Day 173 - Throw (Your Career) Down (The Pan)

Author - Grant

From - Monterey, California

To - Santa Cruz, California

Via - Moss Landing, California

Miles Driven - 42

Today's Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157617328429680/

I've run out of superlatives for spectacular coastal drives, cute seaside resorts and white sandy beaches so let's get back to the food.  

As an almost compulsive, obsessive watcher of the Food Network channel, we have seen Phil's Fish Market on Bobby Flay's Throwdown program.  Now if you haven't had the experience of watching an episode in the past then you'll not understand that it is one of the cruelest television programs currently on television.  The premise is that Bobby Flay (an Americon Iron Chef) seeks out the best of the best chef at making a particular dish (usually running a tiny stall somewhere in the back of beyond) and then challenges them to a cook off at that dish.  Sounds innocent enough but, in order to lull that particular personality into providing 15 minutes worth of insightful build-up footage, they tell them that they have their own Food Network TV show based on their articular style of cooking.  As a result, when Bobby unexpectedly pops his head round the corner at one of their public cooking demonstrations and challenges them to a throwdown, he is also basically breaking the news that their hopes and dreams of hosting their own show was all a complete sham and, furthermore, they may well be about to have their asses handed to them on a plate as Bobby produces a better version of their entire life's work based on 30 minutes experimentation in the Food Network Test Kitchen.  Why he doesn't then go on to repossess their house and deflower their firstborn is a mystery as it is the obvious climax to an often humiliating

 experience.

Phil DiGirolamo, however, kicked Bobby's rear end when he came to Moss Landing, California for a Cioppino throwdown and, having now devoured a monstrous bowl of the stuff, I can understand why.  But I'm getting ahead of myself as the scene needs setting (a shack on a tiny peninsula surrounded by fishing boats, crammed with Phil Fans, lines of people as far as the eye can see, two tables near the entrance accepting dogs with a swarm of flies marking their exact location) and the starters were ordered (battered, deep fried zucchini for the lady wife and flame grilled artichoke with garlic aioli for myself - the artichokes must have been marinaded in a lemony, vinegary bath before being charred to perfection...seriously outstanding).  On to the mains.  Kate had a halibut special that was pretty bland but my bowl of Cioppino was a mass of flavour.  It was a bit like a tomato based Singles Ark for sea-dwelling creatures as it seemed to have one of almost every fish and crustacean except for the little mermaid.  And whilst I was a bit skeptical about a fishy, tomatoey broth - it was actually spot on.  I wouldn't advise coming here on a first date though as I had red broth dripping off my elbows by the end and that is no exaggeration.  From memory, Bobby's version came with everything ready (meaning it contained lump crab-meat and already peeled shrimp etc) but I'm happy to work for my lunch and it guaranteed the freshness and that the flies can't have got to it.

I'd love to know what has happened to the popularity of the place since the Throwdown show aired but given that Phil has been dishing out Cioppino for over 25 years and the walls of his restaurant are littered with awards and accolades, it's probably just annoyed the locals that day-trippers like us force them to wait in line longer than they would usually have to.  Well that's just tough titties I'm afraid as this is one dish that is too good to keep to yourselves.

Later that day we hit Santa Cruz where we'll be spending the next few days so I'll cover all that in tomorrow's blog.  Rest easy y'all...

Day 172 -Big Bleurgh

Author - Grant

From - Pismo Beach, California

To - Monterey, California

Via - Big Sur

Miles Driven - 150

Today's Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157617324632470/

Out of the 171 days we've been on this trip, I'd say we've had about five or six good breakfasts.  Most of this is self-imposed hardship as it's the one meal a day where we both just accept that a healthy bowl of bran based cereal with skimmed milk will easily satisfy us as the rest of the day is likely to involve copious over-eating.  Still, when a hotel such as the one we use in Pismo Beach advertises that their 'luxury breakfast' is included in our nightly rate then you'll forgive us for being a bit excited and jogging to the breakfast room.  But instead of being greeted with the smell of simmering bacon, instead all we saw was the same poxy spread as in every La Quinta, Comfort Inn and rag-tag motel we've ever stayed in.  And to think, I wore my elastic

 waist pants for nothing...

