Monaco

Have you ever wondered why we never (or almost never) see Maseratis, Lamborghinis, Alfa Romeos, Ferraris, Bentleys, Aston Martins or Rolls Royces in New Hampshire? It’s because they are all racing through the streets of Monaco! Apparently these high performance vehicles are a very efficient means of getting across the 485 acres that make up Monaco. After all, who wants to waste 10 minutes walking up the hill from the harbor where the yacht is docked to gamble away one’s wealth at the Monte Carlo Casino? It’s so much more enjoyable to take the Lamborghini.

I exaggerate of course; I’m sure the more intrepid of these vehicles actually leave the borders of the Principality and venture as far as Nice, St. Tropez, Cannes and other high rent districts along the Cote d’Azur. And of course you can find plenty of riffraff like Mercedes, BMW’s, Porsches and Mini Coopers in the gutters of Monaco as well.

We also don’t see these, shall we say, “higher end” vehicles in New Hampshire because women who enter these cars are required to wear three inch heels, and we all know that you just can’t get three inch heels from LLBean anymore, although I think you can still find a few pairs tucked away at Red’s Shoe Barn in Dover, somewhere behind the steel-toed boots, Tevas and orthopedics.

For those of you who pine for a Maserati but aren’t willing to move to the Cote d’Azur, I suggest considering the purchase of a $152 white gold Maserati trident pin, a fashion statement that will surely turn heads on Old Home Day. Too stuffy for you? How about the $112 white bikini with the silver lamè Lamborghini logo? Don’t worry – it comes in extra small. Looking for something that is more practical in a four season environment? How about the $100 Aston Martin leather case for playing cards? Hey--this is a steal--it holds two packs of cards!

I was disappointed that I was unable to find alternative merchandise on the Rolls Royce web site. As ridiculous as it may sound, it appears that you can only buy cars from them (well, OK, jet engines too). I did learn from their web site that one would want to buy their cars because they offer “sensuous tactility,” dynamic refinement,” and they are useful to “embrace the elements.” Hasn’t anyone in their marketing department ever asked “What exactly does that mean?” The next time I get into my Ford Escort, I am definitely going to be paying more attention to its sensuous tactility. Since returning from Monaco, I’ve been looking for alternative, less expensive ways of embracing the elements than buying a Rolls. Thanks to Google I found out, much to my relief, that I can also embrace the elements by going to Pittsburgh. Whew.

But Monaco is more than just rich people in designer fashions, fancy cars and outrageous yachts. It’s also...well...let me think a little bit more about this one. Well, you can visit the Doll and Automaton Museum where you can see Barbie dressed in outfits designed by Bob Mackie, Christian Dior and Psy, Monte Carlo’s homegrown designer label. You can also see His Serene Royal Highness' car, stamp and coin collections or shop at the Baby Dior store for your fashion conscious toddler. You can nibble on $635 Iranian caviar, an appetizer offered at the Hotel de Paris restaurant, next to the Casino. Oh and forget those stuffy bus tours that are present in all the major European cities – you can see all the sites of Monaco in style with a Ferrari tour. And let’s face it, Monaco is all about style.

During our visit we enjoyed both the Exotic Garden, a mountainside garden that offered impressive cactus and terrific views of Monaco, and the Oceanographic Institute, a public aquarium and tourist mecca. But you can find dolls, fish and cactus without traveling to Monaco, the real attraction of Monaco is the spectacular wealth.

Monaco is officially considered a tax-haven by institutions that identify those sorts of things. This tiny bit of Mediterranean coast offers an income tax-free environment (for non-French residents), incessantly pleasant weather and plenty of places to park the yacht. What multi-millionaire wouldn’t jump at the chance? In addition, it’s safe. With the highest density of police in the world (on both a per capita and per square meter basis), you can flaunt your wealth without worrying about being mugged.

Marty and I stopped for a short weekend in Monaco on our way back from Corse. My French teacher, Evelyn, said that one just had to see Monaco. This is the same woman who said that she didn’t understand why people visited France, so I was intrigued to see a place that Evelyn thought was worth visiting. Marty was reluctant to visit when I first mentioned it to him several months ago, but he acknowledged that it would be an easy stop for us on our return journey from Corsica.

