Monday, August 6, 2012

CA 2012: 17 Mile Drive

17 Mile Drive is exactly that: "A scenic road through Pebble Beach and Pacific Grove on the Monterey Peninsula in California, much of which hugs the Pacific coastline and passes famous golf courses and mansions." (Thank you, Wikipedia.)


That's Bird Rock in the background.
It's REALLY chilly when you get out of your car to do pictures.  The wind kicks up and if you don't have pants on (go back two posts ago about the whole pants issue), this is where you'll regret it most. ("I'm not getting out!" said Marcie. "I'll wait right here in the car! It's too cold!")

The real estate in these parts is absolutely mind blowing.  Set into the hillside, the mansions that you pass are almost entirely made of glass on the side that faces the water.  I can't imagine the views that these individuals must have from inside.

The Lone Cypress
This famous tree is emblazoned on any and all things having to do with Pebble Beach.

Another tourist with two kids offered to take our picture. "Don't worry!" he said. "I got the tree in every shot--I think I've taken a million pictures here myself!"

Speaking of Pebble Beach, Marcie insisted that we stop by the famous resort while we were there.

The whole place smells like money. It's fantastic.

Famous golf trophies.  Wahoo? I don't follow golf.

The first time Ron and I came to CA, Marcie instructed us "to do 17 Mile Drive and then stop at Spanish Bay for cocktails! It's the best!  It doesn't matter if you're actually staying at Spanish Bay--just walk out onto the patio and grab a seat by a fire pit!"

So that's what we did, only this time Marcie came with us and David met up with us after work.

The patio at Spanish Bay. They have blankets for guests who dress all wrong.

For four years now, Marcie has been insisting that we go to Spanish Bay when the bagpiper is there.  According to Marcie, the bagpiper appears to signal the end of golfing for the day after the last person on the course finishes the last hole.  We missed him four years ago (there's really no way of knowing what time this takes place, even when you call the morning-of to ask).  We caught him twice on this trip.

He (sometimes it's a She) comes up to the patio from further away on the course.  You hear the bagpipes long before you see them.

The second night we were there, some corporate group from Texas had reserved a large portion of the patio.  Marcie observed that half of the women were freezing their asses off ("See! Nobody knows how to dress here because it's so freakin cold when it should be hot!").

"That's how you tell the tourists apart here: They have bare legs.  And they look cold. Nobody who actually LIVES here exposes their legs! That's crazy!"

So do as Marcie does if you visit this area: Put on something nice (preferably something with pants) and sit out back at sunset like you own the place and order a glass of wine.  Wait for the bagpiper (at a different time everyday depending on how short/long the days are and when the golfing wraps up), and soak in the view.

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