edge research and tech, San Diego is helping fuel advancements in everything from new, ecologically minded foods to our knowledge of the human brain. In this issue, we’re talking to San Diego scientists sending cancer research into space, the UCSD-based researchers leading the charge to better understand how medications affect breast milk, and a local company growing tuna steaks in tanks. It’s fascinating stuff.

On top of all that, October is one of my favorite months of the year. The weather is good, the veil is thin, and the holidays are top-notch. So along with science, we’re sprinkling some Halloween flavor into the cauldron. While heading to Oaxaca to get crafty, to Temecula for surprisingly diverse wines, and to a remote highway in California to fill up on sugar at a peculiar gas station, we’re also stirring in a pinch of native snakes, spiders, and bats. If you’re into science or travel or simply enjoy the creepy-crawly ambience of October, you’re going to love this issue.

So put on your party hat. It’s our real-deal 75th birthday. And we are really excited to have you along for this ride.

The post Ed. Note: Our Science, Snakes, and Septuagenarian Spectacular appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Andy’s Orchirds Leucadia Garden Sacred Spaces San Diego

Photo Credit: Mateo Hoke

Beyond an unassuming red gate in Leucadia lives a Willy Wonka–esque wonderland of plants: orchids and ferns clinging to the limbs of an 80-year-old sycamore tree that shades the entrance, orchids growing 20 feet tall, orchids hanging wet and mossy with chocolate chip–sized flowers in a claustrophobic greenhouse labyrinth of more than 750,000 plants from every corner of the world. If you’re a fan of flora, this is a house of worship.With more than 7,000 different species, Andy’s Orchids is known as the largest rare orchid collection in the US—and possibly the world, says owner Andy Phillips.“We’re definitely the most diverse,” Phillips adds. “Nobody grows the way I grow.”

Andy’s Orchids Leucadia Garden Sacred Spaces Plants – 7

Photo Credit: Mateo Hoke

Inside, it’s hot and fragrant. Plants, many in bloom, hang thick on the walls and crowded high on racks running the length of Phillips’ hot houses, forming a song of colors, shapes, and patterns only nature could be creative enough to compose. Some flowers emanate a piña colada perfume; others, the scent of apricot candy.Phillips walks the rows, pointing out peculiarities, naming where each plant originated. Brazil. Honduras. New Guinea. Sulawesi Island in Indonesia. The man is an encyclopedia of epiphytes, or plants that grow on the surface of other plants.“It’s very three-dimensional,” Phillips says. “I grow the way nature intended. Nature is three-dimensional.”

Andy’s Orchids Leucadia Garden Sacred Spaces Plants – 6

Photo Credit: Mateo Hoke

Born and raised in La Jolla, Phillips, 60, found his passion at a young age.“I was a plant nerd as a little kid,” he says. His mother was from Mexico. At 13, he returned from a trip to visit her family with more than 1,100 plants, some of which he still has.Today, orchids are his life. He’s converted the property his grandparents bought in 1932 for $500 into a successful online business. In-person appointments can be arranged for serious buyers. Phillips also hosts open houses four times a year. They’re a rare chance to see rare plants.“It’s a Noah’s Ark of diversity,” Phillips says. “My philosophy is that things might disappear in nature, and once they’re gone, they’re gone forever. But if someone propagates them, they can be reintroduced.”Andy’s Orchids will host its next open house Sept. 15–17.

The post Inside the Largest Rare Orchid Collection in the US appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Cover of San Diego Magazine’s September 2023 edition

Life on Earth is astonishing. The more I learn about the intelligence of fungi, or about the unique dialects of whale pods, or about how many different kinds of tomatoes there are (10,000!), the more I fall in love with simply being alive. A person could study this planet for a thousand years and not fully comprehend it.

In honor of our breathtaking planet, we’re sharing stories that help us better understand the environment here in SD. In this issue we witness the freeing of the first river in Southern California. We explore San Diego’s efforts to build toward a greener future (spoiler: there’s room for improvement), and, we spend a visually stunning day at one of the best farms in the country (where they grow 80 kinds of tomatoes. 80!). It’s a cool issue. Mother Earth, after all, is a charismatic cover star, wild and fascinating.