Monaco, with its spotless, graffiti-less facades and dog poop-free sidewalks is definitely cleaner than France (or most countries in the world for that matter). This tiny principality is sandwiched between the foothills of the Alps and the Mediterranean Sea. They manage to pack over 30,000 people into their 485 acres, so high rises are the norm. The principality is steep and traversing it from south to north requires a lot of stair climbing or the use of the many public elevators that move you up and down the hillsides. Don’t worry; there are surveillance cameras in the public elevators, so your precious gem-studded jewelry and Rolex will be safe. The steepness has its advantages, however, because, in addition to helping one work off the rich French cuisine, it affords a lot of scenic views of the sea and the city, kind of like stadium seating.

Monaco is the only constitutional monarchy remaining in Europe. I personally can’t help marveling at the fact that in the 21st century, the citizens of Monaco, who enjoy a 99% literacy rate and 0% unemployment rate, don’t mind being ruled by a monarch. Isn’t that taking retro just a bit too far? Didn’t the whole nobility thing go out of style after the French Revolution? Perhaps it is time to invade Monaco and bring democracy to its citizens. Actually, the native Monegasques are allowed to vote (I’m not sure what offices they vote for), but they only make up 16% of the population of Monaco. Women weren’t given the right to vote until 1962.

We found ourselves in Monaco on July 14, a French national holiday. Knowing that Monaco had a large French population (47%), a lot of French tourists, and deep ties to France, I asked if there would be any festivities in recognition of Bastille Day. In retrospect, this was, at best, a very silly question. Of course, they don’t celebrate the holiday in Monaco. Why would the last remaining constitutional monarchy in Europe celebrate the revolution that basically massacred the French monarchy? Oops.

Monaco’s most famous monarch, of course, was Princess Grace, the American movie star Grace Kelly whose picture graces the banners along the main boulevards of Monaco. The banners announce the Princess Grace exposition that is taking place in Monaco throughout the summer. There is also the “Princess Grace Parcours,” which sprinkles photos of Princess Grace and the royal family throughout the principality. Given that it’s been 25 years since Grace died, one can’t help but get the impression that the glamorous Princess is still being used as a tourist attraction.

Photos of his Serene Royal Highness, the reigning Prince Albert II, also are ubiquitous throughout the shops in the principality. I asked a woman from whom we bought some sandwiches if they were required to have a photo of the Prince in their shop. Giving me a knowing look, she repeatedly said “It is better.” My interpretation of her response was that it is not advantageous for a business to not display a photo of the Prince.

When in Monaco, one cannot forget the presence of the royal family. In addition to the ubiquitous photos of Prince Albert II and Princess Grace, a remarkable number of place names evoke the royal family as well. We walked down Boulevard Princess Charlotte to get to our hotel (which was actually in France, literally just across the street from Monaco); we then headed downhill to Avenue Princess Grace, which takes you to the Grimaldi Exposition Center (which fittingly has the Princess Grace expo) and the beach with its imported sand. Avenue Princess Grace eventually brings one to a large complex which includes Raínier III Auditorium. Don’t worry, the American royal family is recognized as Avenue de President J.F. Kennedy splits into Boulevard Albert 1er and Rue Grimaldi. Other streets include Rue Princesse Florestine, Rue Princesse Caroline, Rue Princesse Antoinette and Avenue Albert II. There is also a Parc Princesse Antoinette and a Roseraie Princesse Grace. I couldn’t find anything named after Princess Stephanie; I wonder if she is considered a “bad” princess.

Perhaps it is not surprising that the reigning Prince Albert II, Grace’s son, is still unmarried, although he does have two children out of wedlock. It must be hard for Europe’s most eligible bachelor to find a bride who can live up to his mother, who, in addition to being spectacularly beautiful, appears to have been much loved by all. While his father’s side of the Prince’s family are obviously royalty, descending originally from a pirate, his mother’s side, in addition to having a glamorous film star, include her father, who won three Olympic gold medals in rowing and became a self-made millionaire in the brick business, her brother, also an Olympic medalist, her mother, the first woman to lead the Physical Education Department at UPenn, and an uncle who was a Pulitzer prize winning playwright. Wow. We were delighted to learn that the American side of the royal family are no slouches.