And so, fortified with damp bran, we hit the road for what our admittedly biased guide calls the

 most scenic coastal drive in the world.  Apparently it took a whopping 14 years to build but that isn't because they used the same people that built Wembley, it is because the majority of it is wedged into near vertical cliff-faces that challenge both the laws of physics and the capacity of ones boxer shorts.  As a result, the road doesn't suit either acrophobics or those with acute motion sickness but luckily the views are too spectacular to care.

Now we saw an awful lot of incredible things on this journey so I can either rant on for days or briefly explain what we saw and point you towards the appropriate pictures.  Laziness is leading me towards the latter...

So first stop was Elephant Seal Vista.  Do I really need to explain what was here?  What I

 expected was to catch a fleeting glimpse of a few of these butt-ugly creatures far off at sea but what we were encountered with was about one thousand of these foul-smelling bad boys sunbathing on the beach.  Actually there's a couple of things wring with that sentence.

  Firstly, they weren't boys, they were girls and

 juniors as the males (who grow up to a frightening 2 1/2 tons) were up in Alaska after doing their manly business to the ladies a few months previous.  Secondly, they weren't sunbathing, they were shedding which involves covering themselves with sand and rolling around to unveil their shiny, white skin underneath...much like a Scotsman on day 3 in Majorca.  The smell, however, is something that no words or picture can get across.  The strange thing was whilst I was practically gagging, Kate didn't seem to mind it - I guess years of me playing the duvet fart tent game have finally paid off for her.

Another huge highlight was Pfeiffer Beach which 

is surrounded by rock formations that act as a giant wind tunnel creating gale force winds and accompanying sandstorms that were pretty painful when dressed as inappropriately as I usually am (if it's not snowing, it's shorts and flip-flops weather).  Unfortunately the majority of the storm concentrated below the knees which meant that Molly took the full brunt of it all over and hence she finished the walk with sand seeping from every crevice.  It was all well worth it though as the sight of the Pacific crashing through the natural blow-holes was thrilling.

The sticky-out bit of this part of Central California (I never really did pay attention during

 Geography) is called the Monterey Peninsula and it curves round from Carmel-By-The-Sea (where posh people live) to Monterey (where scumbags live) but to drive the scenic 17 mile coastal road will cost you $10.  At first glimpse this sounds a bit steep but when you consider that this gives you to roam around three of the worlds finest golf courses (namely Pebble Beach, Spyglass Hill and The Links at Spanish Bay) then it seems way more justifiable...unless you're not really into golf...like my wife.  Still, I think my childish excitement at roaming round the magnificent facilities at Pebble Beach and watching players who are either members or have paid $450 a round as a guest getting spanked by the legendary par-5 18th hole was enough entertainment for the both of us.  Temptingly I had my clubs and balls in the car and I won't pretend that the thought of illegally smacking a ball for posterity did cross my mind but I'd have probably killed someone before being escorted away by the numerous security guards on duty.  It's better than going down for tax evasion though...

That's quite enough for today, I'm exhausted even repeating it all.  Tomorrow we head north to Santa Cruz but not before some more Food Network whore-like behavior.

Day 171 - Pottering Perfection in Pismo

Author - Grant

From - Santa Barbara, California

To - Pismo Beach, California

Miles Driven - 97

Today's Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157617280722944/

Nothing outstanding happened today yet once this trip is over and I have to be all sensible, it's days like this that I'll miss the most.  It's going to be difficult to vocalise exactly why as all we really did was potter but I guess it mainly comes from the freedom to be able to potter without a care in the world or a to-do list in sight.

The day started much like any other on this trip; being woken by a ca

nine with a full bladder resulting in blindly exploring local walking trails.  Today's trail took us through 

idyllic, undulating vineyard covered hillside but it's not quite as Wizard of Oz as it sounds as there were numerous signs warning of the presence of mountain lions, rattlesnakes and venomous spiders.  Nothing puts a skip in the step like the threat of being eaten alive...and all before we'd even had breakfast.  Best.  Cheerios.  Ever.

97 miles up the magnificent Pacific Coastal Highway later and we hit Pismo Bea

ch, a tiny, friendly beach town that seems to survive with a handful of tourists attracted by a rickety, wooden pier and miles upon miles of sand to explore.  And so we did.  Although I did insist on a moment of geekiness as we finally unfurled and flew my power-kite which, until that morning, was the last remaining piece of unused kit that we shoved in Bridget nearly six months ago.  And whilst I appreciate that the idea of power-kiting might sound incredibly sad to some people, well, I love it and even the very skeptical Kate seemed to enjoy herself despite needing anchoring down during the windier moments to avoid taking off towards New Zealand.

