Moroccan meets Modernism in Palm Springs [pt 2]

Previously, I shared a few things that caught my eye when wandering around the Moroccan side of Korakia Pensione’s boho luxe grounds. With our 50 hours for Palm Springs fun trickling away, Mr Vix and I decided to carve out time for both the Palm Springs Art Museum and more enjoyment of Korakia’s offerings…and add “desert hike” and “see more modernist buildings” to the vacation still-to-do list.

Sometimes I enjoy visiting places without much—or even any—idea of the area’s past or present. It’s rare that my ignorance leads to bliss, of course, but arriving oblivious and leaving with only a narrow, impressionistic view can add up to a delightfully uncomplicated experience.

In general, though, I’ll take more information before I travel somewhere over less. Novels set in the region, memoirs or art by those who’ve called a set of geographic coordinates home, non-fiction accounts of long-gone or recent happenings…they all add flavor to the pot and make me feel a bit more connected to where I’m headed.

Before arriving in Palm Springs for the first time, then, how could I resist brushing up a least a little on the glamour and grit associated with the locale?

I couldn’t. Bravely disregarding fears that my cardigan-filled closet and default hankering for context have pushed me from “fuddy-duddy tendencies” into flat-out “dud” territory, I started digging.

One of my finds was the Palm Springs Preservation Foundation website; another, a hearty 1999 Vanity Fair article chronicling much of the area’s initial claim to fame (both celebrity and architectural).

Even haphazard and cursory research on Palm Springs makes it obvious the area keeps large chunks of itself tucked away for those with insider access. Luckily, it also offers plenty to those who come with more curiosity than connections.

From our room at Korakia we were able to wander by accessible modernist landmarks…

Seen close or from afar, it’s no mystery why E. Stewart Williams’ design for Coachella Valley Savings and Loan #3 (currently housing Chase Bank) is one of Palm Springs’ modernist landmarks

…enjoy the cultural bounty offered up to the public by passionate collectors and/or high net worth individuals…

Studio glass artist Christine Cathie’s O-Void (Pale Aquamarine) at the Palm Springs Art Museum

Studio glass artists at the Palm Spring Arts Museum: L, from Bella Feldman’s War Toys Redux series; R, Dante Marioni’s Reticello Acorn and Leaf

…and explore the art museum’s elaborate and oops-photography-prohibited “Backyard Oasis: The Swimming Pool in Southern California Photography 1945-1982.” The incredibly voyeuristic show positively seethed with wholesomeness and artifice, haughtiness and exhibitionism, serenity and foreboding.*

Naturally I was in love.

A passing, non-flash glimpse shot of photographer Jane L O’Neal’s work as seen in the Palm Springs Art Museum’s comprehensive Backyard Oasis exhibit

Back at Korakia, I was just as seduced by the artificial waters found on the property’s Mediterranean side as I was by the representations I’d seen in the exhibit. [And my ancient Blue Lagoon silk maxi dress felt it had finally met up with its long-lost twin.]

Korakia’s Mediterranean pool and my (now-THIS-is-how-you-should-treat-me) ancient silk maxi by night

Detail of Korakia’s Mediterranean pool, where I nabbed solo time in the heated saltwater for swimming/relaxing both mornings of my visit (which led to my companion nabbing this shot)

The aforementioned seduction didn’t prevent me from leaving the enchanting saltwater pool behind to further enjoy more of the grounds, however.

After hours spent focusing my eyes and brain on museum objets and their backstory, Korakia’s just-stimulating-enough interplay of texture and pattern with open space and solid shades practically begged to be of service.

Or as Mr Vix put it: “Nice bocce court.”

On Korakia’s Mediterranean side, my companion triumphed at bocce while my perimenopausal panther print dress and I enjoyed how texture and pattern were mixed with open spaces and serene stucco facades

Indeed, indeed. If trying to resist the pull of nearby water is on one’s list of priorities, though, may I recommend wearing something other than an inexplicably appealing jaguar totem dress?