You may be pleased to know that New Hampshire has its own connection with the Royal family as Prince Albert II had been a camper and camp counselor for six summers at Camp Tecumseh on Lake Winnipesaukee. Cool. The sports camp, which makes “good boys better,” was started by three Olympians. The Prince, a graduate of Amherst College, is also an Olympic athlete, having represented Monaco in the bobsled in five winter Olympics.

Marty and I learned all this about the royal family after returning from Monaco. While in Monaco, we tried to recall what we knew about the Royal family and found ourselves scratching our heads and saying things like, “Isn’t Princess Stephanie often in trouble?” When we got home and started searching for information, we quickly realized that we were about 15 years out of date and there is a whole new generation of Monaco royals that are attracting interest. Princess Stephanie is now a middle-aged mother of three, although her tumultuous love life sounds like it may still be of general interest to the rumor mill, which is allegedly quite active in Monaco.

After learning about Monaco’s Royal family, I am nagged by one remaining question. What happens if the reigning Prince or Princess is not feeling “Serene”? It is part of the job title after all. Does he get demoted to His Not-So-Serene Royal Highness?

I am not entirely clear about the relationship between France and Monaco either as there seem to be many treaties that govern it. Monaco is independent and has its own seat at the United Nations, but France provides its defense. The Minister of State, the head of the government, is selected by the Prince but from a roster of candidates chosen by the French government. The tangled relationship is considerably more involved to the point where the family felt obliged to notify the French government of Princess Caroline’s intention to marry a royal from Germany, the Prince of Hanover. The French government reportedly had no objections to the betrothal.

French is the official language, but Monagasque is also spoken by at least some Monaco natives, although it had once been considered in danger of going extinct. It is now taught in the schools. Of the five languages that Princess Caroline is reportedly fluent in (according to Wikipedia), Monagasque is not one of them, leaving me to wonder who really speaks Monagasque in Monaco if not the Princess of Monaco?

Despite his initial reluctance, Marty was seduced by Monaco after our first evening of gawking at the rich and enjoying magnificent views of the sea. He shamelessly began spewing his usual superlatives, “Fabulous!” “Incredible!” “Spectacular!” I’m sure you can all hear him now.

Below are some pictures for you to get a taste of Monaco yourself. I felt that to get a feel for Monaco, you really have to see some of the presumably very wealthy folks decked out and doing whatever it is that very wealthy people do, so I joined the paparazzi and took some stealth photos for you. It was embarrassing, but I thought you were worth it. (The more observant among you may note that I didn't get many photos of men. Truth be told, with few exceptions, the men were not particularly interesting looking, the women were the real trophies.)

Just another lovely building in Monaco

Tooling around in the Lamborghini

July is such a nice time to enjoy the yacht

My yacht is bigger than your yacht

Oceanographic Institute

The Exotic Garden

Princess Grace keeps an eye on things from above



No doubt on her way to church

Innocent people in front of the Casino


Tooling around in front of the casino

Vroom!

Monte Carlo Casino

Do you think she has an "outie?"

Monte Carlo Casino at Night

La Corse

I finally finished French school! To be clear, the end of French school is not like a graduation and is not an indication that a particular level of proficiency was achieved. Rather, it is simply an economic marker-I completed the nine months of school that we paid for. One of the more difficult aspects of French school, in addition to the daily opportunities for public humiliation, was watching all the other students, many of whom I became attached to, leave. I was the Student-Who-Never-Left. When I mentioned to Marina, my French teacher, that I found this hard and that I often missed the students who left, she understood and said that if she ever quit teaching it would be because it was too hard to always have students leave. Well, my turn finally came.

My last two weeks of school were somewhat marred by a nasty virus that Marty and I shared and that gave Marty what he described as “the worse cold of his life.” The virus kept me out of school for a week and then left me with blocked ears for another week. Seriously impaired hearing is not conducive to language learning, so my final week was less than stellar. Marty, who was at a meeting in Italy, and I decided to meet up in Corsica to celebrate the end of French school and to try to recover from the virus that left Marty with sporadic coughing and me with intermittent sore throats.

