Carmel Valley Ranch

I'm staying at the Carmel Valley Ranch for four days (by myself) to finish off the third draft of the so-called novel. The Ranch is 500acres of oak trees, dewy, rested peeps and free s'mores fireside, which are probably crucial as Cy might say. I know, not really the starving artist thing. Here's some snaps from last time I went.

Carmel Valley Ranch, adults' pool. S'mores are served poolside of an evening

Some people I don't know

Things I didn't do

Didn't sit here. This is one of those wall thingies you think you could do yourself but...

Didn't sit here either

Sat here. 

Club sarnie for luncheon. Not starving

Nicoise salad. Still not starving

Beet salad. Still not...well you get the picture. 

One of the best steaks I've ever tasted. That goopy sauce might have something to do with it

Indoor-outdoor thinking

All the rooms have fires

I wonder if they'll remember me from last time? The reason they would remember me is because of my love of beet, or beetroot as they call it in NZ. My husband can't even smell it or see it without feeling ill and this was my chance to fill up on it. I had juice with loads of beets and beet salad for lunch and with steak every evening.

Every morning I did a spin class which was located further down in the valley. I actually walked down the entry road rather than taking the hotel service car, though people looked at me like: what are you doing walking crazy woman. 

The final morning after my spin class, I popped into the cafe to get my fresh juice drink. The young woman said they were out of all veges except for beets. I said Ok, just do beets then. She looked at me skeptically, but I thought it was because  I looked particularly hideous after my class.

Five minutes later, she was still juicing. That's a lot of beets, I said. It is ...beets, she said. (Did I hear ten? Surely not.)

Anyway I walked back up the steep road to my room. It was a long upwards walk: past the golf course, sip of my juice, past the kids' pool, sip, past the beehives, sip, past the lavender gardens, sip. It was very hot. I was about 100 feet from the top and feeling very, very bad. It was very, very hot. A number of swanky automobiles drove past. Feeling very very queasy now. Then--Urk! Blurk! I leaned down into the nearest miniature olive tree--and barfed. Full on crimson projectile, the juice of ten beets and more.

A black escalade slowed down, then sped up, a yellow convertible slowed down, then sped up. They obviously thought I'd been on the turps the night before. 

There was red everywhere: all over the ground, the olive tree, my t-shirt, my hair, my shoes.  I pretty much crawled the remaining 100 feet to my room...past loads of people checking in: families, couples on romantic mini breaks, company bods doing team building. I looked like an extra from Apocolpyse Now. 

Yes, think they'll remember me, don't you?

A visual of my view during beetblurt