I love it here on Earth, where wonder surrounds us. I’ve consumed plants that have altered my neurological pathways. I’ve lain on my belly in the sand, watching baby sea turtles crawl a slow journey from nest to ocean, wishing them well as they wiggled their flippers for the first time in the shallow waves of the Pacific, knowing they will someday return to that very beach to lay eggs of their own. And, perhaps most incredible of all, I’ve welcomed a slippery human child fresh from the great cosmic center, kissed his forehead, and held him as he breathed his first breaths.Talk about wild.There’s real magic in this world. San Diegans know this. Our region is soundtracked by a symphony of waves and blessed with a full spread of the best features Earth has to offer. But this planet’s ecosystem is built on balance, and we’re tipping. Sad news keeps coming, feels like a storm that might never pass.

Globally, July 2023 was the hottest month on record. Ever. The Gulf Stream—which carries warm waters from the Caribbean into the Atlantic—appears to be collapsing earlier than predicted, bringing catastrophic impacts. Billions of people could lose the rain they count on to grow food. The Amazon is suffocating, the lungs of our world struggling to breathe.

It’s scary. I worry for my young son.

I want him to experience all the delicate enchantment in the world that I do. I want the planet’s lungs breathing strong. I want to know the turtles will keep hatching for him, and for those who come after. I want to go to bed at night knowing the world is growing bigger for him, not shrinking.

I want to do all I can.

But sometimes it’s difficult to know what that is. One of the things I’ve learned in my four decades on this planet is that if something scares you, go toward it. The faster you run at the storm, the faster you get through.

So we’ll keep sharing stories that help us more deeply connect with our world. And I’ll take every opportunity to show my son how lucky we are to call this planet home, where there are 10,000 tomatoes to taste—80 of which can be found just down the road.

The post Editor’s Note: In the Land of 10,000 Tomatoes appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Everything at Tahiti Felix is old-school, from the Americana style the shop specializes in to the 1940s-era tattoo guns and artifacts kept under glass.“

The whole place is like a museum to tattooing,” artist Gil Taimana says. “It’s full of history. If you’re into classic tattoos, this is a time capsule.”

Photo Credit: Matthew Moisant

Taimana, 56, is Tahiti Felix’s third owner. Born in Tahiti and raised in LA, Taimana came into the family business kind of through the side door. His sister married “Tahiti” Maurice Lynch, one of the sons of “Tahiti” Felix Lynch—the original owner.“

Felix was a white guy from Iowa or Idaho,” Taimana says. “He stowed away on a merchant ship.” When Felix got off that boat in Tahiti, he fell in love with the place. He learned the language, married a Tahitian woman named Nui, and landed back in LA, picking up the tattoo trade at the legendary Long Beach Pike shop. He moved south and opened the flagship Tahiti Felix location at 317 F Street in 1949.

Now in its seventh location (924 5th Avenue, where it has dwelt for nearly a decade), the shop remains rooted to the original. Taimana himself has now been tattooing for more than 30 years, since apprenticing at Tahiti Felix after his departure from the Navy. “When I started in the ’90s, there were fewer than five [tattoo] shops in the area,” he says. “We were so busy we had Marines sleeping on the floor.”

The style he learned is the same Tahiti Felix was offering back in 1949. “These tattoos are timeless,” he says. “They look great, and they’re going to look great 20 years down the line. These guys knew what they were doing.”

The post Meet San Diego’s Oldest Tattoo Parlor appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

San Diego Magazine Cover November 1978

Pour the Champagne. We’re partying over here. With this issue, we’re celebrating three-quarters of a century of San Diego Magazine—and bringing you our favorite spots of 2023. It’s a very special edition, full of timeless San Diego memories combined with the best of the city’s now. We hope it becomes a venerated fixture on your coffee table for a good while, or at least a long-lasting coaster.This 75-year milestone is the beginning of a whole new era for San Diego Magazine. It’s a big deal. And it’s been a long road. When SDM began in 1948, the average American income was about $3,000 per year. The median home value was around $7,000. Harry Truman was president, and the city’s population was barely 300,000.Super Glue hadn’t been invented, and the first Super Bowl was yet to be played. Alaska and Hawaii weren’t states. No Vietnam War, no moon landing, no trickle-down economics, no 9/11, no Covid. It was a different world, and a different San Diego. But through it all, San Diego Magazine remained a premier voice in our city, covering culture, politics, food, fashion, and so much more. We’ve published in nine decades and two centuries. We’re proud of this history. We hope our readers are, too.In honor of our longevity, we decided to celebrate just how cool it is to be 75 years young, while nodding to the fact that we have big plans for the future. We threw ourselves a party at Turf Supper Club, an 80-year-old fixture of Golden Hill, where, inside, it smells like history.We asked our readers to find us stylish models in their 70s, tapped one of the most photogenic young musicians we know to join us, and brought in a dog groomed to look like a lion, just to get weird. Cake, candles, confetti. Bubbly, bolo ties, balloons. You can taste the vibe: Smart. Sexy. Wild. Provocative. Everything we’re seeking to be as we grow older.If we’re being honest—and we always strive to be—previous SDM anniversary covers have fallen flat, so we wanted to make up for lost opportunities. We hope you dig it. You can see a lot more from the shoot— including other images that could have made the cover.As you can see, we’re having fun. We’re septuagenarians, but we’re in our prime, full of the wisdom that comes with age and ready for what’s next. While putting together this issue and reflecting on all SDM has accomplished in the last seven-plus decades, I’ve also been asking myself what kind of magazine we want to be in another 75 years, and considering what kind of San Diego we want to see.Local media is a vital part of a city’s fabric, and we want to make sure that SDM keeps contributing to a more interesting, more vibrant, and more inclusive San Diego.We’ve inherited a 75-year-strong foundation to build from, and, with new-ish ownership and a talented, hungry editorial team, we’ve got ambitious goals for where we want to go. Our staff views it as a great honor to be stewarding this magazine into its next chapter.So pop that Champagne and raise a glass. We’re just getting started.