Corsica, or La Corse as the French call it, is the fourth largest island in the Mediterranean and is perhaps most famous as the birthplace of Napoleon. Corsica has historically been a sort of political football being dominated at various times in its history by Carthage (current day Tunis), the Roman Empire, the Byzantine Empire (Greek speaking part of Roman Empire), the Vandals (Germanic tribe), the Arabs, the Lombards (northern European tribe who established the Kingdom of Italy), Genoa and, of course, France. France finally bought the island from Genoa in 1768, and it remains a French region to this day.

Despite a couple of centuries of French rule and French citizenship, Corsicans maintain an identity independent of the French. Xavier, my friend and the President of my sculling club, told me that the Corse, the Basque and the Bretons are the “pire” (worst). By this, I think he meant that these are the three groups in France that proudly maintain a separate cultural identity and occasionally express separatist leanings.

We took a rather harrowing bus trip on mountain roads with a Corse bus driver and two young people from Quebec. The bus driver was a colorful, friendly character, and he teased the two Quebecois when they returned to the bus by saying something like, “Here are the two Canadians.” To my surprise, one of the Quebecois replied, “If we are Canadian, then you are French.” Actually my surprise was more to learn that young Quebecois didn’t like being considered Canadian since I had already figured out that the Corse considered themselves Corsican and not French.

While waiting for Marty to arrive on the island, I visited a “miniature Corsican village” made out of stone by a local entrepreneur. He and I chatted a bit, and he told me that he doesn’t see many Americans (because there aren’t many who go to the island), but he does have a lot of Quebecois visitors to his little village. He then went on to say that “the French” were the worst as they never came to see his village and only wanted to visit the Corsican beaches. It was clear that “the French” were another people to him.

My friends Ghislaine and Xavier both warned me that the Corsicans did not exactly welcome tourists. Xavier wasn’t sure that I had understood exactly what he meant when he described the Corsican attitude. When I told him that I thought what he was describing was a bit like the sentiment expressed by the “Welcome to New Hampshire, now go home” bumper stickers he excitedly responded that yes, that was it exactly. The French and Corsicans normally don’t go in for bumper stickers, but perhaps a modified version of the New Hampshire bumper sticker might mark the beginning of a bumper sticker movement in Corse. Despite the warnings to the contrary, Marty and I, with two minor exceptions, generally found people to be very welcoming and quite charming. I’m not sure if we got lucky or perhaps the Corse are harder on the French tourists than on Americans.

We also didn’t get to southern Corsica, which may have influenced our view of the island. Our guide book noted that the “Mafia-ridden” south Corsica is “more closely associated with vendetta, banditry and separatism than any other part of the island.” The independence movement in Corsica over the decades (well actually over centuries) has been punctuated with bombings and the occasional political assassination. (This activity normally doesn’t affect tourists.) Most Corsicans, however, reportedly don’t want independence, in part perhaps because France heavily subsidizes the island economically.

Some of the more nationalistic Corsicans reportedly don't welcome non-Corse ownership of property on the island. My French teacher Marina is Corse, and she told us a story of an American who built a large resort on the island. When the resort was finished but not yet occupied, it was blown up. Not exactly subtle, but they apparently got the message.

The Corse, while not necessarily favoring independence, do want to promote their language, Corsu, a Romance language that is considered “endangered” by UNESCO. While we were there, a newspaper article described efforts being made to promote the use of Corsu, including having more bi-lingual schools and Corsu learning materials. Our Corsican bus driver said that he left Corse when he was 14 years old and, after thirty plus years in Paris, has returned to Corse and is working on re-learning the language. He asks other Corsicans to speak with him in Corsu, and it is slowly coming back to him. Since his wife isn’t Corse, I got the impression that they don’t speak Corse at home. Similarly, Marina said that when she was young her grandfather spoke to her in Corse, but my impression is that her family just uses French now. It seems that it will be an uphill battle for the Corse to overcome the dominance of the French language and reclaim their own language.

