Club Monaco

Even though our trip plan had several items that we were really looking forward to, I think that if you really pressed Fiona and I we would have confessed that the place we were looking forward to most was Monaco. Why was that? Does the blame lie with a youth spent almost entirely in Club Monaco sweaters of one color or the other? Does it lie with the classy and elegant Grace Kelly, who has shot up the list of my personal favorite actors/actresses in recent years as we have delved into the Hitchcock library? (Seriously, watch "Rear Window" again. She is stuck out there somewhere beyond fabulous, where only Fiona dares to tread.)

I guess all that anticipation had us a little nervous this morning. What if it didn't live up to the hype? Genoa was great, and overall I think we would recommend it to most on any trip through the Cote d'Azur, but it wasn't we thought it would be. That's OK too. Sometimes your worldview needs adjusting. But, not to expose too much of our ignorance, the Genoa we were expecting only really showed up on the autostrada halfway between Italy and France. Hillsides dotted by cream colored cottages with red tiles roofs, the odd church steeple sticking out. The Genoa we got was more commercial and gritty, full of people going about the business of doing their life's work - a Genoa the original merchant-pirates would probably be pretty proud of.

But Monaco was far from disappointing. It's more than we hoped for. We pulled in about mid-day, approaching the city from the cliffs above and getting the most breathtaking shot of the town and harbour from above. Even the traffic was tolerable. Sure, the narrow streets make me a little nervous - swiping the side mirror off a Ferrari is not a mistake anyone wants to make - but even though I would suggest that the traffic volumes were not too different, the overall comparison between our entrance here and our exit from Genoa was like night and day. We took one wrong turn (at the same damn roundabout I screwed up on the way in) and we ended up doing a half hour tour of parts of the city I would rather have skipped. It was only when I made the mental adjustment that traffic laws in Italy didn't really exist and that the whole system really only ran on one golden rule: don't hit anybody, that I managed to relax enough to weave in, around, up, down and through to the highway. Monaco on the other hand was a joy, even with a wrong turn. The streets are freshly paved in preparation for the F1 GP to be held in a month, the houses and businesses all have flowers out front, and the sun shines, even when the weatherman is trying to convince you that it should be raining.

We haven't done too much here yet. A brief walkabout to see the Casino, which is right next to the hotel, and a great dinner out. But that's the way we plan to take Monaco. Slowly, without any sense of urgency and no feeling that we "need" to get out and see this, that or the other. Seeing as we've already decided that we'll be retiring here at some point, we'll see it all eventually.

We've added a couple of shots from our balcony at the hotel, where I'm sitting right now, looking over the bay and the city all lit up, listening the Mediterannean crash into the hotel 25 feet below. We splurged a little on the hotel here, and I have to say it feels fabulous. The waiters all call me Mr. B, even though I've never introduced myself, my baggage mysteriously makes it from the car to the room with little or no prompting and arrangements are made with the greatest of ease. I can see how rich people can get used to this kind of treatment. I know we'll eventually have to come back and join the rest of the plebs, but it sure is nice to imagine a lifestyle where money doesn't matter.