Girlie Weekend (Part Two)

Ok, so where was I at the end of Part One? Oh yes, in the dark, driving, not being able to see the spectacular view of the Pacific coast from Santa Cruz on the way to Monterey. A little disappointed, we finally pulled up to our motel about 10pm and as we squeezed into the tiny parking lot outside and peered up anxiously at the dilapidated-looking exterior of the ugly motel, I tried to put a good spin on it.

"Oh, well, at least we won't have far to walk from our car."

The nose of our car was practically touching the room in front. I jumped out before she could see my grimace. As the grumpy, old man in a dirty frayed shirt and grubby cardigan shuffled out of some back room into the claustrophobic lobby, my heart sank even further. After a brief verbal scuffle I discovered that we were in the wrong motel. Thank goodness! Never have I been so happy to have messed up. Emma's face showed her massive relief as we pulled in next door to a much more respectable-looking motel.


"You can tell it's better, Mum, by all the nice, expensive cars parked outside," she observed astutely.

We fell into bed exhausted and were asleep before we knew it. The next morning we got up and went in search of breakfast, having missed our small window of opportunity to grab whatever passed as such in the motel lobby. (But maybe that was a good thing as Emma found a group of red itchy spots on her arm that looked suspiciously like bed bug bites.) After wandering around Monterey's Fisherman's Wharf for 45 minutes trying to find some lovely cafe for eggs and bacon, we gave up and decided on a fresh seafood restaurant overlooking the bay. It was lunch time anyway. The food was okay but our shared pasta dish had so much garlic we could have scared away the whole of the True Blood cast from 100 paces.

"What shall we do now?" I asked Emma innocently.

Well, that was stupid. She was rested and fed and ready to do what she was born to do. Shop. So off we went, me hobbling along behind her in my brand new, one dollar flip flops from Old Navy that Emma insisted would be totally comfortable within 2 minutes of walking in them. The blisters on my feet, which are only just healing, beg to differ.

She'll kill me if
she knows I've
put this pic on
my blog

My wonderful mother and sister, Sue, had very generously popped some spending money for us in my UK bank account, supposedly to pay for a yummy slap-up meal. Ha bloody ha! When Emma saw a rasta coloured monokini in the window of a smoke shop, however, like a flash she was inside and begging to own it like her life depended on it. Mind you, she did look gorgeous. Which alien life-form did she hail from, I wondered, trying not to be too envious, cos she definitely didn't inherit my body-shape.

Yes, mine are two different colours
It's my 'thing', ok?!

At this point my poor achey, painful feet were in need of some TLC so I found a nail salon with amazing massage chairs. Sighing with contentment, I relaxed my feet into a warm bowl of soapy water while the male technician gave me a lovely pedicure. I am always surprised by men painting my toenails, but maybe I am just being sexist. Neither of us, however, are ever going to win a beauty contest based on our feet.

Waddling off down the road an hour later in the special walk you do so as not to smudge your still-drying nail polish, we then did the 17 mile drive through Pacific Grove and Pebble Beach on the Monterey Peninsula. We had to pay $10 for the pleasure, mind you, but we agreed it was worth it. So many beautiful houses. We eventually gave up squealing,

"Ohhh, that is my dream house. No, no, that one is," as each one exceeded the one before in a medley of colourful and exquisite landscaping, gorgeous architecture and stunning beach view locations. Although I'm not sure I would want to pay over $1,250,000 per bedroom and then have an endless stream of nosy-parkers oggling my property.

Everyone had said how amazingly beautiful Carmel is, but nothing prepared us for the sight of its immaculately manicured streets and endless designer stores as Emma drove competently into the middle of its busy Downtown area. Emma's eyes lit up as I groaned inwardly. How was I going to prevent her bankrupting me in the next few hours til the stores closed at 9pm?
  

Still to come in part three: Cream cakes in Carmel!