The great appeal of Corse is its mountainous terrain that meets spectacular white beaches with unbelievably clear and incredibly blue water. The Mediterranean climate, of course, is another draw with its warm, dry summers and mild winters. Our own voyage began in Bastia in northeast Corsica, where our ferries arrived from Marseille and Italy respectively. Bastia while less touristy than other towns in Corse has a lovely old port with lots of restaurants. We sought out Corsican delicacies in Bastia and even tried “fromage de tête,” which, to my surprise, wasn’t like cheese at all. (I won’t go into the details of head cheese because it grosses me out to think about it, but check out the link if you aren’t familiar with this delicacy.)

While wandering around Bastia before Marty’s arrival, I met three charming old Corsican men who invited me to sit with them and chat. One of them was quite a talker, and I think he liked having a fresh audience. He told me how he served in Morocco during the war and encountered American soldiers. He also told stories of Napoleon’s accomplishments in France. I’m not entirely clear about Corsican feelings toward Napoleon. While Napoleon is the most famous Corsican, he and his family were actually chased out of Corse by supporters of Pasquale Paoli, the leader of the Corsican independence movement that Napoleon’s father had once supported. According to our guide book, Napoleon renounced his allegiance towards Corsica and discarded the Corsican spelling of his name, Napoleone. Later in life he reportedly grew more nostalgic about Corsica.

We left Bastia by train for the mountain town of Corte, smack dab in the middle of Corsica. The air in Corte was incredibly dry, and we had a lovely hike through the Gorges du Tavignano. We then took the train through spectacular coastal mountain scenery to the west coast town of Calvi.

In Calvi, a tourist magnet, we enjoyed gawking at French beach goers during a long walk along the white sand beach. With great maturity and sophistication, I pointed out every topless woman I could find to Marty, who seems remarkably unable to find topless women on his own. (Perhaps it’s just a ruse on his part?) We were actually the real spectacle on the beach as we plodded along fully dressed among the bikini and Speedo clad French. I believe Marty, with his fear of cold and breezes, even wore his jacket zipped up as high as possible, the throat being the body part that is the most susceptible to dangerous drafts (according to the Lee world view). I actually would have gone in the water, but, not realizing we were going to end up on a terrific seaside beach, I had left my bathing suit in the hotel. Even in bathing attire, I would have been a spectacle as it seems that very fashionable “tankinis” like mine have yet to tempt Frenchwomen away from their string bikinis.

After a coastal hike through Calvi we took the bus to Porto along narrow, curvy mountain roads with staggering drop offs into oblivion. Our bus driver, while quite skillful, got a bit impatient towards the end of our journey and started passing other vehicles along questionable stretches, reminding us of why Corsican roads are among the most dangerous in Europe.

In Porto we were finally able to take a boat ride to the Scandola Nature Reserve, a UNESCO world heritage site where hiking and fishing are not allowed. The sea had been too rough during the previous two days for any tour boats to venture out. Marty and I had longingly looked out at the sea and thought maybe they were being a bit too conservative since the seas didn’t seem that rough, at least from a distance. We quickly learned, however, in our cute, little red tour boat “Pass’ Partout” that the seas were far from calm. The boat, when not protected in the rocky coves of the nature reserve, could best be described as a bucking bronco. A poor man on our boat was so sick that we abandoned him and his wife in the small village of Girolata that is accessible only by hiking trail and boat. Our boat captain kindly wished him “Bon Courage” as we departed. Among the remaining survivors I was the only one who lost my cookies, but, despite this rather grotesque public display which was of great interest to the two children on board, I managed to enjoy most of the trip, although the episode greatly aggravated my sore throat and left me more wasted than normal during the afternoon.

From Porto we moved on to Ajaccio, the political seat of Corse, where we took the ferry to Nice and then the train to Monaco (more on that later). Unfortunately, the spectacular Corsican scenery isn’t adequately represented by my pictures, but they will at least give you a small taste of the wonders of Corse. Some of the links in the text will take you to much better photos of Corsica.

Bastia - Old Port

Miniature Corse Church and Creator of Miniature Village

Bastia

Corte

Gorges du Tavignano

Calvi

Peninsula near Calvi

Frenchman in Traditional Native Dress Near Calvi

Beach near Calvi

Calvi Citadel from a Distance (at the end of the peninsula)

Girolata's harbor