The post Here’s to What Comes Next for San Diego Magazine appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

“The last dish I had in Saigon before leaving Vietnam. I really remember it. It’s the beef noodle soup they’re known for in Hue. This was fitting to have as a last meal because my family is from Hue. It was a perfect scene in the restaurant, too—the whole family was out. Kids were bussing tables, dad was chopping vegetables, mom and grandma were stirring soup.”

Photo Credit: James Tran

James Tran is a photographer we know well here at San Diego Magazine. Readers have regularly seen his work featured in our food reviews, because, simply put, he’s one of the best in the region. Born in Virginia and raised in LA, James has been exploring the SD food scene for more than 15 years.

“I studied politics and history at UCSD but ended up getting into the food business, cooking for 10 years,” he says. “I left that to become a food photographer.”

James’ parents came to the US from Vietnam in 1985. His father was high-ranking in the Vietnamese Navy and spent nearly 10 years in a reeducation camp after the Vietnam War.

“There’s a lot,” James says. “My family, like most Vietnamese- American families, [has] an intense backstory. I grew up with Vietnamese food and culture. But Vietnam is a home that I don’t know. My parents never considered the US fully home, and Vietnam isn’t home, either.” Still, he felt called to go.

Now 35, James recently traveled to Vietnam for the first time. Weeks later, he went back again.

“The food here in the US is mostly southern Vietnamese, so going to Vietnam, I got to see the origins of all the things I grew up with,” he says. “But then going to the north meant I got to see this whole other half of the country.”

In total, he spent a month eating and drinking his way through the country, camera in hand.

James came back with thousands of pictures. Here are some of our favorites—the kinds of shots that induce hunger and impulsive plane ticket purchases—with commentary from James.

“This is pretty close to the main market in Đà Lạt. Đà Lạt is at the same elevation as Denver, so almost all the coffee is grown here. You find European vegetables like cabbages, potatoes, and hydroponic white strawberries. Bougie stuff you see in California.”

Photo Credit: James Tran

“Fresh rice paper salad, with fancy presentation. Refined. This is a variation of a street food dish from a fancy restaurant in Saigon.”

Photo Credit: James Tran

“This is a market right in the middle of the old quarter in Hanoi. It’s a big market, at least three streets worth, filled to the brim with produce and products.”

Photo Credit: James Tran

“Phú Quoc Island is almost closer to Cambodia. Their seafood is the freshest I’ve ever seen in my life. I had cuttlefish that was still changing color in the market. That’s the Phú Quoc way of life. Caught that day—caught that hour, really. It’s insanely fresh.”

Photo Credit: James Tran

“It was like a real return to the motherland,” he says.

 Dragon fruit in the main market of Đà Lạt

Photo Credit: James Tran

“At Madame Kew, which is the 2nd floor of a restaurant with a DJ. I walked in and was like, ‘Oh, this is the Kettner Exchange of Saigon.’ Saigon is a lot like New York—it’s always had a very strong Chinese influence, so this building is kind of a modern homage to those people.”

Photo Credit: James Tran

“Saigon didn’t invent the bánh mì, technically, but the Saigon bánh mì scene is incredible. This is just one of many that I tried.” 

