An Electric Commitment?

In Monaco, steep hills and v-12 engines combine to create what is surely among the least fuel-efficeint enclaves in the world. Prince Albert II isn't especially happy about this, and he's been trying very hard to convince people to buy electric. Above, a sign in a parking garage pointing toward a bank of handicapped-accessible, electric car charging stations.
In addition to spearheading a non-gasoline partnership with Nice, showcasing a electric-motor driven Formula 1 car, hosting the Electric Vehicle Symposium, starting the EVER renewable resources car show (where the Nissan Leaf debuted last year) and organizing an electric-vehicle race from Tallinn, Estonia, to Monte Carlo, the prince actually drives an electric car. He also had a special edition electric Lexus made for his wedding. The sense of goodwill towards their products so impressed Tesla that the company opened its first European storefront here on a prime stretch of avenue.

The dealership isn't just for show. Tesla is hoping to actually sell some cars. Albert has been instrumental in getting Monaco to pass some radical initiatives - a thirty percent subsidy on purchases of new electric vehicles, no vehicle tax on the EV cars, and free recharging at over five hundred specially reserved parking spaces. Sadly, the number of electric cars in the country has stalled somewhat, at just over two hundred - the free parking spaces are mostly unfilled.
We were talking about the electric cars one afternoon when we came across this photoshoot on a portside quay. This is the problem, we thought. It's tough to embrace electric cars when there's such a culture of horsepower-worship and so much money to spend on it. In the end, this is a city that seems most impressed by the rumble of huge, conventional engines. Tourists love prowling around the casino, leering at the ultra-exotics and hulking luxury vehicles. There are so many Ferraris and Lamborghinis, Bentleys and Aston Martins that they actually blend together and seem normal. Electric vehicles aren't part of that world of lust and allure - this is a city after all, and nobody actually drives their fast cars fast. The owners just want to show them off.

Still, it's interesting to see silent scooters go whipping by and electric municipal vans whine up the inclines. Also, the country just passed a law that would allow the Prince to close certain roads to gas-powered vehicles.

Monaco Yacht Show

Sometimes, our timing is just too perfect. We were in Venice for Canivale, Estonia for their switch to the Euro, Belarus for the president's inauguration and now this. The Monaco Yacht Show (MYS) is the principality's second biggest event of the year, after the Formula I Grand Prix. They estimate that over 30,000 "yacht enthusiasts" (and schmoes like us), come in for the four day event each September. Port Hercule is transformed into a floating display case lined with trade show tents and blue carpet.
It should be specified that the yachts in the show are actually superyachts. Amazingly, in each of the last five years, the average yacht size at the MYS has gone up. But that's part of the reason people come here. I get the sense that the Monaco Yacht Show strives to exist completely outside the realm of this globe, both its economy and its warming. Prince Albert II must be pretty red-faced this time of year around his environmentalist buddies. Possibly because of that, the show organizers are very vocal about their support of the prince's Wood Forever program, which tries to get yacht builders to use sustainable wood.
As the MYS catalog says, "Monaco is the proven show where the Elite meet to make decisions on what next to buy" - and it's an amazing thing to watch. People sit with brokers and leaf through brochures. Others check out the model yachts on display inside the tents. This couple looked at sketches with a naval architect, having already collected bags filled with promotional materials and a gift or two from rivaling exhibitors.
While the boats may be the most obvious draw, services and supplies make up the bulk of the show. Stands showcase everything from china sets and carpet samples to underwater lights and yacht transport. Some corners of the tents felt like a music video set, others like a bizarro Ikea. People set out croissants and cookies for the casual shoppers and champagne was stashed away for the serious clientele.
Even with the bar, restaurant and collection of televisions showing the Rugby World Cup, the tents were just not the place to be. We saw more people at the ice cream stand outside than the "crystal lounge" inside, because it's pretty hard to compete with sunlight and yacht views.
There are 100 superyachts in the water this year, 40 of which are making their worldwide debut. People buzzed around on motorboats, whisking potential buyers off to tour a yacht or arriving at the show from a nearby port. We can see a large group of yachts out in the water from our apartment window, presumably displaced from Port Hercule to make room for the show pieces. Tenders brought the owners back and forth from their place out to sea.
This boat was the subject of some sort of photo shoot, complete with far-off looks and leg-up posing. There's a whole social scene surrounding the show, including parties, charity auctions and the veritable luxury car parade circling the Monte Carlo at any given time. It's impossible not to get a sense of excitement and fun from it all. It's sort of like going to fashion week or being invited to a sleepover at the popular girl's house. It doesn't matter that you're in the last row or that you're the only one who brought a teddy bear, you're there! And it's all so prettttty.
In my humble opinion, people should really diverge from the white, black, silver and grey palette. I bet any amount of money that if there was a pink yacht there, someone would have bought it. Having said that, it was amazing to walk down the suspended walkways and look up at these shiny monsters. You can look right in at the fully furnished bedrooms complete with artwork and the dining room set for a banquet. We attended on the last day of the show. People were celebrating sales and saying goodbye to colleagues and competitors. After four days of work and play, it was time to pack up and hit the road (or water).