Next: Part 3 of Moroccan Meets Modernism in Palm Springs, in which I make a few connections between the desert’s natural and artificial forms 

*PSA: Go context-free and download a PDF full of “Backyard Oasis” images or read Salon.com’s short, illustrated interview with exhibit curator Daniell Cornell

Moroccan meets Modernism in Palm Springs [pt 1]

Last December I said to my beloved, “Let’s skip getting each other holiday gifts and put the money towards a short getaway in late winter!” In theory, it seemed brilliant; in actuality, though, it helps to have a life—and personality—conducive to executing such proposals.

While I’m proud to say my ability to rationalize vacations is so well-developed it’s available for purchase, the job that makes it possible for me to justify indulging wants vs basic needs is wedged in a “significantly under-resourced” workplace where being out for any reason makes coming back worse.

As those who are or have been in similar environments know, trying to engineer one’s escape becomes yet another time-related pressure. Make a run for it too early, and the benefits of leaving fizzle out quickly; break away too late and recharging becomes a pipe dream.

By mid-February even the optimists around me were taking massive hits to their sunny-side-up outlooks. Not at all coincidentally, that’s about the period I told Mr Vix that if he couldn’t get his convoluted schedule to coincide with mine in the very near future, I’d be taking a romantic trip with me myself and I.

Finally, however, we managed to carve out 50 joint hours for sun. And sights.

Enter Korakia,* situated approximately one million miles away from my PNW life:

The courtyard of Korakia’s Moroccan-influenced half sets the tone for the rest of what one discovers on the 1924 property

Or more precisely: located in Palm Springs, formerly and regaining-ground-as California’s desert playground.

While Mr Vix and I had given serious thought to staying in one of the area’s restored 50s/60s hotels for our first trip to the area, the chance to spend a few days wandering around the 1.5 acres where Korakia’s 28 rooms, suites, bungalows, and guesthouses sit in all their 20s and 30s glory won out.

I admit my Persnickety Bohemian side might have been a little vocal about picking the spot with a half-Moroccan, half-Mediterranean, all-boho luxe setting. And from the moment we drove up to the second I left, I was in heaven. Textured and patterned meets stark! Color meets neutrals!

Korakia’s aesthetic — a mix of textured and stark, color and neutrals — is used to great effect in the lobby

We may have been staying in one of the most budget-friendly rooms, but we had free reign of both sides of the property. Eyes, ears, nose, taste, skin—engaged and delighted in ways that took me exactly where I wanted to be: far far away from elevated cortisol levels.

A detail from Korakia’s bar area, located on the Morroccan side of the pensione

It didn’t hurt that 80+ degree daytime weather meant I was able to trade raingear for sunhats, ridiculously large sunglasses, and SPF’d bare skin. Or that the pensione’s rooms have no telephones, TVs, or clocks to tether one to time or the outside world.

My Persnickety Bohemian side was only too happy to trade in cold rain for 2 days of 80+ degree weather and a boho luxe setting 

With the property designed to minimize overnight guests and maximize privacy, I had no regrets about having to compromise my preferred vacationing like the other half lives style due our abbreviated time frame.

When the San Jacinto mountains are one’s backdrop, it’s hard to go wrong…but I saved my pennies for one of Korakia’s most modest room offerings due to how they get it extra-right

Now, I get that my appreciation for Korakia’s design may not be universal. And I have no doubt that the weathered-to-pristine ratio is carefully calibrated for effect. But when the “weathered” portion includes rustic candleholders that light one’s pathways and glimpses of 1920s tilework, I have to say the math works for me.

I’d bet the pensione’s decisionmakers calibrate the weathered-to-pristine ratio very carefully — but who can fault an equation that includes rustic outdoor candleholders and 1920s tile?

There’s no doubt in my mind that it takes a lot of work to do surface imperfection so perfectly, and I applaud the effort.

