Day 12 and 13.5 - The Grand Canyon.

We went to the Grand Canyon. It was big. Grand, really. It was deep. Canyon-like, even.



The Grand Canyon railway was actually what jolted us out of bed after three too many margaritas the at Pancho Macs. At that time of morning, the drive to the Grand Canyon features deer, bison (cow?), wolves (coyotes?) and a condor. It's absolutely worth doing early on. We also heard a rumour that if you drive in late, it's free.

The Grand Canyon was one of the sights I was actually most excited about, but it took all of 5 minutes with the most unhelpful people ever at the Bright Angel Lodge to start me off on the wrong foot. I'd run in to try to get the Hubs and I checked in and booked onto a mule ride, since these allegedly couldn't be booked in advance, only to be turned away rudely*. Bah, humbug and screw you, I say, we'll hike instead. Uh. Sure. Only we were wearing stupid shoes and the only "hike" we could do was the South Rim Walk, which was something like eleven miles long based on where we were. Still, we were stubborn, and just about made it, though we did sleep for twelve hours after.

The most striking thing about the Canyon was how little health and safety precautions there were. We were able to walk right up to the edge, and the route actually put us much closer than we would have liked. Given the conditions (foot and a half deep snow that melted into very slippery mud), I thought this was verging on insane. The walk was much, much tougher than we'd anticipated as well. Bad shoes, lack of preparation and general unfitness aside, the path got fairly narrow and difficult to navigate at places. Proud as I am that we managed it, I don't think I will ever do it again. The Bright Angel trail was open (insanity!) and we kept seeing and hearing people falling over on their route down, some fairly nastily. I appreciate that there are huge caveats around people making the choice to do these walks for themselves, but I genuinely think there isn't enough to steer expectations.

One tip though, if you want to watch the sunset over the rim while stuffing your face in a well priced T-bone, the restaurant at the Bright Angel is a great spot. They are more than generous, and if you get there early and chuck the maitre'd a tenner, he'll sit you where you like. We stayed at the Bright Angel in a $90 room (shared shower/bath) and that was more than comfortable. Since we'd killed ourselves relatively early with the walk, the facilities were in pristine condition, and we took our bottle with us for a late night drink before settling down to cards in the saloon.

This is a short post, but there isn't really much to say - the Canyon was the Canyon. It was big and breathtaking, and the Canyon. Everywhere you looked, it was the Canyon. It didn't change or look very different, even at sunrise and sunset. The initial wonder and pleasure quickly waned and we were out early the next morning and onto VEGAS, baby.


* We were later told there were slots at the Kachina Lodge. Turns out we wouldn't have been able to go on the mule ride anyway. Despite their ability to carry heavier burdens, the mules weren't allowed to carry more than approximately 225 pounds, and the Hubs weighed in at 227!

Days 10 & 11 - LA to San Diego to Williams

Having determined to escape LA before the odds of running over the entrants of the marathon went against us, we were in San Diego by ten in the morning, just in time for the opening of Hodad's. There were about sixty people lined up waiting for the doors to open, and in the spirit of where I was going to move to, the Hubs and I decided to join the queue, not knowing what it was for. I was opening to find a superior burger to the Surfinder case, and some consolation for missing both Lucky Devils and Umami Burger the day before. Hodad's served the biggest burger that I had ever seen. The Hubs let his hangover and lack of breakfast do the talking and went for a double cheeseburger and bacon basket. He managed about two thirds before giving up the battle. At five pm he still claimed to be feeling sick. It was mammoth. Best of all though, they let us experiment with hot sauces, with about five different kinds on offer. The Hubs liked California Chili (their spelling, not mine), and I favoured the Cajun Werewolf.

We tried to walk off the meal on the San Diego pier but realised that there was probably no pier long enough, and that San Diego's was particularly inappropriate since it was really dull. In fact, unless you were in the mood to surf or hang out at Sea World, San Diego didn't seem to have much to offer. We tried to get onto a whale watching cruise but the sheer numbers in the queues put me off. Instead, we decided this was the right time for Target, specifically Liberty for Target. What a great, though random, combination! I've always loved their prints but have always objected to paying so much for bolts of cloth. Finally, it's accessible! I went nuts in there and bought everything from stationery to lingerie. That was all the Hubs could take and so in no time at all, we were back in the hotel and staring at the sea.

