My birthday, February 6, got off to a good start when I went out to breakfast at my favorite place for breakfast, VIP’S Café in Tarzana. I told my waitress that today was my birthday and that I was starting my birthday off by having breakfast there. Instead of her blowing it off, she was very excited and wished me a happy birthday and asked me what my plans were for the day. I explained to her that my plans were actually for “a week” and she loved that, but revealed that shelikes to celebrate her birthday with total solitude. Well, I get that, especially for a person who is working with customers all day, and sometimes waitresses can be treated pretty roughly.
The rest of the day was just me enjoying doing whatever I liked, but happily, Sue took me out for happy hour to our normally chosen “happy hour place”, Lakeside Café in Encino, and it was wonderful to talk with her and hear all that is going on in her life at work. We also discussed a lot our experiences with “retirement financial counselors”, the good and the bad of the process, and what advice and guidance we each had been given. Sue isn’t planning on retiring right away, but is being very smart to be working on the plans for that particular eventuality.
I had been thinking for a while what I wanted to do for my birthday, where to go, and happened to come across a recommendation of a not-well-known highway in Southern California that was described as worth making an excursion to, and on. This is the “Palms to Pines” highway (California Highway 74) that begins at Palm Desert and circles around the “back side” of Palm Springs and climbs up into the San Jacinto Mountains. When I looked it up on Google Maps, I realized that I had wanted to go on that road several years ago, but never did. So I figured, why not do that, and since I have two friends, Jim and Paul, who live in Palm Springs that I have known since I was a freshman in college, but hadn’t been out there to see in about ten years (they both retired twenty years ago, so their lives and mine didn’t match up very well during that period), it seems that now would be could time to go see each of them, as well. They happen to be friends with each other and live very closely to each other, so getting together with both of them was an easy idea.
I realized that going back home from the Palms to Pines highway would essentially take me close to Riverside, where The Mission Inn, my favorite getaway hotel, is located, so I thought, alright, that’s it, let’s start this trip with Jim and Paul in Palm Springs, then go on the Palms to Pines highway, and end this trip with two days at the Mission Inn.
During the less busy times, the Mission Inn sometimes offers highly discounted room rates and I am on their mailing list, so I receive those discount alerts. They don’t discount the lavish rooms that seem to be better than my whole apartment, but their “normal” rooms are worth it for sure. But they do have selected days when those discounted room rates do not apply, so I looked at their calendar to see what I could do, and the entire week of my birthday was blocked out, no discounts then, but the following week, they were offered for every day except Friday and that weekend. I decided the ideal schedule would be to drive to Jim’s on Monday 2/11, drive the Palms to Pines highway on Tuesday, and stay in the Mission Inn Tuesday and Wednesday nights, and drive back home Thursday. For Friday afternoon after the trip, Cheryl, my retirement financial advisor, had scheduled what would be a two or three-hour phone call, which she made in cooperation with my potential birthday plans, so that was to be the official end of my “birthday”.
Fortunately, Monday 2/11 was good for Jim, and he offered me his guest bedroom for that night, and Paul was able to go to dinner with us. Also, the Mission Inn had rooms available for the dates I wanted—not only that, but I was able to get their “next best up from the basic room” for the same discounted price. So I snapped that up.
PALM SPRINGS
I hardly recognized the drive out to Palm Springs; it had been so long since I had been there. The whole “inland empire” is so amazingly built up I could hardly imagine that there are that many people living in California. Paul had been in the Navy during the Vietnam war, stationed on Guam, the island that Democratic Congressman, Hank Johnson, feared that if the military population there got too much greater, the whole island could tip and turn over in the ocean: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cesSRfXqS1Q We can joke about that, but honestly, on the way out to Palm Springs through places like Pomona…Ontario…Redlands, I figuratively felt that the California population appeared to be so great now, that I thought it was amazing that the statehadn’t tipped over into the ocean!
Somewhere between Azusa and Palm Springs, I saw from the freeway a JetSki dealership…JetSkis being sold in what is inland, and a desert…more JetSkis than I would have ever imaged had been built. I was flabbergasted, but also impressed. Also, sometime later, I saw another seemingly endless dealership, this time selling RVs; again, way more RVs than I had ever imagined had been made.
But, speaking of “vehicles”, this journey had so very many bigtrucks. It might not have bothered me so much, except that the route to the highway to Palm Springs involves several major freeway changes, the kind where each one splits into two different directions. My route navigator gives perfect instructions, but knowing which lane or two out of three or four choices is essential. When each lane is loaded with trucks, you can’t see, not even the route signs until you are right under them (which by then might be too late), so managing to change lanes among those trucks felt like being in a pinball machine.
Another surprise, all those windmills! Oh yeah, there were windmills last time I drove there, but now, it is astonishing. It’s as if the windmills had been pollinated so relentlessly that Palm Springs would soon have to build an Australia-like “rabbit proof fence” for windwills!
My Infiniti’s navigator, that I loved more than almost any other technology that I own, took me on a route I never would have thought to take on my own. I expected to exit the freeway when we got to highway 111, but instead, the navigator continued me for a while on the highway I was already on, and then took me on a bee-line off the freeway straight to Jim’s condo. Jim’s condo complex very thoughtfully has guest parking, which I greatly appreciated.
I had been in his condo once before, but for some reason, I hadn’t noticed the beautiful color scheme last time, and this wasn’t new. The two-story-high living room was painted in two shades of orange, very desert like, but I said to him, “Nobodywould ever do this” (he explained that it is actually exterior paint), “but it is spectacular!” It pays to be innovative and throw caution to the wind…at least, if you are talented, which Jim is in so many ways.
It was so great to see him, and also so great to see Paul when he came over sometime later. We have that kind of friendship that picks up right where it left off, and we now had so much to talk about…but we always have had! Also, it was amazing how many things they remembered about me through the 53 years that we have known each other. Well, I member things about them, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
However, Paul remembered that our birthdays were on the same day (February 6), which I did not remember. But Paul rememberseverything, to the extent that I now think of him as “the fact checker”, and Jim sometimes uses him as a more handy reference that Google.
But this is something hard to grasp--Paul is only one year older than I am, and Jim is three years older than I am, but they both have been retired for twenty years, whereas for me this is still brand new.
Jim and Paul treated me to dinner at a very popular, huge, historical restaurant, Billy Reed’s: http://www.billyreedspalmsprings.com/ We had to wait a half hour to be seated, which was no problem in that we would sit there in their waiting area and talk just as if we were back in Jim’s living room, so waiting didn’t matter. As we sat there, I suddenly remembered that I had eaten there before, once, maybe 15 years ago. A friend of mine who used to live in Los Angeles had moved to Palm Springs and I had gone out there to visit him and we went there to eat. That friend died several years ago.
Jim, who moved to Palm Springs from the San Francisco Bay Area when he retired, convinced Paul to move out there, too, from Southern California, and Jim has also now gotten his sister and her family to move there, as well as several nieces and other relatives. The deal is that the San Francisco Bay Area has become unaffordable for “the average person” (especially San Francisco, itself), and Jim lets them know what kind of a deal Palm Springs is, although that “deal” is not so much of a deal these days compared to when he first moved there, but if there is another real estate crash (which is expected), it will become a great deal again, he says.
There’s a lot of things about Palm Springs that I like, but I doubt that I, myself, would ever move out there. I am more of a “tropics” person than a “desert” person. Of course, I kind of doubt that I will move to the tropics, either (but...you never know)!
Neither Jim nor I use alarm clocks all that much these days, and I didn’t need an early start, so we agreed that we could wake up whenever we woke up. Well, I woke up to an extremely quiet house and figured Jim was still asleep. But finally I got tired of lying there in my bed, so I quietly opened my door and titptoed out of the room and saw that Jim was out in the living room reading a newspaper (now that’s a quaint sight)! He had made a pot of coffee, I poured a cup for myself, and my day was started. (If you saw me first thing in the morning, I would have my pot of coffee, too, but I would be in my home office getting my news on-line.)
We talked for several hours, but he had an appointment for a haircut and I needed to head to the Palms to Pines highway, but before leaving, we each took a shower. (He had the best shower water pressure I had experienced in more than a decade. How does he get to have this?) While he was taking his shower, I took a photo of the cute humming bird that was sitting on its egg in a nest in a cactus right near one of Jim’s kitchen windows. It’s not the clearest picture because I didn’t want to get too close and chance frightening the bird away:
Gosh but Jim has the cleanest house! Every single thing looked brand new, like he had just moved in. And he is organized, too. Well maybe I will be organized after 20 years, as well! He “confessed” that he had a regular maid keep things clean, although he mentioned how you feel you have to clean up before the maid comes, and I remember that growing up, my mother would be in a panic the day our cleaning man, Mr. Furr, was to come; she would make us kids start cleaning up stuff everywhere!
