Amarghosa Opera House and Hotel

Jan 16, 2010

It was almost 100 degrees and very humid, when we left Las Vegas en-route to Death Valley, “We’re not camping tonight are we?” said Claire, as more of a statement than a question. I had no reluctance in agreeing as I turned on the air con and headed out onto the Strip.

Almost every national park in America has a line of hotels, restaurants, gas stations and other amenities leading up to the main entrance and even those not blessed with a sense of direction can fail to find a place to spend the night before heading into one of America’s great parks. Death Valley however is one of those exceptions, not surprisingly the desert environment, harsh conditions has not bread a bustling tourism industry to rival most other Californian parks. Even outside the Valley there is little to provide a living for anyone; only the occasional casino or hotel and the odd gas station break up the straight desert roads.

Lapthrop Wells was our last stop for gas before we went into the park; a billboard, with a large eyed, green skinned alien pointed right towards Area 51, and inside alien masks, posters and X file pictures plastered the walls.

“You get many visitors to the Valley?” I asked as I stocked up on water and gas.

“At this time of year we get more for Area Fifty-One than the Valley” said the attendant.

“Do they ever see anything?”

“Nope, nothing to see in the Valley,” he replied with a little smirk.

As I walked back to the car the oppressive heat, reflecting up from the ground as well as down from the sky reminded us that a night in a tent would be far from comfortable; we set about looking for a hotel.

Passing the alien billboard we turned left down a desolate road the lead 30 miles to the entrance of the park; a small casino 15 miles down was the only form of life, but the map indicated a small town; Death Valley Junction, a further 15 miles on. The Amarghosa Hotel and two small, apparently deserted, houses was that town.

The Amarghosa Hotel looked like it was built in the 1920s and looked as if there hadn’t been much work done since but with our tent poles rattling in the trunk, we were reminded that there was a worse option. Making jokes about Bates Motel and the Shining, Claire and I searched the hotel for an attendant, or even any evidence of guests; there were 20 open doors, leading to 20 open rooms. Perhaps we should have booked!

Despite its outward appearance, the Amarghosa Hotel is not without its charm or character. As we walked around, a peacock, which I assume calls this place home, followed us, with its long tail feathers trailing behind. Inside, murals covered the walls: cherubs and angels dance in the hall, while clowns smiled at us from the dining room. What I assumed to be the town stretched across one wall in the lobby and old pictures hung in the reception area. A glass cabinet holding various documents and artefacts sat next to the reception desk we were now waiting near: mementos from when the town was used as a base for borax mining, I later found out. Looking at the photos and comments in the Guest Book it appears that the hotel is a bustling place during the winter months. Opera performances are laid on in the old opera house, which takes up one corner of the building and the escape from modern life (there are no TV or phones in the rooms) receives rave reviews.
Right now that opera house looked as deserted as the rest of the town. July, it appears, is not the time to come.

It was after half an hour of watching, and attempting to feed, the peacock that someone appeared and gave us a room. ‘Quiet place hey’
“You bet! The population’s doubled” Mary, the cleaner, chambermaid, clerk said.

“Not many guests then?”

“I was talking about the town”

Making a mental note that this would not be the place to rush back to in an emergency we chose our room and went through our ritual of getting as close as possible to the large fan in the corner before we went off to find the dining room. There was not one. It looked as if even Mary had packed up for the day.

It was about 15 miles back to where we had seen the last form of civilization and well over 30 to the nearest town of Shoeshone (we knew the gas station wouldn’t reward us with any filling snacks). We’d had our fill of all you can eat buffets in Vegas and could not stand the thought of another one so we approached the surprisingly well-stocked vending machines that occupied part of the lobby.

Claire and I began to feed the machine quarters so we could feed ourselves. We found our own table, with the company of the clowns, angels and other figures that covered the hotel walls. A satay starter (peanuts) with an entree of beef (jerky) was accompanied by a bottle of the house vintage (out of date Pepsi) and a dessert of strawberry mousse (spoon in lid). Where else can you get dinner and drinks in California, with soft lighting and a room to yourself, for just four dollars? For two!

The Amarghosa is a relaxing break after the heady sights of Las Vegas, there is little to do in the evening except relax and stay close to the air conditioning. With nothing but mountains on the horizon it was a compelling yet eerie place. A cry from the peacock that walked around the hotel was the only form of visible life. Had some tumbleweed rolled past it would not have been out of place.

The next morning I opened up the door to find a mouse lying at the foot of the door, dead. I looked down the corridors and no infestation was following, out of the all the rooms available it had chosen ours to die next to. Carefully stepping over the corpse I caught a glimpse of the clown on our way, smiling in the first morning light as the peacocks cry echoed in the morning air. We drove towards the Valley, watching the silhouette of the hotel in the rear view mirror.

Matt Scott has spent the majority of his adult life working and traveling abroad. A keen writer and photographer his work has appeared on line and in print in publications around the world. He currently lives in Paris where he works for an active travel company.

Written by Matt Scott