The next day we had an anticipated eight hour drive up towards the Grand Canyon. We made as early a start as we could muster, thinking we might try out the indoor skydiving school in Perris. Unfortunately though, there was a big IHOP shaped flaw in the plan. After consuming four days worth of calories, there was no way we were going to try defying gravity, and so we decided to push on through to Arizona. Well, really, we were trying to get to Bearizona, but it sadly wasn't open yet. Instead, we shacked up in Williams, one of the cutest towns to ever exist, strategically placed on Route 66*. Here, we discovered an Irish Pub and Mexican called Pancho McGillicuddy's, which we decided to go to in honour of the strange combination. Apart from Guinness and Margaritas, they also did a mean brown sugar steak. I'm going to have to try that one at home!


*award for most implausibly linked movie name to plot ever here.

Day 9 - L.A.

Our only full day in LA started out with breakfast at the Grand Central Market. It was a healthy, well-rounded meal of fish tacos, ceviche and frozen yoghurt. We'd heard horror stories about traffic and parking, and the Los Angeles marathon was scheduled for the next day, which meant that some roads were closed. Jude Law was in town for the premiere of Repo Men and that would just add to the chaos. The cosmos thus aligned, we opted to pay $35 each for the hop on hop off tour, which turned out to be a great decision. The two day ticket would have been a better deal (being $48) since the tour covered Santa Monica as well, and we ended up missing that part of it. One to know for next time!

The tour took us through Downtown LA, with the older theatres, Staples Centre and the fashion district. We passed through Little Tokyo, Koreatown, Thai Town and even Filipinotown. Heading into Hollywood we went under freeway bridges where being on an open top bus turned out to be unfortunate since they smelled really bad. Homeless folk had established a community under the bridges, with designated areas for sleeping, eating, pooping, etc. On hot days, it can be stifling. We got off at the Chinese Theatre where we'd been hoping to watch a movie. Sadly the only option was Diary of a Wimpy Kid, and the weather was just too good for that kind of bad decision.

We decided to try a walk down Sunset Boulevard (not realising how long it was). The signatures and hand/foot prints of the stars, which seemed to be shrunken-down casts as opposed to original artistic efforts, were good fun. Particularly the older ones like Humphrey Bogart's. The walk itself wasn't very exciting though, there were only people being arrested for robbery, two guys chasing another, two buskers (one old, cool and jazz trained, the other young and punky) having a play-off, and the Rockwalk. The rock walk was to music what the Chinese Theatre was to movies, although everything still seemed to be shrunken down. Kim Gordon's hands were approximately the size of a five year olds. It didn't take very long to tire of the boulevard and we dived into the closest sanctuary we could find. Sadly, we weren't allowed to take photographs, so there are no candids of Sienna Miller, a Jackson, an ageing English rock star who I think was in the Police, and most of the Jersey Shore. We were, however, allowed to get trashed on martinis and discover the guilty pleasure that is artichokes fried in garlic and rosemary. It was strange to be around people smoking at tables after so long in London, it actually felt stangely offensive, though I suppose it tied in with the tendency for people to order food but not eat.

Once we'd worn out the possible reasons for hanging around, it was back on the bus and past the Viper Room (Johnny!), Rodeo Drive (where the Hubs had me pinned into my seat until we were two miles away, a tactic that lost its lustre when repeated at The Grove). When we saw Jessica Biel walking some dogs and I had to hold the Hubs down, we realised something. LA is AMAZING. All those things we'd turned our noses up at, like viewing celebrity homes, graves, themselves, suddenly seemed like a really good idea. We even contemplated going to the Repo Men premiere. Times were dire and we needed a drink, so we talked a wine bar into giving us coffee cups full of wine for the bus tour back. Much to the dismay of the other tourists, for whom drinking was, apparently, "best done at home". Frankly, if I drank at home, my liver would be a mass of scar tissue and my social skills would zero.

It was only when we got back to the hotel, drunk, that I realised I hadn't managed to go to Lucky Devils. This put me into a proper sulk and so we decided to go back to Casa for a direct repeat of the previous night's dinner. The sun had exhausted us and so we settled down with chips, guac and the Ghosts of Girlfriends Past and a bottle of wine. Hot.

Day 8 - Santa Monica to LA

It was finally time to head inland and to LA. We rejoined Highway 1 to flashing lights - the police were gunning it down the highway! We were so excited, thinking that it was potentially a car chase, and kept a mindful 75 mph behind them. Imagine our disappointment when they pulled up next to another patrol car and exchanged cash for donuts. What a scandal. Still, it was enough to whet our appetite and we decided to head to Ventura to visit Walmart . It was amazing and horrific all at once. Row after row of cheap but not entirely desirable goods. I stocked up on bottled water and Krafts Mac & Cheese, but then had a terrible public bathroom experience. Not one for the faint hearted, and I certainly wasn't man enough. In no time at all we were back onto Highway 1 and headed to Malibu.

