So it goes like this; Friday morning we woke up at the crack of dawn and headed out to Palm Springs. We got there and walked into the seventh layer of hell. There was a wall of heat that would’ve knocked me to my knees except that the air was so thick I couldn’t move. The temperature was 115 degrees. That is not a typo.
At the hotel, Patty, our cruise director, took great care of us. We stayed in one of the villas again and pretended that we were rich and fabulous. It’s a wonderful game. The reason we were there (for those of you who didn’t read Friday’s blog) was to taste and drink our way through three evenings of festivities in one sitting. It sounded like a ton of fun and it was, but then we got sick and it wasn’t.
Call me a neophyte, but I’m not used to sitting for six hours while I feed my gullet. As much as I like the idea of decadence, I found out firsthand that it’s not as easy as it looks. The hotel made the experience a once in a lifetime event with gracious servers, accessible chefs, and a warm, cozy setting. But one can only eat so many dishes and I think we had over a dozen each, not including dessert. With each course there was a wine for us to choose. And then later with each dessert, there were little ramekins of toppings and fillings we needed to sort through and match together. I won’t even tell you about the appetizers.
Start time 2:30pm. End time 8:30pm. Sam and I lumbered to our villa in exhaustion. We had planned on hitting up a local honkey-tonk bar, but our foray into living like kings held us captive. Instead, we watched movies and talked about the resort until the wee hours of the morning. The heat dropped to a bearable 88 degrees at about midnight.