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Part 4: Monaco

As we left Cannes and hopped onto the A8, we got our first (and only) dose of a bouchon, the French version of a traffic jam. It was really unimpressive actually, despite the many, many warnings on the electronic signs. It was more like midnight traffic in LA than a traffic jam.

The faint bouchon uncorked itself and as we approached the city-state of Monaco, the terrain turned mountainous, and we started popping in and out of tunnels, getting just brief glimpses of the Mediterranean way below us.

Cap Martin

We decided to bypass Monaco completely and check into our hotel first — the Victoria Hotel in Roquebrune-Cap-Martin, a little coastal town in France, tucked neatly between Monaco and Italy. The Victoria Hotel was super trendy, right on the water, and although it ran for just €80 a night, it was by far the best we stayed at. The standard room with its oak hardwood floors and hip furnishings felt more like an apartment than a hotel room. Attention to detail was evident throughout. For instance, the LCD TV was all white to match the furniture. And a little step-stool was tucked underneath the sink to enable little kids to reach the faucet easier. Amenities included an ipod docking station and a high definition lighted makeup mirror in the bathroom (excellent for flossing!). The hotel was so trendy that even the quirky glass elevator had a special touch. It required you to keep holding the button of the floor you want until you get there. Let go, and the lift pauses. It was undoubtedly the most engaging elevator I've used.

After check-in, we had some time to walk around town before dinner, so we started down a coastal trail that hugged the rocky shore. Although Cap Martin is just 6km from Monaco, a sign warned the Monte Carlo was a good 1h40m away on foot. Point taken. We did, however, want to at least get a view of the city-state and kept walking. My plan was to photograph Monaco in the early evening or early morning, but since the sun sets behind the mountains the city is nudged against, my intuition suggested morning would be better. So, we walked on to scope out a vantage point.

The trail is really scenic. And the locals seem to take advantage of it fully. We passed many friendly runners, joggers, walkers, and strollers, and besides the scenery, the frequent ups and downs and gradual stairs offered another attractive angle for the health conscious. I decided I would join their ranks and go for a run after the photography expedition in the morning.

We found the perfect vantage point just where the shore curved north. Satisfied with all the field prep work and hungry for dinner, we headed back to the hotel. It was getting dark and Cap Martin had turned on the lights, so we stopped for a quick pano at the risk of the restaurant closing.


The Italian restaurant next to our hotel thankfully stayed open late, and we had some really good pizza. With its proximity to Italy, Italian influence is strong in Cap Martin.

Monaco Photo shoot

Sunrise over Monaco was expected at 6:20am. Given that the best colors come out perhaps 20 minutes before sunrise, and that our chosen vantage point was a 30-40 minute brisk walk from the hotel, I set my alarm for 4:45am. Brian chose to remain tucked in his trendy bed and experience the Monaco sunrise vicariously. So, I packed my camera gear and took off. On my way out, I startled the sleeping doorman in the lobby. “Checking out?!” he asked. When I told him I was just off to take some photos, he just looked puzzled and told me to mind the wind. I thanked him and disappeared into the windy darkness.

The trail was a bit spooky at this ungodly hour but 20 minutes into the walk, dawn started breaking through. When I got to the vantage point Monaco greeted me with its shimmering lights, and I set up my tripod. The sky was almost clear over Monaco, but behind me to the south east, it was cloudy, which meant I should forget about any good morning colors. I was wishing I'd chosen as wisely as Brian and gotten some sleep instead.

But seeing as I was already there, I started snapping panos. The pano below is one of the early ones compiled from a bunch of long exposures. You can see the light trail of a sailboat approaching its dock if you mouse over.









The scenic coastal trail connects Roquebrune-Cap-Martin and Monaco and is a favorite for the health conscious locals.


An abandoned mansion along the trail is carved into the landscape.

I waited patiently for some cooperation from the sun but got no love. In the photos below you can see some patchy sunlight coming in, but the show was mostly a flop.


At 7am, I called it quits and headed back. While the light was less than ideal over Monaco, Cap Martin gave a much better welcome back.



I stopped for a cafe au lait, and when I got to the hotel room around 8, Brian was still sleeping, so off I went on my run, back on the trail. It felt great to mix in with the local joggers and take in the morning Mediterranean air and scenery. I could definitely get to used to such a life.


Monaco

By 9am, Brian was up, and we checked out of the marvelous Victoria Hotel soon after. At checkout, I got to practice some more of my French by settling a bill dispute. For some reason, Hotels.com hadn't prepaid my reservation.

Also, our Opel appeared to have gotten into a little scuffle during the night. The only time we had parallel parked it was here in Cap Martin, and already someone had given it the front bumper treatment. Fortunately, it wasn't anything big, and Hertz doesn't seem to have noticed, but it underscored the dangers of parallel parking a monster in France.

Rick recommends not to drive in Monaco, and we heeded the advice. We spiraled up the main street to the big parking garage above all of Monaco and started exploring on foot.


For such a small city (just 0.76 square miles), Monaco is incredibly confusing. The visitor signs are completely unintuitive and will lead you down awkward meandering paths that will often dead-end. You see, in most cities, you have to navigate a 2D grid. In Monaco, you have to worry about the vertical dimension as well.







Eventually, we made it down to the Monaco aquarium, which had a special exhibit on jelly fish. It was a nice aquarium but not exactly worth the €13 admission fee.





After the aquarium, the only other thing left to see really in Monaco was the Monte Carlo, which as expected was teaming with tourists, much like any old casino in Vegas. The only difference was, there seemed to be more expensive cars parked out front. For some reason, many of the tourists felt compelled to take their photos with the Ferraris. Totally tasteless. I would have taken a photo of the famous Monte Carlo, but for the longest time a minivan spoiled the view, and I lost patience. The heat was picking up, so we decided just to bid Monaco adieu.




With the amount of exercise I had gotten since before daybreak, I was physically wiped out at this point. Walking up the steep hill to the car park was not an option. So we shelled out €2 each and took the bus instead.


Our flight back to London was out of Marseille the next morning, so we booked accommodations right by the Marseille airport that evening. Even with the past four days of solid driving, Marseille was just 2.5 hours from Monaco, so we had time to stop for an early dinner in Aix-en-Provence. It was worth the stopover. The women of Aix-en-Provence were by far the most fashionably and seductively dressed. The town definitely deserves its nickname of Sex-en-Provence. Brian and I agreed this could also be a place we could live.

Solitary Women from the South of France

And while on the subject of women, I thought I'd dedicate a small section to the many seemingly solitary beautiful women basking in the South of France.







And with that our vacation comes to an end. Or, rather, holiday as the Brits would say. Back in Heathrow while waiting for our flights (Brian's holiday was actually continuing as he was headed back to California on the same plane to attend a wedding), I overheard an Englishman making fun of his friend for reading the local tabloids. His friend responded with: “what can I say, mate? I'm a culture vulture!” This prompted a discussion about the numerous funny quirks and peculiarities between British and American English. Our conclusion was that American makes much more sense. The only word we felt the Brits got right was toilet. Restroom is arguably equivocal.

When we landed in LA, we learned bin Laden had been killed during our flight. This seemed like the perfect ending to our holiday.