Malibu didn't seem to have much to offer beyond the beaches and the lengths of real estate that bordered those, so we kept on driving through to Santa Monica. We'd had a tip about a good Mexican restaurant from Kami and had been starving ourselves in anticipation. Good thing too because the starter platter for two and main plate for one maxed us out. The corn chips were the second best we've ever eaten, and we even had them for dessert. The owners loved it that we'd driven there on a recommendation from London, although not so much that they would share their salsa recipe.

Having eaten our approximate joint body weights, we decided to walk it off, heading down through the shops to the beach. It didn't take us very long on the beach at Santa Monica to realise why surfers wear wet suits - it was freezing! We headed down the Boulevard for Venice Beach, passing Cha Cha Chicken with overeater's remorse. Venice Beach was very much the Camden equivalent to California's London. There were freaks and geeks and everything in between. We spent a couple of hours there watching people showcase their wares and selves, boys playing basketball and enjoying the free compliments group. There were some good acrobats and a freakshow, complete with a two headed turtle.
Driving into Downtown LA, we had a car to car dance with a car full of kids having a great singalong to some old school Tupac. Then the smog was upon us and even the Hollywood sign was almost totally obscured. Downtown LA was quiet since it was a Friday night, and felt very like Canary Wharf at 8pm, but without drunk people. So nothing like Canary Wharf at all. Particularly on a Friday. We headed to Casa for yet more Mexican food, and this quickly became a favourite. They make amazing guacamole (the spicy one was particularly spectacular), the best corn chips, and I ended up having their atun y masa twice in a row. Yum!

Day 7 - Solvang & Santa Barbara

Being a day ahead on the itinerary meant that we needed to plan out Day 7. I'd had some "nice to see" points flagged, but thought that the Hubs may like to take charge, so left him at the travel section at Borders while I had the worst manipedi of my life. Still, these things are always a gamble. I met up with the Hubs and was pleasantly surprised to learn that his plans were approximately what mine would have been. A quick drive to Solvang and the Santa Ynez Valley, around the Chumash nature reserve and then toward Santa Barbara.

Solvang was a cutesy little tribute to Denmark, with a smattering of random Belgian influences. It had decorative toy soldiers and windmills lining the street, lots of Danish bakeries (I hadn't realised that Danish baking was actually meant to be good. Are danishes actually Danish?) One of the wines we'd been recommended by our favourite sommelier was Au Bon Climat, or "ABC". They don't have a tasting room but they offer tastings through Tastes of the Valleys in Solvang. We sat there with Elizabeth, who arranged a custom wine flight for us and talked us through the wines. It transpired that that the approach to wine in California is quite different from Europe. In the US, loyalty is to a winemaker and not the vineyard. The quality of grape varies between plots in the vineyards, and so there isn't an assumption of consistency. The example cited to us was Sanford, where a founding wine maker left (but didn't take his name with him). He started a new label using the same grapes and vineyards, and his following claim this to be a superior wine to the Sanford branded wines.

After we'd gotten through ten or so wines, we decided it was time to get moving again. I was desperate to sneak a peek at Neverland but there was nothing visible without a significant act of trespass. Instead we decided to go eagle spotting at the Nature Reserve, on our way to Santa Barbara. The Rough Guide had described Santa Barbara as one of the most expensive places to stay, and they weren't kidding. The Oceana, which was recommended to us by the good folk of Solvang, was asking a minimum of $200 for a no-view, sparse queen. Harbour View came in at $300. At this point we decided that this would be a perfect juncture to enjoy the Motel experience. I liked the sound of Ala Mar, by which I mean that I liked it for sounding like "alamak!". We had an ocean view, sun deck, jacuzzi bath and self-serve breakfast for $99. Winner. We spent the difference on a wine tasting and dinner.

Once we'd settled into Ala Mar, we strolled down the beach and tried to find a tasting room for a wine called Marjoram, only to discover it no longer existed. No matter though, because the Hubs was picked up by two girls offering companionship and seventeen wines for $8. That English accent really does work! Britney and Lindsey were graduating UCSB and had lived their lives in California. They couldn't imagine living anywhere else apart from Australia, and I can almost understand where they were coming from. We ended up having a lock-in at the wine store with them before they decided to head off to a happy hour, while the Hubs and I headed to Brophy Bros for the best clam chowder ever before settling down at Ala Mar to a bottle of wine and a hole in the ceiling.