If excellent coffee, fresh-squeezed juice from on-site oranges, and friendly low-key service don’t outweigh slightly frayed table mats, non-starched linen, and blossoms that were at their best for early vs end-of-service eaters, Korakia may not suit

If there hadn’t been so much we wanted to do during our 50 hours away, I would have spent more time lounging poolside on the inviting daybeds

Given our time frame/decompression challenges I’d deliberately chosen someplace touted as highly experiential and illusory, and Korakia offered those qualities by the bucketful. It was tempting to stay put the whole trip, sure…but with mountains, museums, and modernist landmarks out there, how could two soggy Oregonians resist soaking up a variety of desert goodness?

* No monies were received for the writing of this post, though I probably owe the talented Linda of Lime in the Coconut a kickback for bringing Korakia to my attention in one of her “here’s yet another gorgeous setting” features.

Next: Part 2 of Moroccan Meets Modernism in Palm Springs, in which I semi-reluctantly engage my brain by visiting the Palm Springs Art Museum (and share a bit more of Korakia)

Playtime in the Pacific [pt 2]

Earlier, I detailed how hoarding a week of vacation days paid off when I used them to unwind in Oahu’s beautiful Windward Coast/North Shore area. While being in or on the beautiful waters near my rented studio was amazing, I have to admit the island is chock full of beautiful vistas…and in Part 2, I share a few more of my favorites.

With the backstory to my Oahu vacation already out of the way and the trip deliberately low-key in nature, there’s more to show than to tell.

However, since real-life acquaintances seemed fascinated that a) I was planning on doing lots of swimming and hiking and b) that I didn’t come home fried like a pork rind, I suppose I can leave aside their misjudging of my hobbies and share the (boring) secret to bringing my shark-bait-pale self home without mishap.

Yes: thanks to hats, lavish and frequent use of high-number sunscreen, and SPF clothing that included a rash guard as well as an oh-so-sultry A-line “swim-mini” skirt, I escaped burning.

FASCINATING I KNOW

On the plus side, when paired with a navy T, the swim-mini looked relatively presentable for off-the-beach/trail wandering:

Enjoying the view from Haleiwa's Anahulu Stream Bridge...

...and enjoying a view OF the beautiful circa 1921 bridge

My efforts to stay uncrisp’d got a boost when I convinced Mr Vix to leave the sun behind for a few hours in order to explore a charmingly shady, less-charmingly muddy trail loaded with ginger, wild coffee shrubs, taro, and banyan trees. As we tromped up and down toward a small waterfall, we were treated to glimpses of the Ko’olau Mountains we’d been ogling all week from different vantage points:

The Maunawili Falls Trail proves beach views aren't the only game in town

Exchanging water views for another of Hawaii’s intriguingly tree-root-laden trails led me to wonder if Polynesian tiki carvers were big hikers. Because there’s something about the stair-stepped roots that really remind me of the gods’ faces:

L, Tikis for sale at a roadside stand; R, more of the Maunawili Falls Trail

Unfortunately, my question remains unanswered despite conversation with a modern-day carver. The carver came out of our discussion a little richer, though, as Mr Vix was unable to resist a small tiki representing Lono—seeker of knowledge, protector of family, and bringer of peace, good luck, good spirits, and good fortune. [And also god of clouds and storms, which we’re choosing to ignore.]

Maybe the spirit of Lono began guarding my wallet immediately, because despite an encounter with carved mermaids I found them singing each to each, but not to me*:

L, The military controls access to stunning, shade-laden Bellows Beach, allowing the public in on weekends; R, mermaid pendants for sale in a North Shore shop

Though it’s more likely my ears were just tuned to the frequency of surf, not sirens:

Lai'e Point, a popular fishing spot on Oahu's Windward Coast and one that (legend has it) began life as a giant lizard

And that my eyes were still too dazzled by the textures found in some of Oahu’s most famous landmarks…

A sampling of Oahu's beautiful landmark signage

…and still mesmerized by the variegated shadings of earth and sea seen on one of the island’s most beautiful short hikes…

Another view from the Lanikai Ridge Trail, this time towards the Ko'olau Mountains and featuring yours truly

to fully appreciate the mermaids’ charms.