I don’t think I could ever have a maid, for almost every reason you could think of, although my most important reason would be that I don’t like somebody else, a worker, being in my house. I wouldn’t be able to relax until they were gone.
CALIFORNIA PIZZA KITCHEN
When I left Jim’s, it was getting to be lunchtime and all I had so far was a cup of coffee, so I hoped that along the length of highway 111 to Palm Desert, I would see a coffee shop that served breakfast…maybe a Denny’s, at least?
But no, nothing like that—lots and lots of “Patio Furniture” stores--that must be a big thing in Palm Springs--or else very fancy dinner restaurants. I am sure there were exactly what I wanted buried in among all the various shops, but nothing was obvious and so I traveled on.
Then, uncomfortably, I began to yearn for a bathroom, even though I thought I had “taken care of all that” at Jim’s house before I left. Well, at the very threshold of the Palms to Pines highway was a very elaborate and beautiful shopping area, The Shops of El Paseo ( http://theshopsonelpaseo.com/shops/) and there I saw that they had a California Pizza Kitchen. Well, while had I been looking for breakfast, it definitely now was lunchtime, and I like California Pizza Kitchen and I knew at least they would have bathrooms!
Fortunately I was able to find a parking place (it was very crowded) and it was kind of a long walk from where I parked to the entrance to the restaurant, and I was walking behind a woman who was with an elderly woman who was walking slowly with a cane. We were between a metal railing and the wall, so I could not pass them and felt the better of asking if I could squeeze past them. And, alas, we could hardly get into the door of the restaurant; packing up in front of the hostess were people giving the hostess their names. This was the last straw, so I actually did more or less push past the people and asked the women I had been following if they knew where the bathrooms were, saying to them “I need that more than food, actually”) and fortunately one of them showed me exactly where the bathrooms were.
While in the bathroom, I contemplated just leaving afterwards, because I really wasn’t all that hungry and all I had wanted was a bathroom. I didn’t want to have to spend time waiting to be seated, either. However, this went against the grain of my normal “moral rule”, and this is that if I use a restaurant’s bathroom, then I need to buy something there. Normally I have applied that to McDonald’s, which are the most reliable bathrooms to look for when you are traveling on the road. Almost everywherehas a McDonald’s, and their signs are usually very tall and visible from the highway, so I can find one, use their bathroom, and then buy a cup of coffee, at least, or even a full meal if I want. So I considered that nobody at the California Pizza Kitchen stopped me in any way, I had been able to just sail right on in, so I figured even if I had to wait, I would eat lunch there after all.
Well, the two women whom I had followed in were still waiting to be seated, but I saw that the restaurant had a rather hugecounter, it was like eating at an executive desk instead of a normal dining counter. And only two people were sitting at this counter. I said to hostess, “If I ask to be seated at the counter, do I have to wait?” She kind of laughed and said, “No, you can sit down right this minute!” Fantastic, so I chose a place to sit right next to the cash register and a young man came over and handed me a menu.
Now, something that had been bothering me for a while leading up to this drive was whether or not to take a little side trip higher up in the mountains that would take me through Idyllwild. I understood that at this season they might have snow up there, and I wanted to see snow, but I did not want to deal with having to carry chains (which I don’t happen to have for my car) nor did I even want to have snow on the road, with the danger of slippery ice or who knows what other hazards that might be laying in wait for me and my car. In my youth, I had already gone through slip-sliding on slippery roads and once even helplessly skidded, smashing into a wall of snow. So I was done with all that.
I began checking out Idyllwild’s weather at least a week prior to this trip, but it is difficult to get accurate information because conditions change constantly. There was a correspondence between rain in southern California and snow falling in the mountains. There was an article that charted how low in altitude the snow would be each day based on how much rain was forecasted, so the snow could conceivably get down to 3,000 feet above seat level by the time I would be taking this drive, and Idyllwild’s altitude is 5,000 feet. It was clear that Idyllwild would have snow on the ground, but whether the snow would stay on the road or melt off, and whether chains would be required or not, information was not easily forthcoming. I had the impression that the snow situation would be ideal (as much snow as possible without it endangering automobile traffic), but I couldn’t find a definite answer. So in a way, I became “obsessed” over this question as it controlled part of my route.
I had asked Jim if he somehow knew, but in a way that would be like asking me in Tarzana what the snow conditions would be like at Wrightwood. Unless you are there and you can see it, you don’t really know. Jim was sure that it would be okay, that I needn’t worry, and said, “You will like it, Idyllwild is a cute little town.”
Well, the guy who brought me my menu at the California Pizza Kitchen looked like a young, fit, athletic kind of a guy (meaning, he might snow board or something), so I asked himif he had any idea about what the conditions would be like up there in Idyllwild. He said that he didn’t know, that the only way to really know would be to contact the California Department of Highways, and he said he would out for me. Now that’sunusual, and very special, somebody going out of his way like that to obtain that information. And by golly he did do it, he called them up, and then came over to where I was at the counter and said that chains were not required and whatever snow there had been on the road had melted off. The conclusion was that I could take the route through Idyllwild just fine. I said, “Thank you very much, you have made my day!” I was excited to know that I could safely take this Idyllwild route, which would add to the pleasure of this trip.
Then a waiter came over to ask me for my order, a guy younger than the one who had called the Highway Department for me, and stood next to me on my side of the counter as I sat on the stool. Having broken the “barrier” between waiter and diner, this arrangement felt unusually intimate, in a good way, like somehow we were friends.
He said, “Are you ready to order, or would you like me to guide you through the menu?” I had not yet had a chance to look at the menu, and I was generally unfamiliar with their menu anyway. I had never gone to a California Pizza Kitchen “on by own”, but several times had gone to one in Encino with Nancy Nichols, who used to work where I did. Last time I was there, I had some kind of refreshing drink that was like having a sangria, except not alcoholic, and a “hot bowl” for lunch, which was spicy vegetables, grains, and meat in a bowl.
I said to him, “I would love for you to guide me through this menu…for drink, what do you have that is kind of like a sangria, but not alcoholic? I had something like that before and really liked it.”
He said, “We have that with alcohol, too, if you like,” and I said, “No, I am driving, and while one drink couldn’t hurt, today I would rather not drink until I am at my destination—then all bets are off!” He laughed at that, saying, “Yes, drinking once you are at your destination sounds best.” He then guided me to the beverages section and the one that stood out was “Sparkling Berry Lemon”, so I ordered that.
Then I mentioned the “bowl” and he asked, “Was it hot or was it cold?” and I said, “It was hot, with rice in it, I think.” He pointed me to the Shanghai Bowl: shrimp, lots of vegetables, and black rice, what he called “forbidden rice,” to which I responded, “Ah, because it gives you secret powers, right?” He said, “Yes, absolutely secret powers,” and then went on to enumerate the various health ingredients involved which were reserved onlyfor the emperor, which is why it was forbidden to everybody else. Forbidden rice has more anthocyanins than any other whole grain, which cuts down on bad cholesterol, it has phytonutrients that detoxify the body, has anti-oxidents and is fiber rich, especially rich in proteins, helps prevent diabetes, is beneficial for heart health, and even helps cut down obesity. This guy was really a trip, he was not only helping me remember which things I had eaten before that I had liked, but was also sellingme on the various beneficial details. All that was admirable to me, not annoying. He was making me love my meal before I had even eaten any of it!
And all was good, good enough to eat again and again.
When I was finished, the waiter came to clear away the dishes, and he saw that my goblet of Sparkling Berry Lemon was still half full. It really was a lot to drink and perfect for, say, when I would be having lunch with Nancy and therefore we would be there a long time conversing. That doesn’t happen when I am eating alone. But, this astute waiter saw the half-full glass, and said, “Oh, let me put this into a to-go cup so that you can have it while you are driving, and I will ‘refresh it’ with some more juice.” He brought me a tall paper cup and showed me that it had a couple of squirts of some kind of red juice at the bottom and then he carefully poured in the contents from the “sangria glass”. As he did this, he said, “If you had ordered an alcoholic one of these, I would not be allowed to pour this.” (Not to mention that I couldn’t then have it in the car!) I said “Really, why is that, because of age?” He said, “Yes, I am not yet 21, and we have to be 21 in order to serve liquor here. I’ve got three more years to go.”
I don’t usually think of a person as having a job like this when they are 18, but all indications are that this guy will end up doing very well in whatever becomes his career.