Two notes about the video above. 1) Robin Leach would do a mean voice over. 2) The man loading groceries onto the yacht dropped a bag into the water shortly after. A blue container of mushrooms floated on the surface of the water.

Gypsy Kitchens: There's a Snail in my Lentils!

Nothing feels more French than escargot. But since we're, technically, not in France and are, instead, looking out over the sea in Monaco, it seemed appropriate to cook bulots instead. Bulots, or "whelks" in English, are sea snails. They come from the Northeast Atlantic and are pretty similar to conch.
We decided to make an earthy dish of green lentils, mushrooms, carrot, parsnip and bulots. Originally, we were hoping for some great, fresh mushrooms we'd seen a few days ago, but they were no longer available at the store. This wound up being fortuitous, because rehydrating the dried mushrooms gave us a great broth to use as our cooking liquid. Of course, the star of our show was the coquillage.
Ours were purchased pre-cooked and vacuum sealed from the fish section of the supermarket. Preparing raw whelks would have entailed a 1 - 2 hour salt bath, which forces them to expel any waste or mucus. We were fine with skipping this step - plus, no raw ones were available. A shorter, salt-free bath was still necessary, to wash off all the sand and dirt. It was simple enough to prepare the snails while getting the rest of the meal started.

One of our greatest pleasures in life, especially such a nomadic one, is the smell of onions cooking. Back before the trip, we always used butter, but being as buying a stick of butter and refrigerating it is barely ever an option for us, we've been opting for olive oil. Tonight, we cooked with butter for the first time in over a year. The smell of sautéing onions was almost magical. Carrots and parsnip were added in and softened with a few spoonfuls of our mushroom broth. Finally, the garlic, lentils and rest of the broth were cooked together until soft but not mushy.

While that was all cooking up, we went back to our whelks. It was removal time and we brought in a pair of tweezers for the job. Most came out easily, but a few really took some yanking. The pliers in our Leatherman came in handy for the really stubborn ones. We tore off the little pieces of shell, which look like protective shields and removed any lingering gunk. They were huge guys and we cut a number of them in half. One final rinse and they were ready to go.In they went! Fresh parsley and lemon topped it all off, to make sure things stayed bright. The snails added a simple, clean note to the otherwise rustic dish. Equal parts root vegetable, lentil, mushroom and seafood, it was complex but not muddy - hearty without being heavy. The toothsomeness of the bulots was somewhere between calamari and conch. It's hard to imagine a different or better protein for this dish. Somehow, the meal really captured our time and place, feeling the sea breeze as we transition into Fall.

Bulots with Lentils, Mushrooms and Root Vegetables
Ingredients:
1 cup bulots, shelled (around 2 dozen snails)
1 cup green lentils
2 carrots
1 parsnip

1 cup dry forest mushrooms
2 cloves garlic

1 medium yellow onion

1/2 cup diced parsley (we used curly, can be flat)

1/2 large lemon
Butter

Salt

Process:
- Wash, rinse, shell, clean and halve bulots.
- Reconstitute mushrooms according to package instructions. Remove mushrooms with slotted spoon and retain water. This is your broth.
- Sautee onion in butter.
- Add parsnip and carrot (both peeled and cubed) to the onion along with a splash of mushroom broth. Cook until softened.

- Add about 2 cups of broth and bring to a boil.

- Add garlic and lentils. Lower heat to a simmer and cook until beans are tender. (20 - 40 minutes. Lentils can vary.)

- Add chopped parsley, squeeze in lemon and mix in bulots.

- Let sit for about five minutes, so that fish can heat up and the flavors can mix.

- Salt at the end. Salting lentils while they cook can affect the cooking time.

Musée Océanographique de Monaco

Monaco literally and spiritually faces the sea. Everyone's favorite Monaco museum, the Oceanographic institute is a strange and beautiful place. Located high above the water on the old town bluffs, the building houses a large collection of seafaring paraphernalia and a huge aquarium.

If you believe the brochures, the aquarium is stocked with over four thousand aquatic species. Collected on princely expeditions (hyperbole is too common in Monaco), the fish and crustaceans swim around in beautifully lit windows while the crowd mills in darkness. Eels gape, sharks circle, little bony things flit back and forth. It's not the most informative experience, but it's pretty.

