That night, we were ready to experience Monaco! We awoke from a nap after our day trip to Eze and changed into our nice clothes (you can't slum it in this town, so bring your A game...also, there's a dress code to enter the casino). We walked from our hotel through the streets and a beautiful park, where it opened up to this extraordinary building, much of which, when coming upon it from its eastern end, is full of very high end shops, the likes of which I'll never be able to afford.
I left Derek at Café de Paris, which overlooks the entrance to the casino, to enjoy the ambiance and live music (and to gawk at the crazy expensive cars that pass by). He had decided that he'd rather have a 10 Euro brown ale than spend 17 Euro on the entry fee, so I was off to enjoy the interior myself.
I felt super glamorous walking up the red carpet, surrounded by security guards in tuxedos. As I entered the foyer, I tried not to gawk - it was magnificent, from floor to ceiling. You could tell this was no Vegas - everything was real, and it was all expensive.
I entered what I called the "blue room," an unbelievable, larger-than-life crown jewel with a breath-taking bar and roulette tables. Men in tuxedos monitored and managed the games, as well-dressed tourists tossed their Euros their way. This room is called Salle Europe, and the pictures I've seen online don't do it one ounce of justice.
I wandered through to the "red room" which had gambling machines the likes of which were straight out of Vegas. It was odd, seeing such trashy electric lighting and characters in such an opulent space. All of their sounds were *thank the lord* silenced, at least...or if they weren't, I was too entranced to notice them. I later learned the red room is called Salle des Amériques (appropriate, given we ruined good old fashioned betting with cartoon characters and obnoxious music).
Sitting at one of these machines was an older Russian man, who quickly grabbed my attention. We spoke briefly about where I was from, and politics, and the inevitable mention of government interference in our elections. His elevator eyes were painfully noticeable, but I don't think he was concerned about being much of a gentleman. Shortly after I excused myself and wandered off, he entered the "white room" through the red velvet ropes (its literal name is Salle Blanche). I walked over to it and was promptly stopped by two gentlemen guarding the VIP area. I asked if I could look at the ceiling - because I'm absolutely in love with every inch of this place - and they allowed it, but only if I stood no further forward than this specific line in the sand. It was unreal, the white room (well, what I could see of it was, anyway).
The next part, my loving husband says, happened because I'm "hot, and open to new experiences." Also, I believe, because my husband was not, in this case, open to the 'new experience' of paying 17 Euro to see the inside of a building.
I wandered around, trying to take photos very discretely (I'm not very discrete, I was busted by a penguin in the blue room, but I managed to take a few of the ceilings), and finally, when there was nothing new to see but so much to digest (and wanting to make it worth all 17 Euro), I sat down on a seat near the entrance to take it all in.
One of the roulette dealers who didn't have a customer looked my way. He caught my eye, and smiled at me. I could tell he knew I was soaking it all in, and was simultaneously trying to be cool about it. I noticed he kept looking at me, so I went over to his table and asked him how the game was played. We chatted for a bit, then a girl came to play at the table. She wasn't very good, apparently, because she lost 50 Euro in less than 5 minutes, but during her round, he told me his break was in 10 minutes, and if his manager would allow it, would I like a tour? BE COOL, KENDRA. Oh, I suppose that might be nice, if you're willing, but no problem if not. Ten minutes later, the manager clears me for my tour, and he escorts me through the blue room to the red room, and at the threshold of the white room, which I could not get past on my own, the men standing guard moved the rope aside. "Right this way, madame."
And that's how I entered Heaven. The White Room. Oh my gosh, it cannot be described. This room, I learned, is for high rollers only. How high? I have no idea...Alex, my escort, said they "spend a lot of money." There were a handful of people, nearly all men, playing Texas Hold 'Em and Black Jack. Alex asked if I wanted a drink from the fanciest bar I've ever seen - it was like staring at the sun, I couldn't even focus on it. I knew I'd never be able to afford a drink in here, so I declined. He took me through to the terrace, where we could enjoy the view of the sea (it was quite dark, but I could imagine it well). The high rollers looked up at me as I walked through, probably curious about who I was and how I had made all of my money. I've decided, that's what I'm going with.
So, my personal tour came to its end. At least, that's what I thought. It's a giant hotel, but I didn't see anywhere else to go. There was a narrow hallway off of the White Room, which Alex led me down. Would I like to see the high roller area that they open in the winter? Umm, does Bambi wish his mom was still with him?! Show me the money!