My whole experience at California Pizza Kitchen was outstanding in so many actual and subtle ways, that I decided that my waiter needed a tip that was double what I would have normally given him, and I wanted to tip the guy who called the Highway Department for me, as well. Tipping the waiter extra would be easy, but I thought how I could tip the buy who got the snow report for me. I didn’t want to risk insulting him, because I am sure that “getting a tip” for doing that would the farthest thing from his mind, and besides, I don’t think people in his position get tips at all. But, in elegant restaurants, guys will slip a tip to the Maitre d’ who gets them a great table, so that is more or less what this guy’s position is, right? So, fortunately, he happened to come by me and there was no one else around, so I slipped him a five dollar bill and said, “Maitre d’s get tips, don’t they?” and he was smart enough to grasp in a second that I was both rewarding him for helping me like he had, and also justifying doing it in a way that would not be insulting. He was very nice and said, “No, that wasn’t a special service,” but I said, “You know hardly anybody else would have done that,” and I think he understood how true that was, so he accepted the money graciously.
The waiter, too, accepted his additional $5.00 happily, about which I said, “Here is the tip you normally would have earned, and here is a tip for the special expertise”.
Then, to the highway! Honestly, that “Shops of El Paseo” really is at the brink of the Palms to Pines highway. You turn left out of their entrance drive and you are now on it!
PALMS TO PINES HIGHWAY
The minute I got on it I liked it, because I could feel that the highway was on an incline and the mountains up ahead showed where I was going to be up and away escaping into a mountain desert wilderness.
Peculiarly, once I got out of the city, this highway reminded me of Maui’s Road to Hana, except that from a normal point of view, one could hardly conflate the two. However, both the Road to Hana and The Palms to Pines Highway begin in a resort town, follow a zig-zaggy route through natural and not very populated regions, and show beautiful iconic sights and their respective geographical experiences, in the case of the Road to Hana, a wet tropical jungle with occasional views of the Pacific ocean, and in the case of the Palms to Pines Highway, an arid desert mountainous region with occasional views of the desert floor.
The Road To Hana
The Palms To Pines Highway
This road was fun to drive and when it began to climb in earnest, it almost felt like I was going up in an external elevator, because I could look vertically up the mountain and see cars in several tiers above me, while stopping at look-out points and looking down, I could see the roadway meandering around below with the tiny cars on it, making it look like a child’s Hot Wheels racing track toy. At one major look-out area where I had topped and gotten out of the car to look, I pointed down to the tiny cars on the roadway and said to a guy sitting on the wall admiring the view, “That looks like Christmas morning, playing with a new racing car toy on the carpet. I want to have one of those again!” He laughed and said, “Yeah, me to!”
Speaking of toys, this time for adults, at that same look-out area, there was a guy filming with a drone. I told him I was impressed by and envious of him and wanted to get a drone myself, but I was being slow in jumping into a couple thousand dollars purchase. I asked him if one should take a class on how operate them before getting one. He said that he taught himself, that a class wasn’t necessary. He was buzzing his drone way out over the canyon and I am sure he was getting some really great footage. I think he was smart practicing out there in essentially the middle of nowhere, but which nevertheless had spectacular views. I don’t think a person would be able to practice in, say, Los Angeles, not even in a park (or especially not in a park). I mentioned accidents, and he said this was one purchase where he highly recommended getting an expanded warranty. I’m not sure how a warranty would protect user accidents, but his mentioning of that at all made me make a mental note to check out those warranties and what all they cover.
I also mentioned legalities, there seeming to be strict rules regarding the use of drones, and he said when he flies his drone, his software transmits a report to an avionics authority (he said what it was, but I didn’t fully catch it, it seemed to be the air traffic controllers at the nearest airport), where he is and what he is doing, but since he is flying his drone below a certain altitude of air space, he is considered of no concern. I think it is a situation of if you report your presence (identify yourself), you are okay, but if you avoid that, even if you are flying your drone below commercial air space, you could be in serious legal trouble. (Normal general federal no-nos that can get you in trouble regarding various things: not reporting, lying to an investigator, and obstructing justice.) I don’t know if these drones have the ability to get up into a normal commercial airflight tier, but I can certainly see the reasonableness of staying below it!
I liked this guy and his willingness to share with me. He has the brand of drone that I want to buy, which I have noticed is pretty standard on most of the YouTube videos I have seen where the filmmakers have revealed the model of drone they were using. I’ve pretty much convinced myself to get one after I feel more secure with how my retirement money is working for me. In other words, I don’t want to spend beyond a certain threshold, which would interfere with the investment growth expectations that are required for this money to last me for the rest of my life…at least, based on my situation the way it is now, without having, say, YouTube monetary earnings or other income that I ultimately hope to generate.
There was another look-out point where I stopped, but did not get out to go on their short hike, the Cahuilla Tewanet Vista Point. There was a lot of desert flora to be seen up there and it looks like it would be a worthwhile walk for anybody who wants to walk it.
Further down the road from that Vista Point was a section that fascinated me, where the hills or mountains looked like rock piles:
What does that, I wonder; what kind of torturous geological exploding, crushing, pressure, or relentless weather can break these pieces like that and present the sense of a mountain made of piled up boulders?
After a while, the road leveled out and the landscape was more of a flat, level land, yet still at high altitude.
I really liked the drive when I got to this pines section (having now gone from the palms to the pines) where there were some beautiful ranches. I never would have imagined anyone living up here where it seemed so isolated, but it looked very appealing. I like the look of pine trees, but they do signal to you that this zone is a more extreme climate, snowy wintry cold or, in contrast, high humidity hot (such as indicated by the pine forests in the Southeastern U.S.). While humans live in every kind of climate and location, it is pretty much settled that the most comfortable zones for humans are the deciduous tree zones, which are more temperate. The leaves that are adapted to the climate (tight evergreen needles or broad deciduous leaves that fall off in the autumn and are replaced by new ones in the spring, and other kinds, tell the climate story, but that is too complicated to get into here. Still, it is worth knowing about.)
The feeling of being here felt wondrous, but it also felt like not being in California at all, not what I think of as California, anyway, but maybe Montana or Wyoming. What appeared to be huge mountains in front of me were spectacular, and as you can see, there was definitely snow on those mountains, thanks to the heavy rains we have been having. I was looking forward to the road that would be climbing up into those mountains.
Somewhere along the highway in a section called Thomas Mountain, there was the beginning of snow to be seen in the fields, but had not remained on the highway:
That’s exactly what I wanted, snow on the ground, but there still being enough heat that the snow was not staying on the highway and there was no fear of there being slippery ice. There were periodic signs warning of “ICE”, though. However, those were permanent signs, up all year, so I didn’t worry about them too much.
After a while, I saw a distance up ahead quite a lot of vehicles parked in the woods to the left, which stood out in this otherwise empty region. When I got closer, I could see that they were RVs (ah, so people do use them!) and there was a sign revealing that this was Lake Hemet and they had fishing, campgrounds, and boating there. It was a pretty lake and there were lots of appealing camping spots in this area. I think it would be nice to camp and maybe fish here in the warmer months, especially if you had a small boat. Still, there were people there even now in the snowy season.
Appealing Looking Lake Hemet Campgrounds
Alas, I didn’t have to get too far beyond Lake Hemet when I began to be aware that I was now in a recent fire zone (marked in yellow in the fire map, below).
Cranston Fire Map, June 2018
The charred, destroyed trees were all over the place, and after a while, I saw a coned-off area on the right with one man standing there holding a Stop sign on a pole that he was not directing toward the traffic. It looked like that would be (or already had been) an area where some clean-up work would be done, either clearing out dead wood, or maybe repairing some damage to the road. I drove by the man slower than then normal speed in case I was supposedto stop, but all he did was look at me as I drove by. I waved at him and then continued on.
Then later, I saw a much longer line of cones on the right of the road and some men working in the woods on the left. There was a man with a Stop sign on a pole, like the other man, but he was pointing it toward me, quite casually. I slowed down and attempted to ascertain where exactly I was supposed to stop if I was supposed to stop, as I had been used to road traffic guys stepping right into the road in front of you. But this buy just stood there on the side, leaning on his sign.
I was mostly looking at him, trying to surmise some instruction or guidance, while suddenly out of the corner of my left eye, I noticed a portable barrier right in the road in front of me and I slammed on my brakes and, I wasn’t quite sure, I might have hit it. This “barrier” was nearly invisible to the eye; it was simply a rectangular slab of aluminum attached to something like a sawhorse. No orange stripes, no words such as “STOP”, nothing, just this stupid thing right there on the highway.
The man began shouting at me, “What are you doing?”
I lowered my passenger window and said, “I am stopping.”
He shouted again, “What are you doing?”
I said, “I am stopping—aren’t I supposed to stop? I see that you have this barricade on the road.”
“That you nearly slammed into!”
I said, “Did I hit it?”
He said, “No, but I have neverseen anybody come as close to it as that. You’ve got great brakes. If I had a camera with me, I would take a picture of it for the guys, this would be one for the ages.”
I figured that things must be awfully dullout here for this to get such a rise out him. I said, “Well I have a camera, I would be happy to take a picture of it and send it to you.”
