Luna de Miel, Day Two

Wake up to rain in Monaco. Such is life. Spend 17 Euro on toast and cereal. Take hotel shuttle to rainy Monte Carlo. Arrive at spa one hour early, fully intending to take advantage of the pools, saunas and steam rooms before our appointments. Clearly not how things are done in France. Husband swears that if one more person tells him that he's early for his appointment, they will wish they hadn't. No real locker room either. Spas clearly different here, but indoor pool area (mind you it's pouring) is very lovely. Masseuse for wife speaks only Italian and French. Perfect, she thinks, it'll be a nice quiet massage. Spend some more time post massages with the Russian oligarchs and the women whose lives they finance in the pool area, some lovely older people who do a rousing 10 minutes of water aerobics and half the population of Tokyo. As an aside, the stereotype is true - I honest to God saw pictures being taken of the terminal at CDG. The airport terminal people..... Walk around Monte Carlo a bit and lunch at the Cafe de Paris. Black card carrying man, with black card hair and black card blazer sits next to us with his cronies. Would be nice to be one of his cronies, comments husband. Have a mediocre red wine (the only one available by the glass, a provincial wine). I suggest looking for a tie for husband, as he's forgotten to pack one, and it's mandatory for our upcoming dinner on Saturday. Husband says the animal spirits are not with him. Visit "glam" mall anyways, which is not very glam. Europeans, like New Yorkers, favor outdoor shopping to malls it would appear. Pick up rental car and stock up on bottled water to avoid the 5 euro bottles at the hotel. See a Ferrari store. Wife assumes that, like the store in Manhattan, they sell hats and t-shirts. Wife is wrong. They sell Ferraris at the Ferrari store. Of course, two days into our stay in Monaco, I've seen more Ferraris, Aston Martins, Lamborghinis (sp?), Bentleys and Rolls Royces in the past two days than I've seen in the rest of my life combined. I'm not even exaggerating.

Dinner at Quai des Artistes, because wife insists on French food, and the only Italian place the lady at the front desk could "recommend" was a place at which she had never eaten. Champagne by the glass and a 2002 grand cru burgundy must scream "American" to these people, because along with our champagne, we are brought tortilla chips and Pace picante sauce. I mean it, it's Pace mild. Thankfully piping hot bread also arrives. Waiter takes husband's champagne before he's done, to the utter dismay of husband - his chi is totally thrown. Gnocchi for me, beautiful caprese salad (though not called) for husband. Wine arrives and is given to husband to taste, even though wife ordered it. Wife has no issue correcting waiter. Veal for wife, lamb for husband. AMAZING. Great meal! Dinner conversation centers around whether we'd prefer Isabel, our hypothetical daughter, to be a hooker or a gold digger. Gold digger wins the day. Two stolen cabs later (jerks), we arrive back to hotel for a night cap and bed.