Okly dokly then. Back to Disney, where day 3 dawned bright and sparkly and found us tootling off to the Disney Boardwalk to have al-fresco breakfast at Spoodles. Rather lush Mediterranean fare can be found at this friendly establishment (hearing me chortling about hidden Mickeys, the staff very kindly presented me with my very own blue Mickey pin – I was choked, I can tell you). We were presented with loads of free taster plates, such as the lovely flatbreads (think thin pizza with lovely fresh toppings), and fruit platters, but eventually discounting the French toast and the full cooked breakfast, I gamely forced down a veritable MOUNTAIN of pancakes, with crispy bacon and maple syrup:
Off in the bloggerbus, then, to the amazingly beautiful Disney Grand Floridian. Modelled on the famous Chateau Marmont (Marilyn Monroe’s fave hangout, doncherknow). Driving up to this absolutely amazing resort, we were stunned into uncharacteristic silence (I wrote simply ‘wow’ in my notebook):
The Floridian is surrounded by a beautiful man-made lake, nestling across from the eye-watering white sand beach (guests can take out one of the resort speedboats if they feel the need for some privacy – no, really):
The spa is not only jaw-droppingly beautiful, but has a wide range of wondrous treatments as well as a gym if you absolutely insist on getting sweaty when you should be relaxing:
…where, having regaled (and slightly nauseated) each other with various motley spa stories (I shared the deeply in-depth double-boob-massage I experienced in Goa), and collapsed into snorty giggles again after a totally ridiculous ten minutes of complementary flip-flop swapping, we were swept away to various different treatment rooms where we oohed and ahhhed a happy hour away being pummeled into submission (or, in my case, being the only one that chose a facial, having my ‘congestion extracted’ – not pretty, I can tell you, but I glowed afterwards).
Stumbling blinking, and slightly greasily, into the dazzling sunshine once again, we stopped to cop a quick cheeky look at the wedding chapel (RANDOM DISNEY FACT: more than 2,600 couples get married at Walt Disney World every year) where Cinderella’s glass coach and powdery wigged footmen were in attendance:
And to have a good cackle when Laura pointed out that one of them had a rather-unDisney, porn-star bushy black moustache (sadly he was facing away from me). Oh, and we just had to grab a quick photo-op underneath the shady palms of the luscious white sandy beach:
Rather than ‘blogger down!’, this one was ‘blogger is running away and hiding so she never has to leave’. Tell you what, if I ever win the lottery, you’ll find me ensconced, counting my money, at the Grand Floridian and no mishtake. Off to the Grand Floridian Café for lunch, then, I was tempted by the pan-roasted Tilapia (sp?), just because I’d never heard of it, but settled in that ‘stomach thinks your throat’s been cut’ way that having something virtuous like a facial always makes me feel, for this little beauty:
…herb marinated chicken breast with cold smoked vine ripened tomatoes, cheddar, pesto mayonnaise and rocket, served on warm ciabatta. Oh and I had chips but Linda pinched them all.
The afternoon brought our first glimpse of The Magic Kingdom (more later!) where we caught our first jaw-dropping sight of Cinderella’s Castle, and sizzled, in a particularly white-skinned, European fashion, in the roasting sun :
(MORE RANDOM DISNEY FACTS: did you know that the Cinderella Castle is a whopping 189ft high and held together by 600 tons of steel? And did you also know that there are mice carved down the side of the castle? Thought not.) Oh and that’s Walt (brain not cryogenically frozen) Disney there in front of the castle.
Anyhoo, I defy even the most stone-hearted not to catch their breath. The thing is enormous. We amble past little shops, ice cream parlours and little bibbidi bobbidied princesses to whiz round some rides (nope – I’m not spilling – this is a food post – you’ll have to wait for the rides) and settled eventually at Tony’s at Toon Town Square (remember the little Italian restaurant from Lady and the Tramp?). Our waiter, the lovely Casey, makes us all feel like stars by taking the details of all our blogs (or alternatively, perhaps he was worried about what we’d write). Of course, I just had to order the spaghetti and meatballs, but Erica and Lulu completely spoiled it by refusing to do the spaghetti sharing thing with me. Party poopers.