He said, “No, I just want you to slow down, watch out, and be careful, there are workers out here and none of them need to run over.”
I said, “I’m sorry. Iagreewith you! You guys have a tough job out here in the rain and snow and need to be protected, and what a sad sight this is, all this horrible fire damage in such a beautiful area.”
“I know,” he said, “it’s all over California and it is such a shame.”
Since we were just sitting here, I decided to ask him my question about the snow situation in Idyllwild. He said, “You don’t need to carry chains and I am told from up there that the snow has all melted from the roads.” I thanked him profusely and said that I definitely would be going up there now.
He said, “Don’t run over any road workers.” I told him I would be careful.
When I got to the intersection, I turned right onto highway 243 to Idyllwild, which a sign said was five miles away. They call this highway “The Banning-Idyllwild Panoramic Highway”. The road was definitely going up hill to a higher elevation (Idyllwild is 5,000 feet). There was more snow and more burned trees to be seen across the landscape. I came to another stop point where this time there were a great many workers and several trucks parked off the road for doing heavy work.
I hadn’t mentioned in the Palms to Pines highway section that several times I saw “Flash Flood” warning signs. I also saw “ICY” signs, both of which I didn’t worry about in the least.
However, when I saw those signs on this road, I suddenly worried about them. After all, they clearly had had a lot of snowfall and then melting and then more snowfall and more melting…is this something that could cause a flash flood? I just didn’t know. Along this mountainous route, I even saw a Flash Flood sign that said, “If You See Water, Turn Around Or You Will Drown”. Now the Banning-Idyllwild Panorama Highway, instead of being an idyllic journey through a glorious landscape, seemed to be a road in Hell, as there were so many ways you could get in trouble—ice, flood, fire, snow, oh, and they did have the “Carry Chains Required” sign and even a marked-off side by the road labeled “Chain Installation Help Section”, which didn’t have anybody there. All they lacked were some warnings about avalanches or poisonous snakes or selected tornadoes. Or Sasquatch sightings.
Here is a photo of “contrast”—snow in a zone that had been severely damaged by fire:
You will also see that there is some snow on the road and definitely snow on the sides, and there was more and more of that as I drove further uphill. How many people had told me that the conditions would be the opposite, no chains required and snow melted from the road? It just goes to show that you have to see it for yourself. I realized that for future excursions, I need to buy a set of chains for my car to keep in the trunk. I should have done that already, but figured that I could avoid that need.
Then there was another thing, now. There were cars coming down the road from where I was going, and several of them had piles of snow on the roofs of their cars a foot thick. That happens when there has been snow falling on parked cars and it piles up. So there had been that much snow that was still not melted from the tops of the cars up there. And also snow all across the road.
That was it, I thought, no need to go much further. I had satisfied my desire to see some snow and this route to Idyllwild, if I took it all the way to Banning, would make the journey to the Mission Inn longer than if I had continued on Highway 74. Even turning around and going back down the mountain and then turning right back onto Highway 74 would get me there sooner than if I continued this way.
I didn’t see any place to turnaround until I got to Idyllwild, but I found a turn-around place there and realized that I had made it to Idyllwild. But turning around and going back down the road was a relief and now my destination was Riverside and the Mission Inn.
THE MISSION INN IN RIVERSIDE
For some unknown reason, when I copy the URL to the Mission Inn here so that you can click to find their website, the system simply blocks it. I don’t know if there is some problem with my system here, or with something at the Mission Inn. However, it is easy enough for you to type it in yourself: https://www.missioninn.com
or if that doesn’t work, you can do a Google search for “Mission Inn Riverside” and click on one of the hits that Google will present to you. When you do this, choose the Mission Inn’s website, not some hotel booking service or other website.
This was my fourth time staying in the Mission Inn. The first time I stayed there was in the spring of 1966, my senior year in high school, as part of a California state-wide school club event, The Junior Statesmen of America Spring State event. I found the hotel to be endlessly fascinating when I was 18 years old, and that feeling never left me.
I had thought about the hotel often during my life, and finally about three years ago, decided to stay there again as an adult…specifically to celebrate my birthday that year:
The weather happened to be spectacular the days that I was there that first time, with temperatures in the high 90s surrounding February 6! I had spent a good part of Saturday out by, and in, their huge swimming pool. Also, I had one of the second tier rooms instead of the basic level, although the basic rooms, what they call “Deluxe” are good, too. The second tier they call “Raincross” rooms. The “Raincross” is a symbol created by the hotel’s original builder and owner, a design that he obtained a patent for. It was meant to honor both the original Native Americans who lived in the Southwest and the mission of Father Junipero Serra, and is composed of a mission call to worship bell topped by a double-cross that was specifically a Native American symbol for “dragonfly”, an insect that appears during the summer rains…thus that symbol represents “praying for rain” (particularly appropriate, I suppose, in that Riverside at that time was developing an extremely valuable orange grove industry, requiring, of course, rain for irrigation):
This symbol is all over the Mission Inn, and also the city of Riverside, which has adopted it as the official symbol of the city. Since the Raincross rooms were given this iconic name, I am assuming that these were the normal “special rooms”, even though there were several room categories above them, such as suites and then on up to rooms that are better than my whole apartment. I doubt that I would ever spend the money for any of those rooms more expensive than the Raincross rooms, and even with the rooms that I have stayed in, I took advantage of their periodic price deductions during more slack days. (Often the Mission Inn gets filled up quickly so if you want to go there, you need to reserve several weeks or maybe a month in advance, but they do nevertheless have their more “off” periods.) All three times that I have stayed there as an adult, I did it when they offered those much reduced prices. I am on their mailing list and therefore I receive alerts when those reduced prices are being offered.
To me the main advantages to the Raincross rooms is that they tend to be on higher floors and to have unique settings. For example, the room I had the first time I was there as an adult was on the third floor in a little private alcove of four rooms that had its own outdoor patio:
On my trip this time, I also had a Raincross room, also on the third floor, but in a hidden spot on a corner of the hotel so that it had windows on two sides looking out over the city of Riverside:
Interestingly, since my room was at the top of the hotel in this section, the bathroom had a skylight:
Access to either of one these Raincross rooms was on the third-floor walkway above the swimming pool:
The first time I stayed there as an adult, I took the tour of the hotel (well worth it!) and studied the hotel’s museum thoroughly. I also explored every square inch of the hotel, which is saying a lot.
The second time I stayed there as an adult, which was during the Labor Day holiday, was the year I had had my slip and fall in the school’s auditorium and did the “splits” on my right leg and banged the knee of my left leg. And two days after that fall, in my apartment I collapsed down the three stairs that go from my living room to the front door of the apartment and the pain was so great that it made me pass out. I had ordered a pizza and when it arrived, I forgot to be careful going down the small flight of stairs to get to the door and one leg simply gave away. So I had really banged myself up royally as far as my legs were concerned.
I had made reservations for a stay at the Mission Inn prior to these falls, but figured that with these injuries to my legs, staying there might serve nicely for some recuperation. On the drive down to Riverside, my right foot (the “driving foot”) began to throb with huge pain and my legs and feet were so swollen, especially my right leg that had suffered the most from my injuries, that when I got to my hotel room and took my shoes off, I could see the imprint of the inside of my shoe on my right foot:
Sorry if that was gross!
This time I had the basic “Deluxe” room, on the first floor above the lobby level and accessed by an interior hallway. But it was well situated for my “recovery”. I spent a lot of time icing my legs and feet on the bed with my legs elevated on piles of pillows. The ice machine was absolutely next door to my room, so I didn’t have to hobble far in order to replenish my ice supply. The weather was nice enough for me to have the casement windows wide open, and I could clearly hear the hotel’s bell tower chime the quarter hours and full hours—a very beautiful sound. My icing regimen was ice once an hour for fifteen minutes each time, so I used the chiming of the bell tower to keep track of when to ice again (on the whole hour) and when to stop (on the first quarter hour).
When I wasn’t icing my feet and legs, I sat in an easy chair and read a book by the open windows with my legs elevated on another chair. My glorious view was out over the Spanish Patio and I could see across to the other side where wedding parties and guests were gathering for the three weddings I saw there that day.
The first wedding was an elderly couple, I am guessing them to have been in their mid-sixties, so all power to them! When the wedding was over and the people all crowded out of the wedding chapel and applauded the groom and bride, I joined in and clapped, too, from my window across the courtyard.
The second wedding was a young couple, probably in their late twenties, and same thing, when their guests applauded them when they exited the chapel as husband and wife, I, too, joined in the applause from my window.
The third wedding I saw that day (busy wedding chapel, and the Mission Inn has two of them, their main one with the amazing gold wall at the alter that had been brought in on donkey back to Riverside from Guanajuato, Mexico, and a smaller, more intimate wedding chapel elsewhere in the inn) was a gay couple, two Asian men who looked like they were in their thirties. Same thing as the two other weddings, I applauded, too, as they came out of the chapel, now husband and husband.