Of course, there’s also the fact that I’d come to Oahu with my own talisman—the water-loving jaguar, in the form of my perimenopausal panther print dress—and perhaps my unconscious didn’t require another.

Diamond Head and the city at dusk; R, ending the trip in Honolulu Airport's beautiful gardens (and realizing we're in semi-matching outfits)

While I’m not sure who or what deserves credit, I’m glad to have left the island feeling mentally and physically more agile. Hanging onto that well-being in the midst of day-to-day life is the trick, alas, but a trick I need to master. For now, I’m going to dig a moat to protect the sensation, and start fixing up a canopy to keep it dry.

* Given my reoccurring obsession with faux-mermaid synchronized swimmers—which Tine of Highly Irregular Blogspot added to by posing with Copenhagen’s The Little Mermaid statue—I’m not sure how I escaped the pendants’ lure!

Playtime in the Pacific [pt 1]

As one with a hopscotched past of self-, under-, un- and just plain crappy employment, I have a hearty appreciation for group health insurance rates and paid vacation days. When I realized my present-day hoarding of the latter for “something special” and “the right time” could put me on the wrong end of a use/lose policy, though, I let my inner hedonist out FAST.

After a quick mental health inventory (assessment: fried, dyed, and laid to the side) the choice was obvious, if clichéd: Hawaii.

My last trip to the Aloha State was 4 years ago, and I swear just thinking about taking my archetypal stressed-out mainlander caboose back to one of the islands caused my shoulders to drop a smidge farther away from my ears.

Seeing cheap direct flights worked a little magic, too—as did investigating the plethora of places that would work with my “vacationing like the other half lives” philosophy. Knowing I could race away from responsibility and land somewhere relatively budget-friendly, private, and beautiful after 6 hours on a plane was insanely comforting.

But it was MORE comforting to actually spend a week immersing my senses in settings like this:

L, Toward Oahu's Lanikai Beach; R, scene from a watersports rental shop

And this:

Outrigger canoes await their owners as Kailua Beach beckons

Admittedly, it’s giving me cognitive dissonance to be dodging puddles when just a few short days ago I had the luscious, lightly trampled sand of windward Oahu between my bare toes.

But of course I’m grateful to have had a chance to absorb so much natural beauty. And also grateful my trip’s forecast of 80s and extremely stormy switched at the last minute to (mostly) 80s and sunny.

[Because let’s face it: I get more than enough rain in Oregon. Way, way, more than enough.]

Having packed for wet + wild and gamely steeled myself to enjoy a beach holiday of museums and cultural centers, I happily abandoned all plans of enlightenment and instead spent my time under sunny skies and straw hats.

There’s a difference between being ignorant and being a fool, after all, and I wasn’t going to pass up a chance to maximize my time in and on transparent, aquamarine water backed by a stunning view of the Ko’olau Mountains!

A paddler's view of Oahu's gorgeous Kailua Beach and Ko'olau Mountains...and taking a break from the paddling

Even Mr Vix, who lived on Oahu as a kid and decided to accompany me back there, couldn’t believe the overt gorgeousness around us.

While we had to buy drugstore snorkeling gear and rent a kayak to explore the bays of Kailua and Kaneohe, the studio we rented came with all the trappings for great beach trips—chairs, mats, towels, umbrellas, boogie boards, and a cooler. Plus constant fresh air, lots of light, and the sound of the ocean. Plus-plus a welcome basket of pineapple, papaya, macadamia nuts, and Kona coffee.

[Which is more or less what we kept ingesting and replacing during our trip, and brought home for later.]

Our $125/night all-in studio came with tropical treats, beautiful light, beach paraphernalia, and fresh air that carried the sound of surf and birdsong (and the occasional power tool)

Helping to set the tropical mood even more was the small cottage’s use of lush landscaping. The geckos, birds, and I approved of how we were tucked away from the main residence and close neighbors…

The path to our studio came with lush landscaping and loads of geckos

…and both Mr Vix and I loved Kailua itself. Because it sits roughly halfway between Honolulu’s sights and the North Shore’s legendary beaches and towns, we knew we had a great base from which to explore both areas.

