After a couple of days in Palm Springs, you stop asking tourist questions.

You already know where to find a good margarita.

You've figured out the pool.

You've accepted that the mountains somehow look both impossibly close and impossibly far away.

Instead, your curiosity starts drifting toward the little mysteries.

Why am I suddenly Redfinning real estate ads with my morning latte?

Why are the roofs so low?

Why are all the front doors orange or pink?

Why does the airport feel like the place your vacation actually begins?

And why is the brunch waitress delivering my hash browns decked out in stilettos and a purple feather boa?

The desert, as it turns out, rewards people who notice things.