So I feel that part of what I did during that particular stay at the Mission Inn, beyond all my icing and reading, was “attend” three “diverse” weddings!
For this recent visit, driving home from the Palms To Pines Highway would take me right by Riverside, so it made sense to finish my birthday getaway by staying at my beloved Mission Inn for a couple of days before going back home. My driving goal had been to arrive at the Mission Inn at 4:00 PM, which is their check-in time, so as to have as long of a time there that first day as possible. I got to the Mission Inn self-serve parking garage at exactly 4:00 PM, one of the many little miracles in my life!
I checked in, knowing that I had booked a Raincross room, but had no idea where in the hotel it would be, and what the room would be like. I was very pleased with the room that I got, on the third floor overlooking the swimming pool, but this time hidden away on a corner of that side of the hotel and overlooking downtown Riverside. All my previous Mission Inn stays had windows that looked out at internal patios and areas within the hotel.
The hotel has five restaurants, a highly rated steak house called “Duane’s”, their main dining room called “The Mission Inn Restaurant”, a Mexican restaurant called “Las Campanas”, an Italian restaurant called “Bella Trattoria”, and a food service out by the swimming pool. And while liquor can be obtained at any of the restaurants, there are also three specifically drinking establishments, a wine bar called “54 degrees” (said to be the the ideal temperature for wine), “The Presidential Lounge”, and something new, the “Las Campanas Tequila Bar”. There is also “Casey’s Cupcakes”, but I have never gotten anything from there, and here’s a “secret”, there is The Mission Inn Gift Shop, but kind of hidden in the back they sell all kinds of snacks, cookies, soft drinks, beer, wine, and champagne. You coulduse the offerings in the mini bars in your room (expensive, but possibly worth it if you get hungry in the wee hours of the night), but it is smart to stock up at better prices from the gift shop.
I have eaten in every one of their restaurants and love them all. Both the Mission Inn Restaurant and Bella Trattoria have both inside and outside dining. Las Campanas is totally outside dining. When the weather is good (most of the time in California), it is glorious to eat outside in the three places where you can. I felt that Bella Trattoria was especially romantic eating outside, maybe because it was reminiscent of my dining outside in Italy.
For this trip, I was going to have two dinners, Tuesday and Wednesday, and would like to have eaten outside for both of them, except that the weather forecast for Riverside was no rain my first evening there, and lots of rain on the second day I would be there. The two restaurants I wanted to have dinner in this time were The Mission Inn Restaurant and Las Campanas. I had never had dinner outside on the Spanish Patio (but I had had breakfast out there several times), which is the patio dining for The Mission Inn Restaurant, so I made a reservation for patio dining there for Tuesday evening. I had eaten at Las Campanas only once before, whereas I had eaten outdoors at La Trattoria twice, which is why I gave the nod to Las Campanas for that second evening this time. Las Campanas was, as far as I knew, only an outdoor restaurant, so I didn’t know what they would do when it rained. However, I went ahead and made a reservation for them for Wednesday evening, which turned out being a good idea.
I got myself settled in my room by 4:30 PM and then came back down to walk around outside. The hotel was celebrating Valentine’s Day for the first half of the month of February and they had decorated the front of the hotel with lots of lights:
Lights at the Valet Parking Driveway
Lights at the Hotel Entrance
K Loves D are Kelly and Duane, the Owners of the Hotel
Walking around that area, I came upon the entrance to Las Campanas, and took the opportunity to tell the Maitre ‘d that I had reservations for dinner there tomorrow night, what would they do in the case of rain. He said that in that case, they would use the indoor seating in the Presidential Lounge. So now I had my answer to that question! He also told me that in case of closing the Las Campanas patio, they would also close the Las Campanas Tequila Bar. He didn’t explain why they would do that, but I thanked him for telling me because I had wanted to get a drink there. “What time does that open tonight?” I asked him. He said, “We’re open right now” and I said, “That’s a great idea!” so he showed me where the entrance to it was.
The Tequila Bar
The Tequila Bar was an elegant room (similar to a cigar room that I experienced on a cruise ship once) with a couple of tables (you could also take your selections outside to the Las Companas patio—when they were open!) and a pretty hefty selection of Tequilas to choose from.
Well, if you read my previous blog entry, “Shots!”, you would know that this would be right up my alley! I considered this to be a first-rate operation. I decided to get a shot of an Añejo, which I had never had before, and choose one of the least expensive ones. I chose the one called “Corazon” (“Heart”), a shot for $13. The bartender found the bottle on the shelf and brought me a cute device that was a small tray that held the shot glass with the tequila in it, a slice of lemon, and little egg-looking thing that had salt in it (you can see this in the photo, above). Very elegant, perfectly made for taste-testing tequila shots.
Since I was the only person in there, I felt free to carry on a conversation with the bartender and he seemed to really welcome that. He was a young man, college age, except he said he was not going to go to college. He said he was new at this and was excited that I was excited by what the hotel was doing with this. I pointed out to him my theory about how one should not use the lemon and the salt while tasting a fine tequila (all this is discussed in my previous blog entry), but that I realize that many, and maybe most, people associate these accouterments with drinking tequila and so it is probably better to provide these things for ritual’s sake.
So I did not use the lemon and the salt, and this really was a delicious shot of tequila in my estimation. He said that so far he only likes Blanco tequilas, and that is his choice, of course. He said he didn’t like the various barrel flavors that could come from the “resting” of the non-Blanco tequilas. I told him that the only Reposado I had tested so far was Don Julio and I did not particularly like it…so taste testing, such as in bar like this new one at the Mission Inn, is really essential unless people want to buy whole bottles of tequila they have never tasted before, only to end up not liking them.
I realized as I savored my shot (and had not simply gulped it down—after all, it wasan ounce and a half of pure liquor) that a snifter of it (2 ounces, cost: $16) would make more sense for taste testing, because the snifter glass provides a good way to enjoy the bouquet of the liquor. I was thinking back to my first taste test of tequila, the bottle of it that my next door neighbor had given to me for Christmas, it began with me smelling it first and really liking how it smelled, which led to me liking how it tasted. So much of taste is actually smell.
The bartender told me he was of Mexican descent and was thrilled to death to see the elevation to true seriousness and appreciation this product of Mexico. I said “Yes”, that it was now like fine wine.
I actually stayed there talking with the bartender until it was time for me to go upstairs to my room to change my clothes for dinner at 6:00 PM. We had ended up talking about all sorts of other things beyond the main subject at hand. Later on, I wondered if I had monopolized his time, but the whole time I was in there, nobody else came in, so it would have been boring for him to just stand there all alone, right? Before I left, he told me that he would see me again tomorrow. As the Tequila Bar would be closed due to the rain, he would be working as a waiter for the restaurant.
At 6:00 PM, I presented myself at The Mission Inn Restaurant and the hostess took me outside to the beautiful Spanish Patio under the stars and seated me next to the water fountain.
The Spanish Patio At Night
The air felt delicious out there. Diners had the overhead heaters on, and that might have made it generally warmer than it would have been, I don’t know, but I was perfectly satisfied with the temperature and never had my heater turned on. Whatever cold there was felt like a sensual breeze, although there would be no actual breeze, as on all four sides we were surrounded by four or five levels of hotel floors, just open to the air overhead. For some reason, I was very pleased to have more and more people coming to eat outside where I was, and not once did I hear anybody complain about the cold (although all of the diners that I could see did have their heaters on). People were very pleased to be out there and there was a lot of picture-taking.
The hotel had some room and dining specials for the season of Valentines Day, and apparently that included bouquets of roses. Some women were carrying their roses into the dining room with them and others were getting bouquets delivered to their table. Since I wasn’t there with anybody in the spirit of Valentine’s Day, I had ignored the special offerings as being irrelevant to my situation, but I thought it was a great idea for those who were partnered up and I felt that this was a great place for people to share that romance.
The first time I came to the Mission Inn as an adult, I celebrated my birthday in Duane’s steak house. I really loved it there, but it was extremely expensive. This time, deciding where I was going to eat, I looked at Duane’s menu and just couldn’t fathom those prices. The steaks, for example, range from $46.95 all the way up to $135.95, with the bulk of them priced around the $60s. I contrasted that with the prices at The Mission Inn Restaurant, where I imagined they used the exact same kitchen that Duane’s does, their steaks cost in the low $40s. Maybe there was a vast difference between the quality of the cuts, in fact, I am sure of that, but anyway, those Mission Inn Restaurant prices were more in line with what I felt I wanted to spend. As it ended up, I didn’t even order a steak at all. What caught my eye was “Traditional Fried Chicken” ($25.95). It was Paul in Palm Springs when we were out at dinner at Billy Reed’s that had put the fried chicken bug in my ear. He suggested that and it sounded so good, but I said, “Is it extra crispy, I hate it extra crispy”, and he said he was afraid that it was.
