For our 4th day in San Francisco we'd booked a tour down the Pacific Coast Highway, deciding to throw our hat in with Gray Line Tours rather than do it ourselves as Sara would have had to be the one doing all the driving. Can you believe I haven't driven regularly for close to 17-years? 7-years living in London followed by 10-years in New York where a car is unnecessary will do that to you. I've also only ever driven in the UK - on the correct side of the road thank you very much ;-) - and have only ever driven a stick shift. You really wouldn't want to take the risk with me behind the wheel, especially not on winding roads where one side is often a sheer drop to the Pacific Ocean. No, since I couldn't pitch in with the driving a tour was definitely the way to go.
We were the last people to get on the tour bus and the only spot was at the back with a circle of seats and a table in the middle occupied by an Italian couple in their twenties, the husband sitting by the window on the right side of the bus and the wife sitting diagonally across from him on the left and their bags taking up the seats in the middle - about 8 seats taken between the two of them, leaving two seats immediately to the left of the wife.
We sat, assuming she would move over slightly to make room and be closer to her husband. She didn't!!
After 2 hours we stopped for 20minutes in Davenport, headquarters of the Odwalla juice company according to Vince our congenial driver, for a loo break and breakfast for those who wanted it.
“Would you mind moving over slightly?” I asked politely when we got back on the coach.
“No, I was here first.”
“Well between the two of you there's plenty of room and I’m literally only asking you to move 6inches to your right, you and your husband will still be taking up more than half the seating area.”
“If I move over I will be looking down there” she said indicating the aisle of the coach, “and I don’t want to look there, I want to look there” she said pointing to the ocean.
“Oh I‘m sorry, you must have a medical condition that means you can’t turn your head? You should see a doctor about that.”
Of course I didn’t say anything so facetious, but only because I didn’t think of it at the time. I doubt she would have understood the sarcasm anyway. Instead I said something about how incredibly childish she was being and that she needed to learn some manners. For the rest of the journey she sat with her arms folded tightly across her chest with a scowl on her face like a moody teenager and I was pleased to have contributed to ruining the day of someone so unpleasant.
“And she’s married” said Sara as we got off the bus in Monterey. “Men say they don’t want bitches, but then they often go and marry women like her.”
While I know this is in fact a sweeping generalization I have to say my experiences have been such that I would disagree with Sara’s statement. Utter bitches like Petulant Paola always seem to have a man hanging on their every word.
Anyway enough words wasted on the witch, a few photos of Monterey below, the touristy bits at least.