Welcome to MY Hotel California

santa monica 3 - georgian hotel.JPG
Originally uploaded by picodulce.

Day 5: When the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard

This bright blue landmark is The Georgian Hotel on Ocean Road in Santa Monica and it is literally down the road from the famous Hotel California that the Eagles sang about so tunefully. The Georgian was also my home for two days while I sunned myself at Santa Monica, a truly beautiful beachside town about 10 minutes drive from Los Angeles (well, some part of it anyway - I don't think LA has a proper town center).

I chose this hotel because of its proximity to Santa Monica Pier, its view over the ocean, and the fact that it is allegedly haunted. At least let me assure you that on the first two points, the Hotel delivered beautifully. The ghosts, however, were sadly absent. There was some pretty robust yelling and slamming of doors at ungodly hours of the morning, but I'm pretty sure live humans were responsible for those noises!

The other brilliant thing about The Georgian is that it is literally around the corner from Third Street Promenade, the most inspired stretch of retail heaven I've seen in a long time. Honestly, it's the length of Rundle Mall and Rundle Street, lined both sides by adorable little shops and boutiques. Granted there is a Gap and Urban Outfitters and other chain stores, but then there are some cute shops that (surprise, surprise) Chicago does not have. So I typically chose these unique stores to receive my custom and gave my Visa card a stunning work-out.

Returning to the Hotel in the manner of Pretty Woman, I changed into one of my new tops and necklaces, and went back out to sit at the neighbourhood bar and write some postcards. The barman bought my drinks for me - what a sweetheart. Bald as a bowling ball he was.

Then N from the Consulate picked me up for dinner at Venice Beach, which was almost impossible to see due to the unseasonable fog that had rolled in off the Pacific Ocean. Still, dinner was wonderful in a local haunt that reminded me a lot of a tarpaulin thrown over the back clothesline to become a makeshift marquee with little tiki lights and citronella candles. But the cocktails were strong and the food was delicious. Retiring back to the Santa Monica bar after dinner, we sought out my generous benefactor/barman but he was nowhere to be found. So we had a couple more drinks and I went 'home' to sleep (or to await some supernatural encounters, whatever happened first).

Day 6: Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home

Sunday morning was a little rough, thanks to a 6am wake-up call of a slamming door right outside my room and a very enthusiastic cleaning lady wondering what she should do with her vacuum cleaner. I could have told her...

But I battled a junior hangover and forced myself to get up and enjoy the brunch at The Georgian, which N had recommended I do. She went further to suggest the seafood frittata for breakfast. Let me tell you - the smell of lobster on a hungover stomach ain't the brightest thing in the world to discover. And yet the strong coffee and fresh fruit helped me get through the (ultimately) delicious dish. Before I knew it, I had to pack my things, check out, and make my way to LAX.

But not before I visited Santa Monica Pier. A jetty is a jetty really and that's all Santa Monica Pier is, but it's just cool. When the weather is as good as it was on Sunday, it's easy to see why so many tourists go there. The pace is relaxed and you can browse little stores selling tourist junk either side of the Pier as you wander up and back. Fishermen try their luck right at the end, and pique the interest of visitors that stop by to check out their catch. I loved it - it was a real little community out there. And to be staying in a hotel so close to such a great site was well worth the trip.

The least said about Los Angeles Airport the better. That place is hell on earth and I am dreading being back there at Christmas time. The worst of California is headquartered at that chaotic pit. Trust me, fly through San Francisco if you possibly can. But the only good thing about LAX is that it got me back to Chicago - to remarkably cooler temperatures, but boy it feels good to sleep in your own bed after some time away. Two pillows, baby. Rock on.