Palm Springs, perfectly flat & perfectly manicured (both its gardens and residents) is surrounded by deserts and mountains and truth be told that's where its attractions lay. Unless of course you are a golfer, in which case the dozens of not quite so flat yet still perfectly coiffured greens will entertain you for months.
After a morning by our villas pool, we head up the aerial sky way via its rotating gondola, 8000ft later we emerge to pine forests, cool air and views which go on forever. We do though have to hike away from the top station to leave the rotund natives to thier up/photo/down routine and yet further still to gain the peace and quite this place deserves (I can guess why they are the size they are, but I'm not sure why they are as loud as they are?).
Anyway it's nice up here and is a welcome change from the manufactured landscapes of the town visible like a patch work rug way below us.
The journey down on the gondola prooves entertaining partly due to the colourful views as the sun sets but mainly due to the afformentioned vociferous rotund natives screaming every time we sway over the tramway's pilons. I fight hard not to shout 'We're all doomed, we're all going to die!!' just to see what reaction it gets.
After a rest day by the pool (it is a holiday after all!) we head out to The Joshua Tree National park, which to be honest was a revelation for us (expectations were not too high). Landscapes or more accurately rockscapes, unusual and interesting made for excellent walking & being smack on top of the San Andreas fault line the added risk added to the adventure.
Driving into Palm Springs from the north reveals what must be one of the biggest wind farms in the world, four thousand turbines of all shapes and sizes. Huge, they stand row upon row, mechanical regiments filling the valley and spreading up the foothills either side. One word from the general and California will be overrun.

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Somehow our visit has coincided with another invasion, fifty thousand Harley Davidsons are here for a rally and their riders are not the over fifties stock broker brigade who import Harleys to the UK (sorry S) they are the hairy arsed *conjecture Hells Angels wannabees and they are here to party. With these monsters thundering up and down the streets I have already given up hope of any sleep.

After the best night sleep I have ever had (go figure?) we start getting acquainted with Palm Springs...