Day 6 - Cayucos and San Luis Obispo

Waking up to the sound of a creek, the smell of pine, and what looked like a raccoon on the window sill was a pretty surreal experience for me. We'd resolved to get an early start, but there was no stopping the Hubs from getting his breakfast and coffee. Deetjens do their own blend and it was the best coffee we'd had since we arrived in the US. After breakfast we walked uphill to watch the sun rise over the pacific, which was absolutely gorgeous. We went back on Highway 1 toward San Simeon, and there isn't anything I can articulate about that - the photos say it all, other than that there are an inordinate number of mobile elliptical users in the Big Sur, and that the drive was beautiful and terrifying (the Hubs was loving the turbos a little too much), and undoubtedly one of the most beautiful places on the planet.

We had been planning to visit Hearst Castle, but I hadn't booked us in and we couldn't get onto a tour. Instead, we went to Cayucos via NitWit Ridge, the Poor Man's Hearst Castle. It featured everything from bathtubs to toilets. Cayucos was a picturesque beach town, complete with sexy, sun-kissed surfers of both sexes, though with a distinct skew in my favour. We strolled down the pier then settled in at Cayucos Cellars for a tasting with Clay S, whose family runs the vineyard. We stayed for two hours just chatting and drinking, but also got a tip to try Ruddell's Smokehouse for smoked fish and pork tacos. For $5 I had an abercole taco and the Hubs had a pork loin taco for the same, slathered in hot sauce. It was by a long stretch the best thing we had (and would)taste(d)in the US. It easily surpassed all the food from the French Laundry and Dean & Deluca. It was incredible and worth a side trip for anyone.

Since we'd gained some time on the itinerary, I rang the hotel we were most excited about, the Madonna Inn at San Luis Obispo, to bring our booking forward. The Madonna Inn is (in)famous for having over a hundred individually decorated rooms, all of which are shrines to the deities of Tack. All the rooms are incredibly tacky but yet to such a scale that it is actually amazing and good. When Michael Jackson used "Bad" to mean good and Japanese surfers use "yabai" to mean sick, in the sense of the Americans they probably came close to describing the Madonna Inn. We were booked into the Chesnut Foal room, which featured an intriguing lightpiece. The Hubs managed to work his charm (by which I mean that he wore down the girl at check in by spending 40 minutes picking a room) and we got bumped to the Old World Suite, with a bottle of Californian champagne.

O - M - G (as the kids like to say). Did I say Suite? I think I meant Fred Flintstone channelling Hugh Hefner. The room was at basement level and is essentially cut into a mountain. You walk into a parlour area with a four seater table next to a curved sofa facing a giant hearth separated from by a stone wall with a heart-shaped cut out, revealing a bed with red velvet sheets (no joke). Across from the bed was the bathroom, with a waterfall effect shower, as was the tap. Turning on the tap to get running water took about five minutes as it made its way across the walls to trickle down to the sink.

That night was St Patrick's Day and we were booked in for dinner at the Gold Rush Steak House. In keeping with the excesses of Madonna Inn, the restaurant was gloriously ... pink. With a massive tree in the middle of the restaurant (fake, naturally). Everything was oversized and opulent. These were steaks. They were huge! Plus they threw in a free dessert. I had to throw up after from sheer over eating. The other thing we were able to do was to take advantage of one of my favourite things about America - low corkage. We'd bought a great bottle of wine from Cayucos cellars and it seemed a great day to drink it. The worst thing of the entire evening was the entirely disgusting Guinness, which even copious amounts of kahlua couldn't help.

Still, this night was a massive tick in the tourism box, and I think EVERY one should check out the Madonna Inn.

Day 5 - Monterey, Carmel & Big Sur

Day 5 started out with both of us on a high. I woke up confused, with my face in the Hub's belly. King beds in the US are just ridiculous. The Hubs' feet were hanging off the edge, but there was enough room for at least three other people in the bed. The Hubs attempted to convince me that this was because the kings of old were short but with multiple brides. I remain unconvinced.

We checked out as soon as we could and headed to Fins Coffee, which we'd spotted the night before. The signs were favourable - there was a table of police officers outside, with coffees but sadly sans donuts. We got chatting with them ("why hel-lo officer") and they offered to let us pose for photographs on their bikes. This was very much the highlight of the Hub's entire trip. If we'd won the lottery, it wouldn't have mattered. There was to be no better moment on this trip for him, than when he had to narrowly avoid the gas tank when mounting the bike. I was, sadly, in a dress and had to demurely demur.

Our first stop for the day was Henry Cowell's State Park, where we were going to check out what Americans call "Big Trees". That's a little bit like saying Keith Richards led a sort of interesting life. These things were HUGE. We were really hoping to drive through a Sequoia but it turned out that the big tree in question had fallen over a couple of years before. This upset the Hubs, who thought his childhood drive through it twenty years before may have contributed to its demise. Instead, we decided to take a trail through a redwood grove. They were incredible. I'd asked the Hubs what to expect, and he eloquently put it as something with "a big, fuck-off, red trunk"*, and he wasn't kidding. They were majestic, with new bark twisting round the trunk, extending higher than I could see. I was desperate to see a mountain lion (there were warning signs everywhere and the scenes in Twilight must have seeped into my subconscious), but I only got to see a squirrel. At the end of the trail, we grabbed a new Christmas decoration for the tree and set off for Cannery Row via Moss Landing...

