Monday, September 30
Listen, i love The Cranberries, but have y'all been doing this all day??
The hostel room was entirely empty. Instead of simply grabbing the charging cable and plugging the watch into B.O.B. on the train, as i'd planned, i decided to leave it on the fast charger for a little bit while i utilized this brief moment of privacy to take a porcelain cruise. And since i was doing THAT, i may as well finish up yesterday's log and get it posted.
This was enough time to charge my watch to 60%, plenty for walking around Monte Carlo for a little bit. That watch charges hella fast.
It was just after six when i left the hostel. In the short time i'd been inside, those gray clouds had returned, and brought their little sprinkles with. Hopefully all the clear sunny skies are in Monaco now?
There was a train leaving for Monaco every twenty minutes, which took twenty minutes to get there. As i walked in, i selected the next available train in the Eurail app. The final train for the evening would be departing Monte Carlo at 21:18. So i would have roughly two hours to walk around and see whatever i could before i had to get back to the train station.
As i entered Gare de Nice Ville, a woman came up to me.
"Can you help me?" she asked.
"I can try," i said.
"I have this ticket," she said, showing me a paper train ticket. "It says from 'A', which is here, but i don't know where to go now."
I examined her ticket. I didn't really know what i was looking for at first, but after a moment i realized we were getting on the same train. She was also going to Monte Carlo at 18:33.
"Oh! We're on the same train," i told her, showing her my open Eurail app, with that exact journey on screen. "I just got here, i haven't figured out which platform yet. I was looking also."
I went over to one of the Departure monitors. One of her family members, a young woman, possibly one of her kids, followed me. I found a train leaving at 18:33, and matched the train number, TER81167. It said "Menton."
"Is it Menton?" she asked.
"Yeah, it's that one. I'm sure."
I returned to the panicked woman, and her family of eight. "Track E," i told her. "The train is going toward Menton, so that's what it will say on the monitor and on the train."
"Oh! Thank you!" she said. The family and i went through the underground tunnel over to track E to wait. We had some time. At this point, i realized that "Direction Menton" is clearly labeled under the train number on the Eurail app.
It did feel extremely weird to be getting on a train without my backpack. I had to keep reminding myself that no, i did not forget anything; it's safely locked up at the hostel, where it belongs. I don't need to have it right now.
The Monte Carlo train station was weird. From the platform, in order to exit, i had to go down two or three flights of stairs, like i was descending into a deep subway, then take an elevator back up a couple floors, then a tall escalator up to street level. I emerged into an area filled with buildings sixish stories tall, so close together that barely any of the surrounding scenery could break through. The sky was dark gray, and droplets of water were hitting me in the face. Outside never felt so claustrophobic.
Not far down the street, i saw a gigantic pink poodle on a second-story balcony. From where i stood, it was unclear if this was a statue, or the biggest carnival stuffed animal ever conceived. This thing would be in the ballpark of the Wheelie Mammoth from Bob's Burgers.
The entire country of Monaco has three entries on the Atlas Obscura. One of them is permanently closed, one of them is a museum which is probably closed at this hour and i wouldn't go for right now anyway. The third is a statue. What the hell, i'm just here to walk around and see what Monte Carlo is like, i may as well accept some direction.
All of Monte Carlo seems to be those tall buildings, which definitely exude a feeling of some wealth. Monaco does have the highest median net worth per citizen in the world. There still have to be service industry people, of course, but for the most part, this is a country of rich assholes.
And they sure do drive like it.
I felt like very few motorists were looking out for pedestrians. This is the polar opposite of literally everywhere else in Europe. Some countries are more cautious about it than others; like across Scandinavia, they will stop if they even think there's a chance you might want to cross the street. Italy is more like the American midwest, where you'll find some considerate people that will wait for a pedestrian, but most of the time they just go and you'll need to find your own break in traffic.
In Monaco, i felt like traffic was actively trying to kill me.
The streets are as squiggly as your uncle's dirty can of fishing worms, and the crosswalks are just as ugly. The traffic signals are also slightly different, and it took me a few intersections to figure them out. So in Europe, pedestrians get the same red, yellow, and green as cars, where in America, there's just the red "don't walk" and the blue or white "walk" signals, no intermediary. In Monaco, there's just the red and the green, but then a timer appears sometimes. The first crosswalk i came to, it was red, and after i'd waited a moment, a timer started. No traffic was moving from any direction, so after it had ticked down for a bit, i thought...does the timer mean i have that much time to go? The light is still red, but so are the numbers, but they weren't there when i first stopped?
