The Top 20 Hotels Near The Pines Modern Steakhouse
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A 432-room luxury resort that finally gave San Manuel Casino a hotel worthy of its sprawl, set in the San Bernardino Mountains with spa, steaks, and six-thousand slot machines nearby. The design echoes the Serrano word "yaamava'"—spring—through botanical installations and natural stone that make the hillside tower feel grown rather than built.
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Downtown Palm Springs' Holiday House ditches the usual hierarchy—rooms are simply Good, Better, Best—each appointed with original art and custom textiles by a Hollywood designer who orchestrated the recent restoration. Even the entry tier arrives bright and proportioned, while higher categories add wet bars or mountain-view patios that justify their step up.
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A 1933 Spanish colonial hotel remade for the boutique era, La Serena Villas preserves its original architectural character while integrating contemporary comforts throughout its rooms and public spaces. The result is a rare instance of restraint in Palm Springs, where vintage charm and present-day design coexist without competing.
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A high-desert town conjured by Hollywood cowboys in the 1940s finds new life as a festival destination, and the Pioneertown Motel anchors its revival with a boutique sensibility that respects the anachronism. The place trades on authenticity earned through time rather than fabrication.
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The Grand Californian wraps you in Craftsman aesthetics and theme-park proximity—its lobby practically opens onto California Adventure, and digital keys let you skip the desk entirely. When the crowds wear thin your nerves, the Tenaya Stone Spa pulls you into a nature-inspired sanctuary that remembers the hotel's architectural bones.
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The Richland salvages Orange's founding name and spirit in a restored Old Towne compound of vintage wood and citrus-patterned wallpaper, where a main house, cottage, and bar drift among olive trees. The place trades in California cool nostalgia—all exposed beams and craftsman furniture—without the self-consciousness that usually ruins such things.
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A modernist compound in the Uptown Design District that borrows Palm Springs' architectural lineage without genuflecting to nostalgia, this Palisociety venture translates the group's accessible glamour into a fresh idiom. The result feels rooted in place yet untethered to theme—a hotel that moves beyond the city's familiar aesthetic without abandoning it.
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A French-inspired boutique hotel where black flowers—literal and painted—frame a languorous poolside scene of parasols, fire pits, and mountain views. The speakeasy rosé bar and casitas with terra-cotta floors and midcentury furnishings complete an atmosphere of deliberate, slightly theatrical leisure.
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A nine-room holdover from 1949, Miracle Manor sits between Joshua Tree and Palm Springs with the unhurried air of a place that has earned its ease. Warm textures and a naturally heated pool suggest that some corners of the desert still offer what they promise.
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A Spanish Colonial retreat from 1936 that once sheltered Hollywood's elite now courts a new generation with restored glamour and careful restraint. The Colony Palms trades on its storied past without nostalgia, offering instead the particular comfort of a place that knows exactly what it is.
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At the edge of Palm Springs, beneath the San Jacinto mountains, Korakia assembles three houses of different eras and geographies—a 1924 Moroccan villa, a Hellenic addition, a Mediterranean compound—into one deliberately mismatched whole. The result feels less like a resort and more like the accumulated taste of someone who collected places the way others collect art.
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Kimpton's desert outpost trades exclusivity for accessible style, channeling the brand's mid-century sensibility into an unpretentious retreat that mirrors Palm Springs' own extroverted ease. The result feels less like entering a velvet rope and more like joining a particularly well-appointed house party.
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A Spanish Revival hotel where Old Hollywood lingers in the courtyards and suites, the Ingleside Inn trades gleaming modernism for the textures of another era. The place wears its Rat Pack inheritance lightly, updated without apology, and feels less like nostalgia than like stepping into a room where the glamour never quite left.
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A mid-century motor lodge reborn as a design-conscious refuge where Palm Springs' old-money mystique meets the desert's austere light. The Avalon trades on its provenance—once the Estrella, repository of Hollywood legend—while serving a new generation of Los Angeles escapists who've grown bored with the predictable coast.
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A minimalist industrial boutique tucked one block from Palm Springs' main corridor, where white stucco geometry yields to vibrant murals and Mexican textiles. Native succulents and handmade fabrics soften the geometric lines in a deliberate break from the area's ubiquitous midcentury mode.
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A mid-century motel wrapped around the geothermal springs that gave this corner of the desert its name, Hope Springs returns you to an era when people came here for the water itself. The architecture is period-perfect, the pools are naturally heated, and the whole enterprise suggests a California that existed before golf courses colonized the conversation.
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A modest mid-century refuge with twenty-seven rooms and a playful spirit, Les Cactus sits five minutes from downtown Palm Springs, its pool and fire pit designed for adults who value quiet over spectacle. The price is reasonable for the setting, though dining means a short drive into town.
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The Royal Sun's tangerine-trimmed facade and angular canopy evoke a scaled-up roadside motel from the sixties, positioned where downtown Palm Springs meets open land. Inside, checkered floors and curved booths frame a sleek bar and restaurant that honors its era without genuflecting to it.
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Villa Royale preserves the postwar glamour that once drew Hollywood to its quiet corner of Palm Springs, updated without surrender to contemporary luxury. The restaurant and bar remain the gravitational center of a deliberately discreet, adults-only refuge.
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A mid-century motor lodge stripped of its corporate skin and reborn as something truer to itself, where the roadside vernacular speaks louder than boutique pretense. The motel form—that distinctly American architecture of transience and possibility—finds here its proper dignity.