... which had pretty much nothing at either of them. Cannery Row was a little stretch of resentful tourism with an Aquarium ($30 entry? Not unless we get to eat it!)and cutesy shops. It was top and tailed by the Aquarium and a by-the-ounce frozen yoghurt. Mine was 1/3 cupcake batter, 2/3 non-fat tart with 6 maraschino cherries, cookie dough, s'mores and brownies. The Hubs had cupcake batter, chocolate, raspberry, chocolate sauce, raspberry sauce, chocolate covered sunflower seeds and chocolate malt balls. We were made for each other. Having expended Monterey's tourism potential, we headed over to Pacific Grove and the Pebble Beach 17 Mile Drive. When I was planning the trip, I'd noticed a couple of reviews on Tripadvisor complaining about the admission charge and advising a visit to the Monterey Aquarium instead, so I was pleasantly surprised to find it was $9.25 and worth every penny. There were so many beautiful sights, they took our breath away.

By the time we finished gawping at nature, it was well past lunchtime and the Hubs' driving was becoming increasingly erratic. It was clearly time for a feeding, and so we popped down the road to Carmel by the Sea, where Clint Eastwood used to be mayor and still owns a restaurant, The Hog's Breath. This was an all-American meal indeed - Philly steak sandwiches and Dirty Harry Chilli dogs, copious french fries a must. It was a hell of a meal and we had to walk it off, thankfully the town had plenty of window shopping to offer, with everything priced in the "unaffordable" category. Once we'd appreciated our poverty-stricken status, we continued down Highway 1 to the Big Sur.

The drive was terrifying and amazing all at once, with hairpin turns and incredible views. It must be very similar to driving the Amalfi coast. Spectacular. I've never seen anything like it and it took our breath away. We were staying at the Chalet in Deetjens Big Sur Inn, which was roughing it - my way. That is to say that there was no air conditioning, no locks on doors, sunken into trees with a creek outside the window. There was insect mesh on the windows. The cabins there are single layer wood, and small, probably offerings less living space than in an RV, but you can smell the pine and hear the stream, which made it the closest to nature that I would ever be. The poison oak and rattlesnake warnings that were everywhere kept it that way. Thankfully, that was enough to dissuade the Hubs from pressuring me into any nature driven activity, though in a bizzare twist, I was tempted to try a trail in the morning.

For the evening, though, there was the Post Ranch Inn, nothing like Deetjens. We were going to eat at Sierra Mar, one of the "date nights" I'd planned. I'd been expecting a nice, mid-range place, and had picked it because of the picture windows over the sea at sunset. It turned out that mid-range means something different in the US, something best described by the Hubs. In fact, here is his guest entry:

Warning bells for any man about to buy his wife dinner
1. When asking the Wife what the ballpark cost will be, and the reply is "not like French Laundry"
2. Arriving... and finding a sentry. This was America, not Sierra Leone
3. Anywhere with a drive that features grazing deer and spectacular views
4. Wondering if Maybach had started a dealership in the area
5. The valet lets you park your own car, but still takes the keys
6. Walking into reception, you find discreet security and a quarter mile climb to the restaurant
7. The Wife walks in and says "this smells like a spa, I love it"
8. The maitre'd offers use of a $20,000 remote control telescope, complete with a consulting astrologer
9. While waiting for a table, three bottles of Petrus leave the cellars to the table next to what eventually becomes yours. Before 8pm
10. A smattering of random celeb and wealthy, tweed-wearing Germans on a Tuesday night
11. The Sommelier engages in a matching game with German aristocrats who, in their desire to find their favourite wine (described as "a merlot, but very smooth"), opening seven bottles before they gave up


Having said that, dinner was great. The restaurant projects over the ocean and the dolphins mill around just beneath. In the right season, you can see the whales as well. Surprisingly for a place with such obvious gimmickery, the food was good and the staff were really amicable and shared stories of growing up in California with us. After dinner, we indulged in the telescope and had a crash course on constellations before heading back to Deetjens where we sat up for hours drinking and reading the journals in the room to each other. When we'd first checked in, the Hubs was incredulous to discover that there was no television or heating. What it did have though, was years of journals that previous guests had completed while staying. They also hid money around the room, some of which we found (and replaced). We added some of our own as a tribute.