So given that going for a walk, driving less than 100 miles and flying a kite is the sum total of our achievements on this day, it was hardly groundbreaking stuff but it was pretty awesome nevertheless.

Tomorrow we continue north towards Monterey via the legendary Big Sur drive and I'm really rather looking forward to it...

Days 168 to 170 - Santa Babs

Author - Grant

Based In - Santa Barbara, California

Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157617091015009/

We might have found a home.  Well, not a building but possibly a city.  And it's got Kate's real first name in which means that even saying the name makes me giggle.  She's really called Barbara just in case you think my wife's real name is Santa but goes by her middle name Kate because...well, because she's not 70.  I digress.  Let me explain why Santa Barbara is current top of the list for the next quantum leap...

1) It's an obvious one but...the Weather.  On average it is sunny here for over 300 days a year but it rarely gets above 85F.  It rains a total of 15 inches a year and most of 

that comes in December and January...months typically spent in the pub anyway.

2) It's by the sea which my Blackpool upbringing seems to approve of.  This sea, however, is littered with yachts rather than turds and the palm-tree lined beach is covered in bronze, bikini clad sun worshipers rather than drunk Scots.

3) There's a high street that contains a decent mixture of shops that you can drool at and ones with actual, practical, affordable stuff.  

4) The same high street is also littered with busy restaurants that almost all have patios where punters spill onto the street...even on a Monday.  That means plenty of e

mployment opportunity for me as it seems like the economic downturn hasn't affected the appetites of the upper crust of California.  There's even a chippy on the pier but we haven't had chance to test it on this visit.

5) The very same high street has four pubs within crawling distance of each other and one of them is an English pub which may or may not open up at 7am on the weekends for the 3pm kick-offs back home.

6) The people seem genuinely friendly and it's more likely that you will be accidentally scalded by someone's chai latte than mugged whilst walking down street after the sun had gone down.

7) It's really dog friendly with numerous spot for Fido to play off-leash including one beach which I wouldn't recommend sunbathing on for fear of being urinated on by a Great Dane.

8) It has access to some incredible produce with a ton of local vinyards, incredible seafood and unlimited access to a host of exotic fruits and veg.  I munched away on some incredible tasting strawberries yesterday and had my first taste of something called a Cherimoya which has a creamy texture and a hint of citrus...a bit like a soursop if you've had the pleasure of those. 

Of course it's not all heaven on earth and there are a few downsides...

1) Good weather attracts bums and Santa Barbara has it's fair share of trolley pushing nutters that insist on wearing all four clothing outfits that they own at the same time despite the blazing sun.

2) The houses are damned expensive so if we were to settle here then we'd be se

ttling for something way more modest than we could afford in somewhere less picture perfect and we'd be a good drive away from town.  In fact we've done a good reckie of all 31 houses in SB currently for sale in our price range and concluded that we would probably be about 5 miles to the west.  On the plus side, our unbelievably friendly neighbour has just passed us a competition entry form that costs $150 to enter but the to two prizes are $1m houses in the heart of town.  Keep your fingers crossed...

I think the clincher was the Zoltar fortune telling machine on the pier which, I'm sure you don't need telling, features in the movie Big.  Nostalgia does funny things to an ordinarily rational mind.

So we leave here tomorrow, begrudgingly, to continue the trip north along the coast to see if anything can match or beat Santa Barbara but it's going to be tough.  Still, there's plenty to see and I've got to keep an open mind but I can see myself uttering the sentence "it's not as nice as Santa Kate" plenty of times in the coming weeks...

Day 167 - Posh For A Day

Author - Grant

From - Los Angeles, California

To - Santa Barbara, California

Via - Venice Beach, Santa Monica & Malibu

Miles Driven - 99

Today's Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157617090900337/

Let's get the bad part of Day 167 out of the way right at the beginning.  I spent the entire day humming the Britney Spears song 'If You Seek Amy'.  Damn that woman with her hypnotic baselines and addictively catchy melodies.  Aside from the soundtrack, however, the day 

was pretty awesome despite being nothing more than a travel day.  Our plan whilst traveling up the West Costs is to stop in every city, town, village, pueblo and enclave that might contain enough life for us to consider it as a possible living venue once this trip is done but in our heart of hearts we knew that today's scheduled stops were purely indulgent and frivolous as we couldn't afford to rent a garage in them, let alone the 3 bed house we desire.  Still, sometimes it's fun to pretend that you belong to a different world for the day despite pulling up to th

at world in a now rather dilapidated looking

 pseudo-mobile-home.