I truly love Kentucky Fried Chicken but don’t allow myself to get it anymore, because I am sure that anything that tastes that good from a fast food place must be doctored up in a very bad way—particularly loading it up with the big no-no of Monosodium glutamate or the various other names of this flavor enhancer.
So I got something else in Palm Springs (I don’t remember what, too lost in conversation), but now looking at the Mission Inn menu, I see the golden words, “Traditional” Fried Chicken, and the chicken is “Mary’s Farm Free Range” that I have bought at Whole Foods. And it came along with some other things that I like, as well, Garlic Mashed Potatoes, Corn Succotash, Green Beans, and Chicken Gravy.
When the waitress came to take my order, I said, “To not imply that Kentucky Fried Chicken is the standard to be measured by” (I didn’t want to “insult” this elegant restaurant), “but can you tell me if the ‘Traditional’ Fried Chicken on your menu is like KFC ‘traditional’, meaning ‘not extra crispy’, because I don’t like extra crispy.” She said, “Oh, no, it’s definitely not extra crispy.” Good, let me have that! I also ordered a Caesar salad as a starter, and a White Sangria to drink.
Sangria is now more or less becoming my “go to” to drink (except in Palm Springs, I had an Old Fashioned), ever since Sue and I have been going to happy hour at Lakeside Café and getting their wonderful sangrias…two of them, in fact. So the Mission Inn drinks list mentioned Sangria, Red or White. Well, I had never had (or even heard of) “White” Sangria, but it makes sense that there would be such a thing, made with white wine instead of red. Why not? Anyway, since it was totally new to me, I thought to go ahead and order it. And how good it tasted, really wonderful. Drinking it provided a sensation in my mouth that was similar to the sense of “breeze” that the exterior atmosphere provided for me by eating outside on the Spanish Patio.
But the taste of it was extremely familiar to me, but for the life of me, I could not think of what it was! And still to this day, I have no idea; such a wonderful flavor, yet I cannot identify it. It’s almost like some of my dreams where I am functioning in a world that is rich with experience but there is nothing close to it in my waking reality.
After dinner, I went back upstairs to read some in the book I brought, and to work and play on the computer.
I stayed up pretty late, and then decided to take my pills and go to bed. One of the pills is kind of “sticky” (for example, if my finger is slightly moist, I will attempt to swallow the fill, but it will stay stuck to my finger), and alas, it seemed to go upinside there instead of down my throat, as if it was going into my sinus cavity (if that is possible). In my attempt to somehow “get it down”, it seemed to get quite near to my windpipe. I don’t have an image in my head of where the windpipe and the esophagus are in relation to each other—are the openings horizontally next to each other, is one in front of the other one, or what? Is there some valve or safety feature that protects the windpipe from a lot of things going in that direction? At any rate, it felt like the pill was stuck quite close to the windpipe and drinking lots of water and making noises with my throat wasn’t seeming to have any positive affect.
I was really starting to get worried, so did a Google search to find out about items getting stuck near the windpipe and learned pretty quickly that pills can, and sometimes do, get stuck at or in the windpipe and cause suffocation, just like choking on a piece of meat (except this stupid pill was worse than meat, because of how it likes to stick to moist skin). The article I was reading said to get somebody to do a heimlich maneuver on you, but of course, I was alone and it was quite late at night. Or, the article said, you could do one on yourself, but I decided that I could not. At least I could breathe, that was good, and I suppose if I were really suffocating, I would in a panic manage to bang myself against the edge of the desk or something.
Fortunately, the article also presented another suggestion, drinking something carbonated. The fizziness in the liquid would provide an extra oomph in getting the stuck piece down your throat. Drink something fizzy…hum, I know, there will be something in the room’s mini bar! So I got the key and unlocked the blessed minibar and found in there some kind of lemon-lime flavored soft drink in a can, so I drank that and thatdid the trick! The fizzy soft drink for sure picked the pill up and carried on down my esophagus and I did not have to be a casualty in my nice room at the Mission Inn.
So now I am fan of hotel room mini bars! Later, I found out that that soft drink cost me $3.00, but you know, I think it was well worth it. I noticed that there were a lot of other appealing things in there, but I was good, I left them all alone. I only used the soft drink. But someday, some other hotel, I just may raid the mini bar, as sort of “tribute” or “thanks”—it’s the least I can do!
After all that, it was definitely time for bed. I crawled into the sheets…and wow, how soft those sheets were!
What is this, the world’s best thread count or something? My sister Virginia raves about very high thread count sheets, and now come to think of it, the sheets on the bed in my cabin of the MSC Seaside on the cruise I took last spring had the most wonderful sheets, so soft it was like mink fur…just like these sheets in the Mission Inn. I slept like I was hibernating.
THE SECOND DAY AT THE MISSION INN
Woke up, took a shower. Since the room’s light-blocking curtains were still closed, I had no idea what the weather was outside, but in the bathroom with the skylight, I could see that it was raining heavily, just as predicted. That’s great, I wanted to have a nice lazy cozy rainy day in my room, mostly wanting to read, sitting in their confortable easy chair and hassock.
I got dressed so that I could go downstairs to breakfast. I called housekeeping to tell them that now was a good time for the maid to come and clean my room. It’s funny how very long it took me to figure out this particular solution. I’ve been traveling and staying in hotels (not counting trips as a child) since 1970 and it wasn’t until three years ago that I realized this solution. All those years previously, if I were staying in a room for more than one day, I would figuratively wrestle with the maids. If I’m going out to do stuff, it’s normally not a problem, they have all day to do this according to whatever schedule they’ve got going for themselves. But if primarily I am staying in the room most of the day, then I can’t really relax because “any minute” there will be the rapping on the door and the announcement, “Housekeeping”. And then what I do I do? Go hang around in the lobby for a while, if there is one?
Many times, I tell the maid that I don’t need them to do anything, and I would give them a tip to go away. Sure, I could make my bed myself (but it never is as nice as when they do it) and surely I don’t need new towels after having used one just once (and surely don’t the hotels leave little cards on your nightstand regarding “saving water”?) However, part of me being there this second day was to enjoy this orderly and pristine setting (which is not at all the setting at home), so, let the maid come here! And she can replenish my in-room coffees.
At the restaurant, which was the same one I had dinner in the night before, except I wouldn’t be eating outside on the Spanish Patio, the hostess asked me if I had a reservation. For breakfast? The only time I make reservations for breakfast is if it is a brunch, but this was a normal weekday breakfast. The hostess took to a table that was adjacenttothe restaurant, specifically, a table in the wine bar, which would not open until later in the day. Well, this was fine, although I did think it was odd…nothing seemed to be particularly crowded. But with other people, if they didn’t have a reservation, they were seated out there where I was, but otherwise, they were taken into the dining room.
Breakfast was a typical egg breakfast, and I was okay except that at a table next to me, there were two men, businessmen, each talking the whole time on their respective cell phones, making deals or whatever. They were the type of businessmen whose method was to shout and to berate. “I expected that delivery a week ago! What’s going on with you guys? Do you want me to take my business elsewhere? I’ll do it, you, know, I’ve done it before!” The other guy on his cell phone, “I can’t provide that for you now, didn’t you understand me when I told you last week there was a strike in that country? If you’re in such a hurry, I would suggest a substitute, but it will cost you much more!” Back and forth, the two of them, shouting at their various clients, customers, or vendors, hassling over prices and shipments and so on. I don’t want to hear all that stuff.
After breakfast, I went into the gift shop to stock up on snacks for the room, and got a split of Pommery champagne in their beautiful blue bottle. I hadn’t known that one could get Pommery in split bottles and I told the woman behind the counter how special that was. Pommery is one of the “James Bond” champagnes, which gives it a cachet.
James Bond champagnes? Well, there is a man whose website I subscribe to who catalogues various aspects of the “James Bond Lifestyle”, such as what cocktails Bond drinks in the books and in the movies, what champagne he orders, and so on. Regarding champagne, Bond has specifically asked for Taittenger, Dom Perignon, Veuve Clicquot, Pommery, and Bollinger. The Bollinger company has grabbed ahold of that and run with it, saying that their champagne is the James Bond champagne, which isn’t entirely correct; but it is one of them.
I shared this with the woman behind the counter ringing up my snacks, and she was excited over that. Well, it was fitting for the Mission Inn, which, among other things, catalogues notable people who have stayed there, and in their museum they have portrait walls of notable guests in several categories: writers, aviators, U.S. Presidents, heads of corporations, actors, and world innovators.
Then I went back upstairs to my room and I was disappointed to see that the maid had not cleaned the room yet.
