So far, my 4-year-old eldest son has met Spider-Man “in real life” and now the entire Californian Firefighters calendar has descended on the Colorado Desert.
And they say Disneyland is The Happiest Place on Earth.
Palm Springs happens to be the last leg of our United States roadie, having started in Ventura, 290km west of Hollywood’s legendary playground.
More specifically, we landed at LAX five days earlier and having breezed through immigration (no one saw that coming), we shuttled to Los Angeles’ behemoth car rental centre and picked up a bright red Wrangler Jeep.
The bright red Wrangler jeep was our ride for the whole vacation. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
Initially, Linda, the straight-faced lady at Avis was adamant we weren’t having the Wrangler. We’d been assigned a Mazda and unless we paid an extra US$9.90 ($16.80) per day, a Mazda it was.
Instructed to sit down, five minutes passed before Linda summoned my husband back to the desk.
“Mr Bonser, I have a very nice car for you,” she declares, completely deadpan but with a flash of mischief in her eyes. She waves us away. Only when we get to the carpark do we find a shiny red Jeep in our space.
From Los Angeles, it’s a 1.5-hour drive up the glittering coastline to the beach city of Ventura.
Having navigated LA’s notorious six-lane freeways and established it’s akin to a Wacky Races’ road rally, things finally mellow out after Malibu, and by the time we reach the Crowne Plaza Hotel fronting Ventura Beach, we’re fully in the realm of low-key surf culture.
Lifeguard tower at Ventura Beach. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
The boardwalk, directly outside our window, is peppered with wetsuit-clad cyclists, riding the prom with clip-on brackets for their surfboards. In the distance, the 490m-long Ventura pier, built in 1872, juts out from a shoreline marked with wooden lifeguard towers. It’s about as iconic as you could wish for.
Still, the 4-year-old and 1-year-old in our troupe don’t appreciate good aesthetics alone, so over the coming days, we head to Ventura Harbour for child-approved activities such as pedal boating giant ducks and Coastal Cone ice creams for bright blue ‘Unicorn Poop’, and their signature fish cones which include a doughnut-style fish tail pumped to its gills with custard.
A hefty scoop of ice cream at Coastal Cone Ventura. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
Within the sleepy harbour, there are small boutiques and bars hiding arcade games, throbbing with whizzbang noises and neon lights. In The Loose Cannon, my oldest son pockets numerous arcade winnings, including three toy soldiers, slime, a toy car and a miniature slinky. You’d think it was Christmas.
On our final day, we gorge on pancakes in a 50s-style diner and find a deserted playground on an immaculate stretch of grass near Main Street.
A seven-minute walk from the hotel, the area embodies Ventura’s laid-back lifestyle. Most shops don’t open until 10am or later, including whimsical bookshops such as Calico Cat and Brooklyn Charm, a mecca of trinkets and metal charms. This is where I disappear while my husband and his prodigies fight virtual reality spiders and other ghastly things at Moby’s on Main – another familyfriendly arcade-cum-bar to enthral children and husbands alike.
Soon enough, a little boy is repeatedly asking if we’re seeing Mickey Mouse today, so we pack up the Jeep for the 160km onward journey to Anaheim.
Checking into the Anaheim Hotel is probably the best piece of advice I can give parents embarking on a Disneyland trip.
Anaheim hotel. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
Location is key; guests can practically roll out of bed and through the Disney turnstiles in under seven minutes. That’s not even the best bit. Invest in a Park Hopper Ticket and you’ll gain entry to both Disneyland Park and Disney California Adventure Park, with the hotel allowing for an easy nap in the middle.
Geared to holiday-makers needing respite after a day of Disneymania, the hotel boasts an outdoor swimming pool, Jacuzzi, garden games and poolside cabana service, so it’s not obligatory for adults to snooze too. Get the cocktail, it’s what Minnie would want.
Having spent the morning flying Dumbo, stalking Pinocchio and of course, finding Mickey Mouse for the 4-year-old’s meet and greet (while the clueless 1-year-old looked on in absolute bewilderment), I use the afternoon – and tech-adverse millennial brain – to make a dinner reservation on the Disneyland app. Also surprising to this millennial, I did it without a hiccup – or a slew of swear words.
Saying hi to Minnie at Disneyland. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
Big warning to the wise, I only just snagged the last dining slot across both parks, so make like a Gen-Zer, download the app and book early.
Later that evening, having completely succumbed to the magic of Disney, we stumble out of the park’s gates in a state of exhausted euphoria.