So i crossed. And when the timer got to 45 seconds, the light turned green, and the two motorcycles at the front of the line of stopped traffic revved their engines and peeled out around me. I practically triple-jumped over to the safety of the curb.
Fuckin. Jeez.
Okay, i guess that's not what the timer means?
At the next intersection, i figured out that the stopped cars also get a timer, to let them know how much longer their red light is. This is the opposite of what we do in America, where they keep putting shrouds over the lights so you can't see what the other direction is doing, and can't tell when your turn is coming.
I spent most of my walk to the monument going through narrow walkways around buildings, usually well above ground level. There was one staircase i went down which was like five stories. It had a handrail in the middle of it, so foot traffic could go in either direction and have a divider. Bolts had been put into the top of this rail about every two feet. This has the effect of not allowing you to rest your hand on the rail the entire way down the stairs, which is stupid and inconvenient. I'm pretty sure it's meant to be a deterrent to skateboarders, who could otherwise probably grind so fast down this staircase, if they could make the fourish foot jump between rails at each level of stairs. The only problem is, the staircase takes a hard right turn for the last segment, so i feel like if you did grind the whole thing, you'd get to that turn and yeet yourself straight off a fifteen-foot cliff. This is how Michael Cera killed Chris Evans in Scott Pilgrim vs The World.
Google Maps tried to lead me over a bridge that was gated and locked by police order. I was at a playground two stories up, and there wasn't an obvious way back down to the ground. I'd been winding my way through an apartment complex/elementary school for a ways, so if i had to go all the way back, it would be significant. The playground had another owl climbing feature, identical to the one i'd seen in Paris. As i had then, i texted a picture to my friend/adopted sister Cyndi, who is a different person from my cousin Cyndi in Denmark.
"I want one!!" she said.
I don't know if i can smuggle this across the Monacan border in a backpack, but i'll give it some thought.
I walked around the playground, and found a hidden staircase down to ground level. It brought me to a strange intersection, where cars kept moving through in unpredictable ways. I pushed a button to get a walk signal, waited out the timer this time, and got a green light. As soon as i stepped foot in the road, a woman driving a Tesla blew straight through her red, staring me down as she did.
This area had several intersections and sharp curves piled on top of each other, roads reminiscent of the box of ornament hooks you dig out for Christmas every year. It gets worse the longer you look at it. Several semi trucks were trying to get through to a loading dock that had an angle almost too tight for them to physically maneuver. Multiple men in yellow vests were surrounding them, giving hand signals, yelling.
And there, on a small green island in the middle of all this, was the monument i was looking for.
The Juan Manuel Fangio statue in Monte Carlo is a sculpture not only of the man, but of his whole-ass car as well, the Mercedes-Benz W196. Fangio, known as El Chueco, was one of the greatest Formula One drivers of all time. A five-time world champion, he won races in Monte Carlo in 1950 and 1957. The statue is located on the Rascasse Curve of the Monaco Grand Prix route.
It's a cool statue, for sure, but i was slightly more transfixed by the traffic calamity happening around me. It was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating to be surrounded by all these giant trucks, executing precision movements, as the ground crew desperately tried to get them in and out of a tight spot, like feral horses. Like a rodeo. I've never been to a rodeo.
Much of the sidewalk across the street was also closed off, but i found a way to slip around it and behind a barrier that was blocking off part of the street for foot traffic. As i walked away from the statue, and the rodeo, everything to my right was filled with pop-up tents and temporary fencing. I knew that the port was over there, i could still see the masts of all the docked boats peeking over the sea of white canvas, but the water was entirely blocked out. Workers were busy putting things into place. Clearly, they're setting up for some kind of major boating event.
It was several blocks, maybe even a kilometer, before i was able to get a glimpse of the open water. I was moving toward what seemed at first to be a cruise ship, but that looked out of place here. This was a port for small boats. The closer i got, the more it became apparent that this was, in fact, a building.
It was the Monaco Yacht Club. While the side that i approached from sure looked like a cruise ship, several stories tall and rounded, the other side confirmed that it was done on purpose, with layers of observation decks that no doubt house patio bars.
Immediately after the yacht club, the street entered a tunnel. A sign pointed into it reading "CASINO." Oh, cool. I could see the famous Monte Carlo Casino, like in The Castle of Cagliostro! And also multiple James Bond movies i guess.