First stop of the day was Venice beach which, the more buff of you out there will immediately recognise, is the home of Muscle Beach, a 30 x 20 metre cage containing various weight training machines (I recognised them immediately as they were identical to the ones that I never used in my gym in New York) and a handful of glistening Hulk understudies.  The users of this gym are the living definition of irony because if you have the confidence to pump iron in this public arena then you have already reached physical perfection and hence there is no need for you to go to the gym.  Still, it's quite a spectacle and I have never meant 'no' more than when Kate suggested I go in and lift a few weights for fun.  I would have been felt more at home 

at an eating disorder therapy group.  The rest of Venice Beach isn't at all what I expected as it's like Camden or the Lower East Side but next to the beach as it contains some of LA's shadier characters and is lined with stalls selling all the tat you could ever want, and more.  The beat-nicks make for some awesome photo opportunities though so scroll through for more than the average number of drunks, hippies, freaks and weirdos rubbing shoulders with the trendy rollerbladers, surfers, segwayers and joggers that also share the promenade.  Even the beachside homes look a bit tatty at first glance but some concerted staring through their blacked-out windows invariably revealed plush palace after chic abode at great odds to their exteriors.  That'll learn us for judging books by their covers.  I just assumed that Venice beach is where the Beverly Hills, Bel Air and Hollywood residents went to get their beach time but it turns out that that place is Santa Monica which is a mere 3 miles up the coast.  Here there isn't a trace of a stall selling pot pipes (Kate told me what they were mum), the dreadlocked mafia aren't welcome and there is no pretense about the houses as they looks as incredible from the outside as they undoubtedly were on the inside.  The annoying fact is that the majority of them will only be used for a few weeks a year by their multi-homed owners...I'm sure we could work out a deal between us where we house-sit for them for 50 weeks of the year with the understanding that Molly will act as a guard dog.  Little do they know that Molly would only attack if the potential burglar was wrapped in bacon.  Even then, I'd probably be first to attack.

Thirty miles further north and we entered the 27 mile stretch of coast known as Malibu.  Trying to blend in here is like wearing a tuxedo and calling yourself a penguin - a valiant attempt but you stick out like a sore thumb.  Are these people better than me?  Yes.  Yes they're much better than me.  Regardless, we decided that we were going to have lunch at one of the restaurants built into the cliffs despite knowing that a side salad was probab

ly going to cost $50 and that our co-diners flip flops cost more than our car.  It wasn't to be, however, as we were traveling with Molly and California law states that dogs can't be present even at the outdoor tables.  Thanks Molly, you just saved me $300 plus $5 for valet parking in a car park the size of half a tennis court.  I really do love that dog you know.  Instead we grabbed some soft tacos and a fish burrito the size and weight of a brick from a take-away joint and made do with eating it on a bench and staring enviously at the various mansions wedged sporadically into the Malibu cliff-face.  Net summary of the past few days, if anyone says they live or have a home in Santa Monica, Venice Beach, Malibu, Hermosa Beach, Manhattan Beach, Bel Air, Beverly Hills or West Hollywood...stay in close touch with them and never forget their birthday.

Our final destination for the day was Santa Barbara but more of that tomorrow as it's so beautiful that we're here for a few days and it deserves its own entry.

Days 165 & 166 -LA Story

Author - Grant

Based In - Los Angeles

Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157617090967796/

Throughout our journey we've consistently heard that LA is more of a transport hub than a destination and that we should spend as little time as possible here because it's crap.  Well after spending three nights here I can honestly say that we've had a Lucile (Ball) and although I wouldn't want to live here (because I can't afford to, because I am not beautiful enough and because the traffic would drive me, slowly, to an early grave), we're going to leave with nothing but good memories of the place...and not just because it was the place where I watched Everton dispose of Man Utd to reach the final of the FA Cup.  Still, I'm going to put it in the same bracket as Singapore as a great place to visit but probably a naff place to live unless you are uber-rich.  At least it only took me three nights to work it out this time rather than two years in Singabore.  I guess coming in with such low expectations can only lead to pleasant surprises but that's really not an excuse for going through life with a permanent sou

r puss.