We came upon another brilliant, indescribable room with a stained glass ceiling that made me want to faint then and there. Alex was enjoying watching me openly fall apart over the beauty of this place now that I didn't have fellow high rollers to impress. But was it one room? I thought so, one with an impressive reflection. Nope! Two rooms, and they are so alike that you can only really tell because one side's stained glass has the date, 1889, in it, and the other does not (that, or walking through the second room, obviously). These were the Salle Touzet Nord & Sud. This part of the casino is closed off for the summer, so it's just Alex and me. Should I have been worried that I was about to be whisked away and sold a la Taken? Eh. Hot and open to new experiences means you have to chill once in awhile.
Through these rooms was an enormous, inconceivably lovely ballroom, gold and filled with giant chandeliers and delicate ceiling -high paintings. Here, Alex says, they hold grand dinners and special games. This is the VIP room of VIP rooms, where chips run $3,000 Euro apiece. This is Salle Médecin. Holy *%&$.
Off of this salle is another balcony - Alex moves aside the velvet ropes and OPENS THE WALLS automatically to reveal a breathtaking view of the city lights. I ask if I can take a picture of the view, and he tells me yes, I can photograph anywhere where there are not people. So I go nuts. But I'm telling you, as beautiful as my pictures are, they really, truly don't do the place justice. It's so disappointing not to be able to share it. I guess you'll just need to be hot and open to new experiences there yourself!
He tried to show me the last room, Salons Super Privés, but it was locked. This is the room, he said, where the VIP of VIPs OF VIPs gamble. It's so private, not even people who throw down at $3k per chip get in here. We're probably talking heads of state, royalty, cartel leaders...maybe even Oprah. I saw the bar outside of it, though - yet another masterpiece. I'm clearly running out of magical adjectives. Basically, you cannot imagine how beautiful everything in this place is. You just can't.
He walked me back to the Salle Blanche and asked again if I'd like anything to drink. I begged off, realizing suddenly that I had been inside for an hour and a half and that my husband was waiting outside (we had no service for me to tell him I'd be longer), so we said our good byes (I hugged him like a good American, which turned into an awkward hand-shake-cheek kiss-hug...the poor guy). Why I cared to leave that palace for Derek is beyond me, because once I left and tell him where I had been, he said, "you wouldn't have had to have paid for any of those drinks. They wanted you to stay in the high roller area to keep their guests entertained...fall behind, left behind. I could have sat here for another hour before I really would have been worried." Damn it, all! Free drinks with people throwing down millions! I could have snagged a doctor, or something ;-)
In my dazed, overly thrilled, cloud nine head space, I found Derek happily drinking and gushed out this story like middle school me if I had seen JTT on the subway. It had started to sprinkle, and it was getting quite late, so we decided to seek out dinner on the Port Hercule waterfront. Everything closed at midnight, and since we couldn't have our private chef whip us up something on our yacht, we found a grocery store and grabbed a little picnic along with all of the other wasted teenagers up at that hour and walked back to our room to plan our next move in the trip. Surprise! A rail strike planned for the next day sank our plans to visit Cinque Terre, so we decided to be super bendy and get a ferry instead down to Corsica. Who knew?! Turned out to be a brilliant move.
The next morning, we ate at our hotel, Hotel Le Forum, and walked down to the Prince's car collection at the Collection de Voitures Anciennes de S.A.S. le Prince de Monaco. This place had everything - Gulf Porsche, Formula 1 cars, beautiful classic cars, early car prototypes. This was Derek's Monte Carlo, and since he's not writing this post, you can tell that this is about all I'll give you on this stop. I will say, however, that there were over 100 cars, and I was a very big fan of everything made before 1960, of which there were plenty of examples. We saw the car Grace Kelly and the prince were married in, too! We picked up a poster in the gift shop of the Grand Prix as our only souvenir for the trip.
Nearly as important to me as seeing the countries I visit is getting that ink blot proving it in my passport. That booklet is my pride and joy, so we walked in the rain to the tourist office clear across town because I wanted my stamp. And I got it. There's no other way to get the stamp in this country, so you do you, but it was worth it for me.
We were running out of time, and at this point were in full on rain without any jackets or umbrellas, but we HAD to see the famous hairpin turn from the Grand Prix. Nothing is really that far away when the country is only 2.4 miles wide, but then, you always think things are closer than they are when you walk everywhere. We made it to the turn, I snapped pictures quickly of Derek in front of it, and we *attempted to* run back to the hotel, but not before we were entirely soaked through. I lost my sandals a few times because they had no traction and were not practical (I told you, this is Monaco, you dress for millionaire cocktail parties, not for hiking).
Soaking wet, we hauled our suitcases out on the lobby floor and changed in the bathroom. The receptionist graciously lent me a hair dryer (it was for everyone's benefit, believe me) and Derek complained that I took too long to dry my hair (I barely have hair...for a girl, I've got the shortest dry time of anyone I know. He's spoiled). Out of time, we had to get to the train station for our next adventure.
Monaco, you sure know how to show a girl a good time.
No comments:
Post a Comment