*He also said, for the benefit of AGL, "I'd like to see the French grow these"

Day 4 - Calistoga to Santa Cruz

We were up on Day 4 with baby soft skin and a gorgeous sunrise. Plans to work on our tans dissipated with the realisation that things get C O L D by the coast/desert. There was steam coming off the pools and ponds where the sun was warming up the thin layers of ice. Instead, we popped to the Calistoga Roastery (which I think is American for Cafe) and then to Dean & Deluca to pick up a picnic lunch. With a relatively easy day ahead we thought we'd get some shopping in while making our way to Sarah Winchester's former home, the Winchester Mystery House.

I only wish they'd let me take pictures in there. There were bannisters at approximately four and a half feet high, windows in the floor, seventy or so stair to get as high as five feet, doors into walls. It was majestic in its bizzareness. We walked a couple of miles through corridors and ended up where we started, which was just outside the picnic garden. From Winchester Mystery House, we headed out to Santa Cruz and found a reasonably priced hotel for the evening. It met our stringent demand of having a pool, which sealed the deal for us. We chilled out by the pool before following the San Lorenzo Riverway to the Boardwalk. On the way down we got talking to a Mexican family walking their dog, who traded us local and Mexican trivia for Singaporean and English equivalents. It was a two mile walk down past Downtown and some residential patches, with a great view of the community and town. The boardwalk was quiet, with just a handful of surfers left for the sunset. We played a couple of games at the Boardwalk, including a randomly accurate fortune-telling game.

The surfer dudes (no joke, people really called each other Dude) pointed us in the direction of the Surfrider cafe, where we tried local wines and beers, and tucked into burgers with the best onion rings ever and sweet potato freedom fries for me. This was the first time we'd ever come up against the power of the American sized portion. Despite having had a small picnic lunch and walked five miles by this time, we only managed to clear half our plates and even that was a struggle. It didn't stop James from ordering an exceptional milkshake for the walk home. On our way back to the hotel/motel/Holiday Inn, we stopped off at a liquor store and bought CA lotto tickets with the numbers from the fortune telling game. We were feeling very lucky indeed.

Day 3 - Napa and Calistoga

We woke up in a world of pain. The clocks had changed, sadly against us, and were ahead an hour. Six am turned out to be five am and a struggle. Still, we checked out and picked up the car that would be taking us all over California. The Hubs had popped in the day before and charmed the lady behind the counter. Though we couldn't get the car we'd initially wanted, she set us up with a sportier version of what we'd asked for. The Hubs was on cloud 9. I thought he might cry with joy, instead I was the one shedding tears. Of laughter, that is, when he turned out of the rental company and the wrong way down a one way street. Admittedly, he was laughing too, at me - I couldn't see over the dash.

We made our way across Bay Bridge, proving the continuity error in The Graduate. We were in Yontville in no time, so little time in fact that we were an our early for lunch. Thankfully, a cheerful sommelier in training at the Yontville market place took us in and talked us through some cult Californian wines.

We walked up to The Restaurant with a couple from Austin who had been trying to get a table for over a year before getting lucky with a cancellation. They were even more excited than we were! The restaurant looks like a two bed home, with a beautiful sitting area in the garden and a vegetable patch across the way. We were seated by a lovely waiter from Las Vegas, who talked us through the menu choices. The Hubs and I had had a grand plan to split the chef and vegetable menus but allowed ourselves to be persuaded into two variants of the Chef's menu.

After lunch, we hurried through town to St Helena, where we were due to pick up a case of wine from Acme Fine Wines, who specialise in smaller winemakers. Their mission is to bring small vinters to market, and we'd been planning to drink a bottle a night. From Acme, we headed to Calistoga, a picturesque spa town. We were booked into Dr Wilkinson's Hot Springs Resort for the evening, which would include a mud bath. The Resort is a preserved 60s motel, who we'd managed to get a deal with. The mud bath was crazy! The sulphur in the mineral springs made it smell strange, but only marginally so in light of the strangeness of willingly slipping into a vat of stinking, peat-based mud, with twigs and leaves in it. All I could think about was how odd it was not to sink. The peat was made into mud using the springwater, which ran at 110 degrees. We were left in the mud for half an hour before getting into more springwater for a 20 minute whirlpool bath. Then it was a chill out in the steam room prior to a blanket wrap. We left with that weird bloated belly feeling you can sometimes get after a detox, and really soft skin. There were a load of people at the spa who were going for courses of treatments and had been for decades. I wasn't sure if that meant they were good or very bad. The entire experience brought to mind scenes from Victorian novels where the rich went to convalesce, though in a very naked way.