Still, if I was going to live here, and assuming that I've not won the lottery or found some hidden performing talent that I've kept hidden for the past 32 years (although I never really have seriously tried yodeling) I would plonk myself somewhere in Hermosa Beach as it maintains that relaxed surf town feel that seems a million miles from the hustle and bustle of LA.  The downside is that I would HAVE to get fit as playing beach volleyball seems the equivalent of darts here and nobody wants to see 250lb of moobs caked in sand.  It would be tough, however, as the jovial staff at Micky's Deli would be forever tempting me with their incredible bulging subs that come on a chewy roll reminiscent of a bagel and come laced with banana peppers as standard.  Yum.

Now onto the serious touristy stuff.  Hollywood, Beverly Hills and Bel Air.  Of c

ourse it's possible to buy a $5 map detailing the homes of the stars but 

as that would involve one of us to drive and the other to nav

igate (a sure recipe for a speedy divorce), we decided

 the safest approach would be to take an open top SUV tour and, apart from being baked alive in 102 degree sunshine for two hours, it was pretty awesome stuff.  The tour starts on Hollywood Boulevard which is where the star's stars litter the pavement and the opportunity to have your pic

ture taken with random dressed up characters (Superman, Marilynn Monroe, Gene Simmons...complete with 7'' tongue) is never more than a step away.  I thought that there would be maybe 100 of these stars to forever memorialise the acievements of Hollywood's true great performers (Charlie Chaplin, Robert DeNiro, Judy Garland etc) but actually there are 2,300 of them and it looks like you only need to have stared in a Verizon commercial and have a spare $25,000 to get one.  Most of the names I didn't even know but seeing Ryan Seacrest's star really diluted the achievement of having a star for me...I mean, he only talks to stars and speculates on whether or not they are pregnant.  It's probably just jealousy on my behalf.  Still, the 'stars' need to stump up the 25 grand from their own pocket and a nice story is that Liza Minnel

li refused to pay the fee so her fan club held a bake sale for 7 years to raise the cash.  By way of thanks, she has promised to continue to perform terribly on both stage stage and screen until she dies.  Outside the Grauman's C

hinese theater (next to the Kodak Theater which hosts The Oscars every year) are the iconic hand and footprints of the stars and I now know that I have the same size hands as Tom Hanks and it looks like I have my own set of handprints if I kneel down at a certain angle (with apologies to the estate of Cary Grant).

Onto the tour proper which starts around the beautiful suburbs of Beverly Hills where houses cost somewhere between $4m and $8m.  The nice thing about the houses is that, despite being mini-palaces, they are all unique and manage to maintain a real homely, cosy feel.  Don't get me wrong, there is the occasional display of vulgarness (like the owner of Guess jeans who has a squadron of gleaming Ferraris lined up outside his mansion) but somehow it doesn't seem in bad taste.  As we moved into the hills of Bel Air (where the

mid price for a house shoots up to $20m), what struck me as weird was that amongst the superstar owners (Jennifer Aniston, Michael Jackson, the sticky Christina Aguilera etc) were houses owned by 'normal' people.  Clearly they will be minted heads of commerce but if they aren't in and Fed Ex needs to deliver a package then ticking the 'leave it with a neighbour' box will mean that you have to pop over to Matthew Perry's place to retrieve it.  All right, I know it doesn't work like this in practice but you get what I mean.  Amongst the highlights for me were the pink Hotel California (actually called the Hotel Beverly Hills) which is what The Eagles were singing about, a house with a 1/4 mile swimming pool that has been left abandoned for 20 years and the ex-home of The Osbournes that was used in their reality show wh

ich we were addicted to for a while.  But the real highlight was turning the corner and being faced with the house Will Smith upgrades to in the Fresh Prince.  Ah, memories.