Photo Credit: James Tran

The post Photo Essay: Meals From the Motherland appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Highway 74 curls like pasta dropped in the desert

Down, down we drop through the gray, hot desert. The sun is bright, the windows are down, and somewhere out here is the American Dream. I can smell it.

Beneath our tires, Highway 74 curls around itself like a spaghetti noodle dropped in the dirt. Sure, there are faster, more linear ways to get to the Coachella Valley from San Diego, but two-lane roads are where the great mysteries of consciousness are best untangled. Freeways are just another commute.

Personally, I like my road trips full of gas station coffee, a buffet of snacks, and old country music. A few sips of a poor man’s latte made with drip dark roast and two of those little peel-back French vanilla creamers while John Denver reminds me that life ain’t nothing but a funny funny riddle, and I basically turn into Siddhartha. Content. Car culture will no doubt be the death of us all, but it’s unquestionably got its charms.

One of the Baja-chic rooms at the new Drift Hotel in downtown Palm Springs

Courtesy of the Drift Hotel Palm Springs

On roads such as these, I brake hard and swerve fast for hole-in-the wall joints full of Americana and hot sustenance. Like The Stagecoach Inn in Aguanga, with its handwritten note on the door telling visitors to “Be aware of snakes,” its sign boasting cocktails and homemade chili (a dreamy combo), and its large wooden ice cream cone on a telephone pole (get the vanilla). Or the Paradise Valley Cafe in Mountain Center, a wood-paneled piece of history showcasing signed celebrity photos on the wall (hi, Elvira) and a menu that could heal many a political divide. These are quality places to spend valuable time with strangers, but I can’t stay long. I have business in the valley.

Back on the road, it’s a brisk 106 degrees outside as my wife, baby and I cruise to our first destination, the new Drift Hotel in downtown Palm Springs. Opened in March, the building is a large white letter C wrapped around a pool and a dirt patch they call the cactus garden, full of fire pits and potential. The rooms are spacious, decorated minimalist Baja-chic. Neutral colors, Mexican ceramics, jute rugs, in-room bar setups, and pour-over coffee. Counter space, but no closet space. The standup trash can matches the stools, which I appreciate. It’s all very clean, cool, and comfortable.

The Santa Rosa Mountains provide an epic backdrop to the legendary La Quinta Resort and Club

Courtesy of La Quinta Resort & Club

The Drift concept is somewhere between a hotel and an Airbnb. Check-in is via text. A six (six!) button code allows you entry to your room each time you step out. No front desk and no lobby means the restaurant, Maleza, becomes the de facto meeting space. See what they did there? The bartenders here hold it down as greeters and libation ambassadors, though, and the food is welcoming, so it seems to work. Who really needs a lobby anyway?

The hotel is a short walk to the heart of downtown, where an impressive number of restaurants vie for attention, misters watering the sidewalk. Hit Farm for arguably the best shady garden seating in the valley and Grand Central for plaza-view dining. Just outside of downtown, we head to the Ingleside Inn and Melvyn’s restaurant, which harkens to old Hollywood in the best way. Pot pies and cocktails? That’s a dream right there.wif

Baja flavors reign at Maleza 

Courtesy of Maleza

After check-out at The Drift, we head to the Palm Springs Art Museum for AC and a place to contemplate our next move. See, I can only tolerate city life for so long in this heat. The hills call. After two nights in the brand- new Drift, I’m craving something more settled into the landscape, so we head to La Quinta Resort and Club, a desert getaway butting up against the rocky Santa Rosa Mountains.

Built nearly a hundred years ago as a series of bungalows, La Quinta’s grounds—dotted with 41 pools and lined with wise old palm trees—feel like a true oasis. Our room, with its private hot tub and multiple fireplaces, is charming to come back to after pool time. Perhaps this resort caters to certain generations better than others, but we still genuinely don’t want to leave, even for meals.

Because with a more or less captive audience, the restaurants on site are busy, creating a feeling of being somewhere worth being. Adobe, with its cascading patios, is one of the most hopping restaurants I’ve seen since early 2020. The crowd is into it.

Find inspiration inside and out at the Palm Springs Art Museum

Photo Credit: Lance Gerber

But the road calls and keeps calling. Beyond the cities, there is so much to this desert. I like Pappy and Harriet’s in Pioneertown and Giant Rock Meeting Room in Yucca Valley. Both offer the potential for small-town live-music magic, and the American Dream has been known to grab a quiet beer in the area.

The Dream visits this desert often, hat covered in dun-colored dust. Crack your windows—you might smell it.

The post Desert Dreams in the Coachella Valley appeared first on San Diego Magazine.