Monaco in Springtime

Monaco in Springtime

Posted on April 15 2006 by Englebert Norris

I was determined to stop at Monte Carlo when I crawled over the Italian border half-way through my latest job, hauling tons of widgets from a Naples factory. I wanted to be someone else. Someone other than a lorry driver on the road 24/7, sleeping in my tiny cab, and barely able to get a decent picture on my portable black and white telly.

So I parked the truck in a lay-by just outside Monaco, put on my best clobber and hitched a lift to Monte Carlo. Jacques, who picked me up, kindly took me to the Monte Carlo cafe where all the cool people hang out. Believe me there's nothing quite as enjoyable as posing behind a pair of giant shades and teasing the paparazzi into thinking that you might be someone famous !

Anyway it wasn't long before I was approached by Christof, an extremely amiable chap who looked so bronze that he must have spent his entire life on the beach. I thought his highlights were a bit suspect but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. After all the tips could have been bleached in the sun.

Christof told me that April is the best time to snatch a glimpse of the real Monaco because the temperature is pleasant, there is a cool sea breeze, and few tourists. He asked me if I was on business in the Principality and I explained that I had a few meetings arranged, hoping that he might take me for some big shot and introduce me to some pals, preferably of the female variety.

He seemed to take the hint and asked if I'd been to Monaco before. He told me that my face was familiar. Could I be someone famous? Of course I didn't answer that question.

Still Christof couldn't have been short of a few bob himself. He told me that Monaco is the playground of the super rich, that there are virtually no direct taxes and that the banks maintain absolute secrecy. He thought it a shame that a small Riviera fishing village with an indigenous population of barely 6,000 had been invaded by over 33,000 millionaires and told me that wealth didn't make people happy. "Sure", he said. "it's nice to have money but people don't understand what it's like to have to earn an annual exemption".

There was something so agreeable about Christof that I found myself agreeing with everything he said. "Oh yes", I replied. "hanging about Monaco is like rotting in Strangeways. If only I could jet back to my native Salford whenever the feeling took me".

I suggested to Christof that perhaps we might team up with some of his pals and hang out at the casino or in one of the trendy bars. Just him and me and a couple of lady friends. He immediately agreed and said his set would be delighted to meet me; the next thing I knew he was waving down a taxi and we were on our way to the Place D'Armes.

Place D'Armes

© Lee Walton - FOTOLIA

I was a bit surprised because the Place D'Armes was was full of housewives buying market produce, grizzled old men reading papers and mangy mongrels snapping at Burberry-coated spaniels? Christof dashed into a bistro leaving me to pay the fare. Apparently he was desperate for the toilet. By the time I caught up with him he had ordered a plateful of pasta and I told him to put it on my tab. Appearances are everything in Monaco high society and I wanted to let Christof know that I wasn't afraid of standing my corner. Fortunately the pasta was surprisingly cheap, less than ten euros, and shrimps, crabs and muscles were available at equally affordable prices.

Christof explained that trawlers manned by nocturnal fishermen still dock amongst the millionaire's yachts. After we'd finished eating he took me down to the Albert Quai where we had the time of our lives watching an old sea dog berating a quiffed lackey who was trying to steer one of the many floating gin palaces into the harbour. After I thought the joke had gone far enough I made some reconciliatory gestures and shouted "d'accord".

The lackey lacked a sense of humour and started hurling abuse in French. I'm not sure exactly what he said as he spoke so quickly that everything got jumbled and confused. Things looked pretty ugly for a moment but fortunately Christoph seemed to know the guy, calmed the situation and explained that we should go on board.

"It's still possible to buy fresh fish in Monaco at dawn" he explained. "The fish are beautiful and the water is so clear". I leaned over the side of the boat and must have stumbled because the next thing I knew I was in the drink and struggling to hold my head above the water. One passer-by was so concerned that he dived in and "rescued" me. Of course it was totally unnecessary. Christoph would have thrown me the life buoy once he'd seen that I was struggling.

My "rescuer" Gerard bought me a hot drink before explaining that many locals despair of Monaco's new role as the Mediterranean Hong Kong and that the popularity of the Grimaldis has plummeted since the heady days of Princess Grace. He explained that even so the recently deceased Prince Rainier is still venerated and his official portrait has pride of place in most bars and restaurants.

OECD Money Laundering Rules

I told Gerard that I thought Monaco was too small to be a country but he explained that it is still growing at a rapid rate, that a fifth of its land has been reclaimed and that the world’s largest floating dock has been bolted to the shore in an attempt to diversify the economy and create a new industrious image.

"Why should anyone want to change the town's image?" I exclaimed. "It's a wonderful place and the people are so friendly"

"Be careful", he told me. "All that glitters is not gold". Apparently it's possible that Monaco is being used by ne'er-do-wells to hide money which they have salted away from illicit activities. I told him that I found that hard to believe but he wouldn't have it. "Ow do you inlgish say; "Ze proof of zee puddin is 'n zee eeting". Monaco, he said, had not ratified OECD money laundering regulations and now the place was being swamped by gangsters moles and degenerate hangers-on who tended to lounge around in the cafes all day long.

Although he'd tried to save my life, I found Gerard rather brusque and wasn't entirely sure that I liked him. This all changed later when he took me back to his house in the old quarter and introduced me to his wife and kids. I didn't realise that houses like this still existed just a few yards from the shore in the cul-de-sacs and narrows alleyways tucked behind the smart apartment blocks and glamorous hotels. It was a real revelation to hear the native dialect echoing beneath scruffy clothes lines hanging in the narrow lanes.

Later Gerard and his wife took me to the Museé Oceanographique where you can relax and enjoy fabulous views for the price of a coffee! He advised me to stay out of the casino, the bars and cafes and very kindly gave me a lift back to my lorry.