For entertainment in the evening I enjoyed putting on dresses and completely sha

ving myself.  Obviously that's not true but I couldn't think of anything more embarrassing that what we actually did and I can't think of a way to make it sound less lame so I guess I'll just have to blurt it out.  We went to see Britney Spears.  And it gets worse.  They were supported by The Pussycat Dolls.  My testicles only re-emerged a few hours ago but my ears will never stop ringing thanks to the screams of 20,000 pre and post pubescent females.  As you would expect from America's most successful product since guns, it was quite a show although I was a bit miffed that, unlike the PCDs (as anyone in the know calls them), she didn't actually sing.  The general excuse for miming is that it's not possible to put on such a dance show and be lyrically perfect but, from what we saw, it looked like she just wandered around the stage whilst her backing dancers did all the acrobatics.  It was still surreal when faced with her (and we were only 11 rows back despite booking the tickets just a few days earlier) as...well, it's Britney bitch and she's a bit of a legend no matter what your musical persuasion.  Yet another sign that velvet elbow patches and dementia are just around the corner was the pure relief at the concert ending as my head was going to explode with the shear volume of the whole event.  I'm adding it to the ever-increasing list of "I'm glad we did it but I won't be doing it again".

We leave LA tomorrow following the coast north to Santa Barbara.  On the way I get to kick sand in the faces of the dweebs at Muscle Beach...wish me luck.

Day 164 - Beverly Hills Blobs

Author - Grant

From - Santa Ana, California

To - Los Angeles, California (just outside LAX)

Miles Driven - 40ish

Today's Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157616877001923/

A couple of weeks ago I set my self up for a bit of a treat by turning a chore into an adventure.  It might sound extraordinarily dull to you but I needed a new debit card from HSBC and so I got it sent to the Beverly Hills branch which gave me a legitimate business excuse to visit the home of glamour, 10 inch waists and fake tits.  I admit that I was far too excited as the telephone banking lady in the suburbs of Dhaka read out the zip code 90210 with clearly no understanding of its hidden connotations of heavily made up thirty year olds trying to portray 18 year olds but making her repeat it was probably out of order.  Still, nothing prepared me for what awaited us as we drove amidst the mansions of Rodeo Drive which then gave way to the 3 block shopping district containing everything a girl would ever need to be the next 'it' girl.  It was truly impressive and somehow the calibre of designers on display made the huge Ralph Lauren store look cheap and almost common in comparison.  Rather than forking out $2 per 15 minutes for parking in one of Beverly Hills' multi-stories, we had managed to snag a roadside spot that entitled us to one hour parking for a miserly dollar and I'd like to say that beautiful Bridget held her own against the numerous glassy, vintage autos that seem to be more en vogue than the extravagant sports cars I was expecting but the truth is that she looked like a bus in comparison.  Kate didn't fare much better as she is currently sporting a coldsore and a giant boil on her neck but I would never say that out loud so just forget this sentence and everything will be OK.  Anyway, I got my card but they warned me that it would not be activated until after about an hour meaning that I couldn't go wild and spend, spend, spend on Rodeo Drive.  That and the fact that I am a tight-arse.

A quick word on loyalty programs.  In general, my 32 years on this planet have tought me that they are naff.  I have more stamps in my passport than Phileas Fogg and more frequent flyer miles than Laika but they seem to be about as valuable as the Botswanan Pula and buy me nothing.  Hotel loyalty schemes seem almost as worthless but recently we have reached 'Elite' status with our favoured dog-friendly hotel/motel brand La Quinta.  Wh

ilst this $50 to $100 a night chain isn't going to host the world's leaders at next year's G-20 Summit, we have always found them to be modern, clean and consistently livable.  Now we have reached various stages of membership level with several chains but all that seems to get us is a differently coloured card...but elite membership with La Quinta guarantees us availability at any of their 600 hotels even if they are full (that's right, we can mimic Madonna and chuck other people out of a hotel if we need a room) and if there's a suite available then we're automatically upgraded for free.  And hence it is with a rather broad grin that I am typing this blog in a different room from which my wife is gently snoring.  I realise that this doesn't make us royalty (in fact it's more like having the nicest trailer in the trailer park) but it's nice to finally come across a loyalty scheme that means something.

Tomorrow is a full blown assault of everything touristy that LA has to offer - a tour of the homes of the stars, a trip to Hollywood Hill and we'll probably finish it off in a club drinking bottles of Crystal with Kanye and Paris...assuming that's covered by our La Quinta Elite membership...