As parents – and Disney-park virgins – we had approached Disneyland with trepidation. How to find enjoyment amidst the magnitude of must-dos, the crowds, the countless gift shops? In reality, a game plan is futile, you’re better off going with the flow and seeing where the day (or your children) takes you.
The hordes are simply part of the sensory overload, which is arguably a major component of the experience. And the gift shops? Well, I came home with a completely impractical Toy Story hairbrush. When it comes to gift shop brainwashing, don’t try and fight it – you won’t win.
And unless you’re a sadist, do little or nothing in Anaheim the next day.
“I’ve done three days of back-to-back Disneyland,” a spritely yet elderly woman at our hotel remarks.
“Nanna needs a nap,” she adds.
Nanna needs a lobotomy. You’d be insane to mix anything but downtime with Disneyland.
Fortunately, within 48 hours, we’re heading to Palm Springs for downtime Frank Sinatra-style. With Elvis Presley, Katharine Hepburn, Dean Martin and the rest of the LA elite who have been absconding to the desert since the 30s.
Personally, I’m going for the skinny palm trees and retro, mid-century facades. I’ve promised my camera roll the quintessential California package – and by the time we drive into Palm Canyon Drive, a David Hockney-style montage floods our collective retinas. The San Jacinto Mountains playing such a pivotal role in the backdrop, they look more faux than the boob jobs and facelifts.
Speaking of.
“Filler is my second favourite F word” reads a bright pink billboard. Complete with an ageing but fun-looking glamour puss.
Filler billboard. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
What a romp. I am in love with Palm Springs already. And this is all before we check into the Renaissance Esmerelda Resort and its fire-fighting hunks.
Alas, perving on the better looking from behind dark shades is frowned upon these days, no matter your gender, so the last two days of our all-American road trip is tuned to entertaining the kids instead.
At the Living Desert Zoo and Gardens, we hand-feed blue-tongued giraffes and learn several animal facts from zoo workers adept at delivering child-friendly information.
Feeding giraffe at zoo. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
Apparently, the weather is cool for this time of year – a frigid 100F (37C to you and I), but the zoo is mercifully equipped with a splashpad and wooden rocking chairs under cool misting fans. I wonder why the cafe is built into a mountain of granite scrub, up until a band of mountain goats skedaddle across it, delighting both my children.
As for me, I was rather taken with the naked mole rat. He looked like a bit of fun.
Squeezing everything we possibly can into our remaining days, the last afternoon affords two hours of mum and son fun in the Children’s Discovery Museum of the Desert.
Discovery museum. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
Comprising three interactive buildings, with various hands-on exhibits, my eldest spends 90 minutes of the 120 we have left before closing time in one section alone. I resist ushering him to the next station; he’s too busy – and too happy – to rush.
He makes me tacos at the pretend taco stand before moving on to the Lego; his brows furrowed and tongue half hanging out in concentration. I’m content because he is. Plus, there’s air conditioning.
Before we know it, our departure for LAX rudely imposes and we bid Palm Springs a fond farewell via the region’s premier attraction. The Palm Springs Aerial Tramway.
Touted as the world’s largest rotating tram car, the 10-minute ascent lurches upwards for more than 4km to a – not to be scoffed at – elevation of 2596m.
View of the aerial tramway in Palm Springs. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
In fact, Mountain Station is so lofty, it’s actually cold at the top. It’s also oddly quiet, in a disarming but not unpleasant way. Aside from a few distant birds and a scurrying lizard, the world’s on mute.
This turns out to be quite the contradiction to our return journey on the tramcar, where without warning, loud music – non-existent on our ascent – blares out of the speakers and a short, somewhat surreal party unfolds.
And while Neil Diamond croons Sweet Caroline to a gondola-load of strangers, all of whom are now singing – some dancing – together, I feel, for the umpteenth time this holiday, a wave of complete joy.
Checklist
CALIFORNIA, US
GETTING THERE
Fly from Auckland to LAX non-stop with Air NZ in about 12 hours. The night flight is a good one to take with young children who will (hopefully) sleep.
DETAILS
Visit California | visitcalifornia.com
Visit Ventura | visitventuraca.com
Visit Anaheim | visitanaheim.org
Visit Greater Palm Springs | visitgreaterpalmsprings.com
New Zealand Herald Travel travelled courtesy of Visit California, Visit Ventura, Visit Anaheim and Visit Greater Palm Springs.