I sat down on the comfortable chair with my book and read for several hours when the maid finally knocked on my door. When she finally came, I decided to go for a walk throughout the hotel and then walk around outside. While the heavy rain had come and gone, it wasn’t so bad at this time.
I took a picture of the Spanish Patio where I had dinner last night. It was all “buttoned up” for the rain; they wouldn’t be serving meals out there that night:
After roaming around nearly every floor and hallway and courtyard in the hotel, I went outside to take a photograph of my room on the top of a corner of the hotel. In order to do that, I crossed the street and I noticed there was an antique store, The Mission Galleria, on the corner directly across from my room: ( https://www.yelp.com/biz/mission-galleria-riverside )
I had seen it from one of my windows, but hadn’t thought much about it. I’m not really interested in antique stores, but I saw in their window some really beautiful things. I decided to go in there to look around.
Fortunately they had a sign at the entrance that said that if you are carrying any big bags, give them to one of the salespeople to secure behind the counter. I am thankful for that—this place was so full of expensive things in extremely cramped quarters that me with my backpack that I happened to have on my back at the time would have destroyed thousands of dollars of antiques. The numerous shelves were so close together that I could hardly get my body through there.
And there truly did seem to be an infinite number of them. Self after shelf after shelf of fascinating things and it just went on and on and on. And not only that, but there was also a downstairs, which I did not go down, but I could see that they had antique furniture down there, and then as I walked deeper into the depth of the store, I saw that they had an upstairs, too, two of them. It was truly amazing. When I went to the counter to get my backpack back, I told the woman that I would write a review of their store for TripAdvisor. She liked that, and said that they have two other similar stores in the Inland Empire. This goes along with the beginning of this piece in which I mentioned the huge JetSki dealership and the RV dealership, and all the trucks and traffic that led me to joke that California really would tip into the ocean.
I’ve suggested to several people these past couple of years that they must take an excursion to Riverside to stay at the Mission Inn. A common response is that they have no reason to go to Riverside, when I think the hotel is the reason to go to Riverside! Well, if they happen to really like antiques, this is yet another reason to go to Riverside:
Then it began to rain in earnest, so I went back upstairs to my room and, fortunately, the maid had come. This time I got onto my computer and it was fun doing things on it as the rain stormed outside my room windows. Peculiarly, there were lots of fire truck sirens throughout the day. I don’t quite understand it, suddenly fires in this heavy rain? It must have been calls for paramedics, instead.
I didn’t even go downstairs to eat lunch, but lunched on the snacks and drank the champagne that I had bought at the hotel’s gift shop.
When it was time for dinner and I was walking in the, now not as heavy rain, I saw the maid stashing her cart in a closet, so I stopped to talk with her for a moment. I remarked that it was now the end of her long day and it must have been a tough one, pushing this card all over the place in the heavy rain. She smiled and nodded and I figured she didn’t understand a word of English.
Now, down stairs, I was going to see how the hotel handled those who made reservations to eat at Las Campanas, since due to the heavy rain, they had “closed the restaurant” that was 100% patio.
Here’s how it is normally:
Easy, they serve you in the Presidential Lounge, which is inside from the restaurant:
The Presidential Lounge is pretty popular for drinks, not only for hotel guests, but also for Riverside residents, who go to these restaurants, as well. So it was pretty crowded, with lots of people wanting to eat there in addition to those who had come to enjoy the lounge. There is less seating available in the lounge.
Since I had reservations, they took me right in and sat me at a table that had a RESERVED sign on it. I felt well taken care of. The wait staff seemed a bit flustered, though, as they were having to serve in a “bar” setting instead of the more peaceful patio outside and there were a lot of people there in the lounge who were specifically patrons of the lounge, not the restaurant. Closing the restaurant for rain is a rare event, so it messes with the wait staff’s routine.
As he said he would be, the man who had been the bartender in the Tequila Bar yesterday was there, serving as a waiter for the restaurant. He came over to say “hi” and shake my hand, but he was too busy to do more than that. He said he enjoyed our conversation yesterday, and I said I did, too.
Near me sitting at a table for four were two men and two women having drinks. One of the men was very big, tall and wide (but not necessarily fat). His bulk seemed to take over ¾ of the table; with his elbows on the table, he was more than halfway across the table into the space of the man across the table from him. The big man was doing almost all of the talking, like he was the boss of the table, and very loudly, too.
Then a fifth person arrived who knew everybody, but he hadn’t been expected. They probably were all Riverside locals. He needed a chair to sit on and saw the vacant one at my table, so asked me if he could have it and I said, “Sure”. I probably shouldn’t have let him have the chair, because that meant that when I finished my dinner, my table would not be available for any couple of two who had been waiting to be seated. It is highly unlikely that there would be just a single diner (like me) waiting, although I suppose there could have been. At any rate, I wouldn’t have denied the fifth man who wanted the chair.
Well, now that he had arrived, the big man suggested that they all stay there and have dinner. And honestly, I would have thought that that was reasonable and probably on a normal evening, that could easily happen. After all, they were already sitting at a table where food was being served all around them and they were having fun, or at least, the big man was having fun.
However, their waitress, who was also my waitress, said that since they didn’t have reservations for dinner, that she would have to put them on a waiting list in order to eat. I never would have thought of that kind of a quandary, but the big man didn’t like it. He attempted to argue with her with his loud, domineering voice, but the waitress honestly didn’t have the authority to essentially move them up ahead of the line. Well, to his credit, the big man didn’t seem to push it further, did not ask for a higher up authority. I think what they did was to agree to be put on the waiting list and meanwhile, ordered another round of drinks. I think they did the right thing.
But this situation seemed to knock my poor waitress off her game.
They serve you a lot of food at that Mexican restaurant. Normally, when I go out to a Mexican restaurant, I order a triple combination of items, usually an enchilada, a tamale, and a chili relleno, or something similar. And, of course, rice and beans and chips and salsa.
The previous time I had eaten at Las Campanas, I was surprised to see that their menu offered no three-item combinations. So I had ordered a two-item combination, and added as an aside a tamale.
Boy was that a mistake, I could hardly even eat half of the food that was on my plate, let alone the whole thing! This was my Mission Inn stay when I was recovering from my falls. That level of room (“Deluxe”) did not have a refrigerator (I am not sure if the Raincross rooms have refrigerators, it hasn’t come up), but nevertheless I requested a to-go container, thinking that maybe soon enough my appetite would resurrect and I could finish the rest of my dinner in my room. However, my appetite never did, so later I had to throw out all that delicious food.
So, this time I knew better and ordered a two-item dinner without anything added. Well, this time I dideat all of my dinner, but I could not finish my big basket of chips. Well, this I certainly could take upstairs and not have to throw out later, so I asked my flustered waitress if I could have a to-go container for the remainder of my chips. She said, “Certainly”.
However, what happened (after a while, as she continued to run around serving other people), she handed me a nicely packaged bag, inside of which was a fresh packed-solid container of chips along with a tall cup filled with salsa! How nice was this, but I hadn’t wanted a whole new giant quantity of chips, I merely wanted to take upstairs my leftover ones. And as it was, there was no room in the container to take those, so they certainly were thrown out. (I hate to waste food.) I just couldn’t understand this and chalked it up to her being flustered and having to accommodate a myriad of request.
Well, so now I had a ton of snacks available in my room for later in the evening. A few hours later, I attempted to eat some of them with the salsa, but I just wasn’t hungry, so I didn’t eat any more of them. And the next day when I was packing to check out, I could smell them (not a bad smell) and I just didn’t want to pack them with that smell in my suitcase with my clothes and things, nor did I want to put them into my backpack, so I decided to throw them out. So in my effort to save my leftover chips at dinner, it ended up that they were thrown out and so were a quantity of three times even more of them. Irony!
CHECKING OUT, DRIVING BACK HOME
After my shower, I had breakfast in the same place, but instead of eggs, etc., I treated myself to a crisp waffle, quite a treat, and since I already had coffee in the room, I had orange juice, instead. Apparently it was a bottomless glass of orange juice, as a waiter kept filling my glass up!
Throughout my stay there, there was always the opportunity to charge everything to my room bill, but I don’t like to do that. Everywhere I went, I said that I would rather pay it now instead of having to deal with that big total at the checkout. I mean, normally in my experience, I am there at the check-out counter, not very happy anyway because now I am leaving, maybe kind of rushed because it could be close to check-out time, with an impatient line of people behind me. And then I face a confusing bill that seems to have way more charges on it than expected….
So how did it go this time at my beloved Mission Inn? Well, not so good. I am willing to say that some of it might be my fault, but mostly I think it was their fault, but somewhere in the middle of that was maybe a good lesson for me (which I plan to learn from) and should have been a good lesson for them, but I doubt it will be.