After the spa we wandered through Calistoga, which was a really picturesque town with absolutely nothing to do outside of eating, drinking and checking out the live entertainment. Sadly, we were stuffed from the French Laundry and so we ended up at the local Calmart, where we stocked up on chips and guacamole.

Day 1 & 2 - San Francisco

Planning to go sightseeing and find the Hubs the pizza he remembered from when he was seven, we had rushed to check into Hotel Vertigo, which was cheerfully located next to an apartment block called "Pharoahs" that had,you guessed it, an Egyptian theme!

Hotel Vertigo was a monument to top down business. The higher floors were newly refurbished, with the lower floors retained as they were in the movie. We were in a newer style room, highlights for which included faux leather bathroom tiles and horse head lamps, a shocker in the morning.

In the morning? That's right. We didn't make it out of the hotel on Day 1. The 6 hours of sleep in 30 hours had knocked us for six and we woke up at 4 am on Saturday. Not a problem though, we hit up some dawntime sightseeing and Lori's Diner, where we met about six Brits - not the introduction to America we'd hoped for. Still, there were plenty of "American" things that I got excited about: Jack in the Box; fire escapes (where is Richard Gere when you need him); homeless ex-Military types; corn beef hash; straw dispensers. We thought Lori's was the perfect first port of call, a 50s style diner. We did have to pay a local homeless dude for his expertise to get there though. It was the first place where we experienced cheap volume. Corned beef hash and a veggie chilli omlette came with bottomless caw-fee all for £25. Similar would have been £40 in London. I was a little sad than the meal was healthier than I'd anticipated. That may have been a San Francisco body-as-temple thing. The Hubs promised that tomorrow we'd find local policeman and tail them to their haunt, where there was no doubt we'd be able to find a heart attack on a plate. Even so, I couldn't move for about 40 minutes after and the steep hlls became less daunting with all the extra energy to burn. Just as well, since the Hubs ran out of Lori's insistent on getting to the top of the hills so that we could see the sun rise.

We sought more advice from the local experts, none of whom could agree on the best spot for a view. Instead we followed the dollar to the Fairmont. There, a friendly chauffer insisted that we pose for pictures with his car. He was lovely, and I felt terrible when I stupidly asked what kind of car it was (a Lincoln Town Car). Across from the Fairmont was a little square where there seemed to be a cult practicing their doomsday march to a woman yelling "kut put" to keep time. In the middle of the square, and on the steps of Grace Cathedral there were people practicing tai chi. It was a great, serene morning.

On our way to Union Square to meet our tour, we started to see the runners coming out. One of these included a particularly attractive girl in a BU Law sweatshirt. The Hubs was staring when I poked him, which prompted this, which I will christen Hubism #1: "She's keeping her legs together. That's just such bad form, I should tell her." I really wish he had. Instead, he led me to Union Square for a tourist coffee in the sunshine. It was suprising how quiet the City was, though perhaps less so at 9 am on a Saturday.

The tour we were booked on was through San Francisco Movie Tours. Having booked Hotel Vertigo, it seemed appropriate to keep the movie theme going. It was a 3 hour tour featuring 70 clips from 55 movies. This wasn't a limitation though, and we saw places like the Buena Vista Cafe, site of the first ever Irish coffee. We also learned that San Francisco was where sourdough bread was first baked, and denim was invented. We saw the church where Marilyn Monroe and Joe Dimaggio had their wedding pictures taken, even though they didn't marry there, and various sites from Dirty Harry and Mrs Doubtfire. It also helped us find the pizza place of old - Uncle Vito's.

The tour dropped us off at Fisherman's Wharf and we were STARVING. We headed over to Nonna Rose's for cracked crab and choder in a sourdough bowl. We made friend with the owner who showed us how to maximise the crab from the shell. It was gorgeous, literally drowned in a vat of boiling watter then pounded with a mallet and thrown into a paper serving box. I've always thought that crab tastes better than lobster and this meal proved it, though a similarly cooked lobster from Maine may well convert me. Next to us at the outdoor tables was a really nice guy named Dennis, who was with a car crash of a family. Well, more like a trailer crash. They were like a family on MTV episodes, of the "16 and Pregnant" variant. There were two kids making out, slurping that was a totally different kind from the crab eating tables. There was loud swearing and talk of their sex lives in front of their parents. Cool parents are one thing. Stupid parents are another. When moms joined in, I was forced to mentally transport myself to a zen place.

We headed from Nonna Rose's to a Musee de Mechanique, a free entry collection of arcade games. I spent ages looking for a Zoltar, but was attrated away from the fortune games by a crowd of cheering women, surrounding the arm-wrestling game. It was at this point that I realised I'd left the Hubs unattended for too long. He'd wandered far enough from my peripheral to slot two quarters into the game. Thankfully, he was successful (just, though he wants it known it was on the heviest weight setting), and celebrated with a mighty yell of "London in the house" to a round of rapturous appluase from a group of cougars. It was clearly time for discipline, so I hauled him off to Alcatraz.