I was starting to feel pressed for time. It was nearly 8:00. I'd told myself that, wherever i was at 8, i would turn around and head back to the train station. I'd been walking through it for quite a while, so i checked Maps to see how much further, where i learned that this tunnel has a name, Tunnel Larvotto. This makes me think it's also part of the Monte Carlo Grand Prix, so that's fun. I wonder how much of that course i actually walked along. I guess i could probably look it up.
The tunnel was disconcertingly long, but i did make it out before 8. I really wanted to see the casino before i left, so i put in directions for that.
I turned left as soon as i was in the open, and passed by an art store. In the window was perhaps the dumbest Elon Musk fanart i've ever seen. The background is old comic strips on newsprint, and Musk's dumb fucking face is inside of a spacesuit in front of the American flag. There's a shape i can't identify rising up from his shoulder, i thought it might be a sword, but it could be the profile of one of his stupid rockets, with the SpaceX logo. There's a quote next to that, "I would like to die on Mars, just not on impact."
Below the quote is a cartoon rendering of Mickey Mouse in a spacesuit, holding a helmet that has his ears.
I'll grant that this art dealer knows how to cater to rich assholes.
There were more statues along the next path, which brought me directly to the front door of the casino. Expensive sports cars were parked in front, and a special lane had been cordoned off for valet service. The square in front of the casino was swamped with tourists taking pictures of the building. I joined them.
I would have loved to go in and have a look, but i would not have been admitted dressed as i was. This is a fancy rich people casino, they have a dress code. Gentlemen are required to wear jackets. If i had been there between 9am and noon, though, when the high rollers are all still sleeping, they do let you come in and look around for €10 and will give you a tour of the gambling rooms for an additional €10.
I'm happy to have just taken a picture of the outside, though. I didn't really want to go in and rub any elbows with a wannabe Le Chiffre or anything.
Moving along, i explored the grounds a little, taking pictures of the fountains and other monuments. As i was heading out, i stopped to get a pic of the bust of Charles III, when a woman slipped in between me and my subject, looked the statue in the eye, curtsied, and blew a kiss, then looked at me, said something in another language, and sped away, laughing maniacally.
Okay, i really need to get to the train station. I put it into the GPS and...it was only like 15 minutes away. Oh. Okay. I must have walked in a more circular direction than expected.
I could spend more time in Monaco, but i felt like i'd seen enough.
I was halfway to the train station from there when i walked by a pizza place. The clerk made eye contact with me through the window and smiled. I smiled back, and kept walking...then stopped, and doubled back. She didn't speak any English, but we managed enough that yeah, i once again let a cute waitress sell me some food i wouldn't have bought otherwise.
And it was a fucking incredible slice of truffle mushroom pizza, which i ate sitting at the platform for my train. Zero regrets, even though i missed the train i was after by one minute and had to wait 20 for the next one.
It's fine, i'm not really in a hurry. That was only the third-to-last train back to Nice, now i'll be on the second-to-last.
Back at the hostel, i once again partook of their house-special Long Islands, which you already know because of the notes i left in brackets on yesterday's entry. I still couldn't get caught up on the blog before they kicked me out of the common room at midnight again, partially because i also spent a bunch of that time trying to figure out how the hell to get to Barcelona. It was looking pretty complicated and i was going to need to have an answer very soon.
I wasn't going to be able to overnight it without getting left in a train station on a nine-hour layover, which i did not want. Most of the layovers were in places i'd never heard of, but one was in Marseille. Also, i really wanted to see Cannes, even if just to walk around for a few hours, i was clinging to that with my exhausted and numb fingers fully locked.
I finally decided, alright. One of these routes has the nine-hour layover in Marseille. Why don't i just go to Marseille tomorrow, and get a hostel there for the night, then i can start my complicated multi-train journey to Barcelona from there, fresh off a good night's sleep? I'm gonna have to burn October 2nd as a travel day regardless. Now i just need to get up early, so i can catch a morning train to Cannes, and have a good amount of time to explore.
After that, the ideal situation would be to get on the 6am train out of Marseille, which would put me in Barcelona around 5pm, an 11 hour 9 minute ride. I didn't know if i would be capable of getting up that early, given my track record on this trip, but if i missed it, there was another one out of the same station at 9am that would get me there by 9:40pm, 12 hours and 38 minutes, which is far less ideal, but it is what it is i guess.
So. Make 6am happen, buddy. You can do it.
Put a pin in all of this.
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