Here is how I saw it, and what I expected. I had made my reservations several weeks ago and paid their special rate for the two nights. They sent me back a confirmation for the two nights at a cost of $338.00, plus a tax of $44.60, for a grand total of $382.60. Fine.
Their confirmation included a long paragraph on their rules in case I wanted to cancel. One rule was that I must cancel 48 hours before my reserved check-in time (4:00 P.M. of the first night) in order to get a full refund. If I had reservations for their special Festival of the Lights (this is around Christmas time), I would need to cancel three weeks prior to my arrival in order to get a full refund.
Well, I didn’t cancel or anything, and paid directly for all my drinks, meals, and snacks, instead of having them added to my room bill. The only charges that should be on that final bill would be two days of Internet use at a price of $9.95 each day, two days of parking in their garage at a price of $17.00 per day, and whatever the soft drink I had gotten out of the mini-bar would cost me, which ended up being $3.00. My final total should then be $56.90.
However, instead, I was handed a bill for $248.20. Whaa? “What is that for?” The woman behind the counter said, “Oh, that is room tax.”
“No it’s not,” I said, I already paid “tax” (thinking back to my confirmation that showed the tax at $44.60). I showed my confirmation to her that showed the $44.60 as well as the room charges for two nights totaling $338.00. I was wondering if she had not understood that I that I had gotten a special reduced room price…perhaps she was charging me the normal rate.
But no, she said, “Well, that is tax you didn’t pay,” and she pointed out on the bill a line that said “Occupancy Tax” and another line that said “California Tourism Fee”, and then those same two items listed again, because I stayed there two nights.
I said, I am not going to pay tax after tax after tax, I paid the tax, it says so right here on this confirmation.
She went into a long explanatory rigmarole about how they charged me a deposit of $191.30 when I checked in, “Remember?”, to have on hand in case of additional expenditures. And so, upon using that, the balance that I still owed “for the tax” was $248.20.
I said, “Yes, that deposit was for the things that I expected to see on this final bill, the Internet, my parking, and whatever the soft drink from the mini bar cost. Nothing else. Certainly no more tax.”
So suddenly she got an idea that maybe a mistake had been made, so she began to look through various records on the computer and also looked up things in what seemed to be some kind of manual, every moment of which was very frustrating for me to wait through it, and she began adding up various totals, and then concluded, “No, everything is correct, no mistake.”
Now I was getting genuinely angry and I said, “So you are still saying I still owe $248.20 for a tax, is that right?” She said, “Yes”.
“But that is impossible”, I said, that “tax” would be $124.10 per night, that was almost the charge for the room, whose special price was $169.00 a night. How does that make any sense?”
She frowned and began to click around on her computer again, but by now I couldn’t stand it, so I said, “I’m sorry, can I please speak with a manager?”
It seem to be with a relief that she turned me over to a manager, who was a bit further down on the same counter. He had been busy straightening out some glitch for some other guy.
So, my experience with him pretty much duplicated everything that had gone on with the woman. He and I both kept circling items on the bill and adding them up and subtracting money from the deposit and so on and at the end of all that, he continued to state that I still owed the $248.20. The difference was that he was not calling it a tax like the woman did. When I repeated with how does the tax cost almost as much as the room he said, “Oh no, that is mostly the charge for the room.” I said, “But I already paid for the room and the tax, that is what I have been telling you, and her, I have already paid $382.60.” Once again, I showed him my confirmation from the hotel.
Now, finally, he heard me. He said, “You are saying that you already paid for the room?”
I said, “Yes, see here, here is my reservation confirmation, and this sum of money, and below here is the cancellation policy that specifically says that in order to get a refund in case of cancellation, this means that you have the money.”
He said, “Well no, this confirms your reservation and we took your credit card information, but we did not in fact charge you anything other than the $191.30 deposit that we took when you checked in.”
I said, “Are you sure?”
He said, “Yes, that’s how we do it, we secure your reservation by your credit card and if you cancel but do not tell us in time, then we can charge your card, but otherwise, we don’t collect anything from you except the deposit when you first arrive, and then you pay the balance due, including any other incidentals when you check out.”
So instead of me thinking that I had paid the $382.60 already, I had him add up every item and then subtract from that grand total the deposit, and what was left was the $248.20 that they were requesting today.
So the salient piece of this whole thing was that they had not charged my credit card when I made my reservation. And even though in our discussions I had kept saying to both the woman and to the supervisor that I had paid in full for the room and the tax, since that was not how they do it, they simply didn’t not “hear” that.
The lesson for them is that they need to stop and clearly listen to the words that are spoken to them, particularly when there is a problem. When I kept showing them my confirmation that listed the money on it, one of them should have realized that I had taken this to mean that I had already paid this amount, and especially when it talks about how to get a refund if I violate their cancellation procedure. What that policy should say is backward from how they have worded it, to “if you cancel your reservation and have not told us prior to 4:00 PM on the day of arrival, we will then charge your credit card for the full room price and tax.”
The lesson for me is to actually really know whether the reservation money has been charged yet, or not. I had not had something like this happen the two previous times I had been there. I wonder, had they recently changed their procedure, or do they some times do it one way and other times the other way?
When I went to Italy, I made every hotel reservation on-line with Booking.com. I think I had made all my Mission Inn reservation directly with the hotel, instead of using Booking.com
With Booking.com, some of the hotels took my money when I made my reservation, but some others did not. If I remember correctly, Venice, Siena, and Rome took the money with my reservation, so checking out was simply a matter of “Bye, see ya, I had a great time!” Amalfi was different…the day I left, I then had to pay for it, which surprised me.
My final Italian city was Santa Maria Navarrese in Sardinia. On my final day there, I calculated what time I would have to leave the hotel in order to get to the airport in Olbia in time for my flights back home. I calculated that I had to leave the hotel at 3:00 AM! I knew there would be no desk clerk there at that hour, so it was essential to find out from the hotel’s owner whether it was going to be like Amalfi, I needed to pay at the end, or were we already paid up.
Some Sardinians are not very fluent in Italian; they like to maintain their native heritage by continuing to speak Sardinian. So, if they hardly know Italian, they surely won’t know English. And so it so happened that the owner of this hotel was one of those Sardinians, so when I attempted in English and my very weak Italian to find out whether I had paid in full, or not, this was impossible for the woman to understand what I was asking her. And nobody else around seemed to be able to help. Finally she got the idea to use her cell phone to call a friend, who actually knew English, so I explained to the friend on the phone what I wanted to find out, so she then asked the owner that question in Sardinian. The owner told her the answer, and handed me the phone, and the friend told me, “You haven’t paid yet, you pay when you leave.” I explained to her that I was needing to leave at 3:00 in the morning, could I pay the hotel right now?” The friend relayed the message to the hotel’s owner, and the owner responded to her friend, who told me on the phone, “Certainly, you can check out with her now, pay her in full, and when you leave at 3:00 in the morning, just leave your room key on the night stand.” I thanked both of them profusely. So it helps to know ahead of time if a room is paid for up front or when you leave (don’t just make an assumption, because each place is different), and it is also handy to bring along several foreign language dictionaries! It would have been nice to have a Sardinian/English dictionary in Sardinia (who would have thought?) and on Fakarava, a coral atoll in French Polynesia where I went one summer, I brought a French/English book, but a Polynesian/English dictionary would have been more helpful!
So, it all finally got straightened out with the supervisor at the Mission Inn, and then I spoke to the woman and said that she had been right regarding that final charge, I just didn’t realize that it had not been paid at the beginning. I thought I was being very gracious to round it out with her, but all she said was, ”Okay”, not a “Thank you”, or “Wow, now I get it,” so I am afraid that something like that will happen again with her instead of her knowing the immediate answer to give when something like this happens.
It was a heavy rain that I walked in as I walked around to the back of the hotel to get to their parking garage. The drive back home was miserable. There was a lot of flooding on the highways the whole way home, which made it hard to steer. I felt safer driving much slower, around 40 miles per hour instead of 60 like some dare devils were doing. I thought I should drive in the far right lane since I was going slower, but the river of water that flowed over on the right would suddenly knock my wheels to the left ever once in while and sometimes it seemed the car was having to plow through even deeper water, so I had to deal with driving faster than I wanted to in the interior lanes.
That final troublesome day was a sometimes-experienced squeezing through a very tight membrane between one place or dimension to another one, that sucks or scrapes off all the pleasures of the place experienced, making it feel like I never even gone there. However, earlier that morning in the hotel, I had gotten an e-mail from my package receiving service letting me know that a package had arrived for me, so before I went to my house, I went to the package service place to pick it up. When I opened the package at home, it was a very clever and thoughtful birthday gift from my sister, Virginia, so that perked me right back up. So, my birthday had lasted for nine wonderful celebratory days. I was happy for it all.
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