There were about a hundred and twenty other peple on our tour of Alcatrax, but it was probably still one of the best tours I'd ever been on. The Alcatraz tours can basically be distinguished into day and night tours. We'd been lucky enough to get night tour tickets. The tour is distinctly touristy - Alcatraz is now a national park and everyone boarding the ferry is photographed against a blur screen for a superimposed picture against a preset Alcatraz backdrop. This was an awfully deceptive start, since the rest of the trip was unique and amazing.

We hopped the ferry to the island with a quick run through of the Island's history on the way (summary: discovered by the Spanish, fort built during the gold rush, turned into a prison by military inmates, then a maximum security prison, before being shut for being too expensive). We disembarked onto the island and had a quick intro before having an audio tour. I've never liked these - they always seem like a cheap excuse for a tour. This one was really well-executed. The groups were sent around different sections, so there was no fighting to view displays or peek into a cell. There was so much that was exceptionally interesting. The cells were larger than I'd imagined, though it was disconcerting how public the toilets were. The stories were great, with the stories of the 1946 riots brought to life with the bullet and grenade marks on the ground. Following the audio tour there was a programme of invents, including the political history of Alcatraz followed by a campfireside recount of the escape attempts. Too soon though, it was back to the Wharf...

... which was strangely quiet given that it was Saturday night before St Patrick's Day. The cable cars looked like they weren't running, so we walked, and walked, and walked back into town, mostly uphill. We literally walked till we couldn't go any further, even to the shops I was meant to be picking up some new purchases from. Instead, we went to Uncle Vito's where the Hubs posed for photos as Barbara Steisland in What's Up Doc? while we waited for a table. I've heard for some time how pizza isn't the same in the US (most people say it's better), so I thought it was worth a try. It was a little different: the base was thick, which I don't ordinarily like, but inthis case it was crispy, with really soft dough. Apart from that though, it was a pizza. Perhaps if t was something I generally like to eat? The Hubs, a pizza afficiando said is was "crispy, but moist", and blamed the fact it was over a hundred covers a night.

Somehow we made it to bed by eleven, sober and in physical pain. Day 3 was to be the French Laundry, would I be too excited to sleep?

T-1 Airbourne

I would love to claim to be one of those big souls who easily let their bug bears go. Sadly though, this is not the case. Around December, I delivered firm instructions to He-Who-Manages-Our-Finances-and-Holiday-Currency to convert sterling into dollar. HWMOFaHC chose to ignore this. The rate was then around 1.58-1.6. In the last month I requested/nagged daily. Then I panicked when it hit 1.41 dollars to the pound and decided to take unprecedented action and do it myself. Given the amount we were going to change, this was going to pay for at least one dinner in the US! I started stalking Amex and Travelex until one came up that worked, and committed. When we turned up at the airport, the rate had worsened by 13 decimal places. Turns out that if you order Euros or Dollars online through Amex, they guarantee the rate. This is our travel tip numero uno.

Anyhow, the Hubs and I kicked off our trip as we always do, with fish:

He claims this is a romantic date-like experience. I know that this is really to keep me away from duty free, but let him have it. Therein lies the romance, I guess. Sadly though, we had to rush it since the lady at the check-in confirmed that the additional security checks on American flights meant boarding was often delayed. What I'd forgotten was that Virgin always gets a raw deal at Heathrow, ever since the dirty tricks campaign from the late 90s. I've always loved the Virgin blimp over the (delayed) London Eye gimmick. Totally worth getting lousy slots at BAA airports. They won the war on wit. Besides, even if they pay their crew less, they still keep them strike free, happier and in the air. I don't think I've ever heard of strike actions at Christmas or Easter. All the crew I've met have been helpful and cheery, very unlike the belligerence I expect from BA.

The rush to the faraway gate was pointless in any case. The plane landed while we were queueing for a rights-defying search. If anyone doubts the impact of terrorism, the boarding area of a US-bound flight would throw that into relief. Shoes off, crutches inspected, coffees emptied, bags unpacked, boobs caressed, crotches groped, underthings played with. The upside is that it gives waiting passengers time to check out the other passengers, several of whom were virtual billboards for crimes against creativity and independent thought. There was even a guy in navy linen, fly at half mast, wearing a fedora and carrying two Starbucks*. There is entertainment in everything!

*we then saw him the next day at 8 am, in the same clothes, with the same coffee combination!