In theory, anyway.

In actuality, we couldn’t seem to stop assessing North Shore snorkeling spots for tropical fish and giant Hawaiian green sea turtles. And searching that same laid-back locale for fish tacos, shave ice, locally grown coffee, and intriguing items.

L, Outside a North Shore residence, Elvis lives; R, I packed a few things that would blend in with Oahu's tropical colors and felt right at home

Good thing we made sure to revisit a few of Mr Vix’s old stomping grounds in the city so we could round out our report back to family….

Checking out stalls at the Aloha Stadium Swap Meet

* See my shots of Kailua Bay—taken from abandoned military bunkers—here

Next: Part 2 of Playtime in the Pacific, in which I tromp hill and dale and eyeball some tempting local wares

Mea culpa, dear Oregon

Admittedly, I’ve been a rather piss-poor brand ambassador for Oregon lately. There’s only so long one can ride on a love prose-poem to Oregon berries, and I think I’ve been on foot for at least the last 5 months.

After a recent weekend getaway, however, I herewith declare myself freshly infatuated with my region!

Not that anyone partaking of even a sliver of Oregon’s 400 miles of free-to-all*, delightfully unspoiled coastline could do anything but fall madly in love with the landscape (again). And since Mr Vix and I started off our very, very much needed weekend at the North Coast with clear skies, resistance was truly futile:

An ephemeral, sculptural shelter accents Cannon Beach's shoreline

Especially given that we kept encountering creatures that made us smile.

A walrus becomes one with a coastal art gallery's architecture

Proving shark kites beat shark bites

But April anywhere in the state is very much a “2 seasons for the price of 1!” experience, and near the ocean one must be prepared for sun, rain, and fog at all times. Mentally AND physically.

Especially if one has climbed to an elevation of 1600 feet precisely because locals said a cerulean sky at sea level meant we were in for a spectacular view of the coastline.

O TEMPESTUOUS LAND

Despite quick-moving spring fog obscuring most of our view, Neahkahnie Mountain's trail gave us peeks of Manzanita and Nehalem Bay

…but I still say oceanside hikes with obscured views beat no oceanside hikes at all.

On a related note, sometimes hikes that end with access to big ole picturesque tubs beat hikes that end at a campground or one’s sadly-detubb’d-during-renovation home.

Luckily, this weekend contained the former. I happily give the tub full credit for unknotting some of the lumps that work/life stress had put into my muscles—and partial credit for contributing to the delinquency of non-minors.

My coastal weekends usually involve a campsite, but living in a tub-free home meant this hotel room had me at hello

As we meandered up the coastline on the drive home, even the rain couldn’t dampen my spirits. Pre-trip, I’d trudged through sopping days and nights with one section of Etta James’ rendition of Story Weather stuck on a seemingly permanent loop:

Oh yeah / Life is bare

Gloom and misery everywhere

Stormy weather, stormy weather

And I just can’t get my poor self together

Oh I’m weary all of the time

The time, so weary all of the time”

But now I was practically singing in the pelting droplets.

Of course, it helped that in addition to rain, the streets and shores of one of Oregon’s most populated beach cities—home to many a taffy-n-Ts retail establishment—featured more gulls and gently rolling sand dunes than humans.

A saltwater taffy stop in storm-soaked Seaside included a windy coastal walk

Swamped in summer, but lonely in rain: the beach from Seaside's circa 1920 Promenade

Put it down to having had a little sun. A little sand. A little…synchronicity.Whatever the elements responsible, I was thrilled that less than 48 hours at the coast had lifted my spirits so high. And if Oregon’s foamy waves can do that for a documented curmudgeon, imagine what they can do for you.

* Thanks to the foresight of former Oregon Governor Oswald West, who in 1913 declared the state’s wet sands area to be “a public highway based on the customary use of beaches as wagons and mail routes” and thus immune to privatizing.