The lighting and music make it all the more engrossing. The tanks - ninety of them - are split into two main halls, representing the Mediterranean and "tropical" seas. A popular shark and grouper tank is in between. Some of our favorites were the crustaceans and octopi, other people seemed more interested in the seahorses and clownfish.

(We're trying to get better at this videoing thing.)

The floors above are reserved for oddities and skeletons. It's difficult to tell what is what, as there's a definite shortage of plaques and info cards. It's all beautifully presented, though, with elegant framing and interesting displays. It's a museum set up more for effect than education. Blanched-white monsters lurk in formaldehyde jars, whale skeletons float above huge halls, diving suits stand at attention, rusty harpoons are fanned against the walls. There's a long wall of mother-of-pearl objects from the nineteenth century and a lot of photos from arctic expeditions.
Prince Albert I, who completed the museum in 1910, was an avid oceanographer. In his youth he served in both the Spanish and French navies, and later went on numerous voyages of exploration in the south Pacific and Antarctic oceans. His great-great-grandson, the current prince, is also enthusiastic about the seas - a royal, recorded message about tuna consumption plays on loop in the gift shop. The institute is actually quite important, with a research center in Paris and a star-studded list of former directors - Jaques Cousteau took the helm in 1957, for example.
The Musée Océanographique is a little overwhelming in the end, but certainly worth going to. It feels detached from the rest of the country, and self-consciously antiquated. The displays are interesting not so much because of what they reveal about the ocean, but because they are relics of another age of collecting. The aquarium is great too, if live fish are your thing.

The museum is open every day except the day of the Grand Prix, which I think is funny.

The hours are:

October to March: 10 to 6.

April 1 to September 30: 9.30 to 7
July and August: 9.30 to 7.30

Price is €14 for adults, €6.50 for children and students, free for those under four.

Here Comes the (Princess) Bride

Everyone loves a wedding - especially a royal wedding. While the nuptials of Prince Albert II and Charlene Wittstock may not have been the marriage of the century, decade or even year (shout out to Will and Kate) it was definitely a big one for Monegasques. An exhibit called "L'Histoire du Mariage Princier" is currently on display at the Oceanographic Museum and advertised on buses and buildings throughout Monaco.
The other day, as we walked, Merlin casually began to whistle "Here Comes the Bride." "It's a catchy tune!" he explained. I blame the royal wedding. Though it happened two months ago, signs of the event are still ever present. Commemorative stamps, banners, signs offering congratulations are posted in storefront windows. For the record: if I were ever caught whistling "Here Comes the Bride," I would never ever live it down.
Art galleries take a little more liberty with their window tributes. Some opt for more artistic portraits of the couple, as opposed to the same old official shot. Others really get creative. The new princess is a former Olympic swimmer from South Africa, hence, her above depiction as a mermaid with the South African flag painted tail.
Prince Albert II, himself also an Olympian, is very passionate about environmental causes. So, naturally, the royal wedding car was a hybrid Lexus (a LS600hL Laundolat, to be precise) specially designed for the occasion. It not only has this nifty polycarbonate roof which allows you to see the pretty, pretty princess without any wind screwing up her hair, but it was also able to complete the entire tour using only electric power. It helps that the tour wasn't too great a distance.
Of course, what everyone really wants to see is the dress. Here's the Armani creation beside Albert's carabinieri uniform. It was really cool to walk up the staircase at the museum and see these in the center of a room decorated with oceanic curios. I'd say it went with the theme of "wedding within the context of Monaco and the globe." It was regal and quirky at the same time, just like the microstate itself.
Also on display were the invitations, Alain Ducasse created menus (using only sustainable fish, of course), the ringbearer's pillow and the wedding favors. For said favors, it appears that Albert and Charlene went for traditional with a royal twist: Jordan almonds wrapped in tulle... in a monogrammed porcelain box on a bed of pearls.
The main thing, here, is that Monaco now has a princess - and everyone loves a princess. "Princess Charlene" may not have as nice of a ring to it as "Princess Grace," but I'm sure she'll do fine all the same. As long as she produces an heir.

La Grotte d'Observatoire

It seems unlikely - a cave? In Monaco? Why, of course. An interesting, large one, with stalactites and stalagmites in bouquets and a 200,000 year history of habitation. High up on a cliffy crag in the western arm of Monaco, an under-appreciated attraction awaits.
Monaco isn't just a portside huddle of yachts and roulette tables. On either side of Monte Carlo the country takes on a different feel. Buildings in diverse clusters of Belle Epoque and sixties slab cling to the cliffs, narrow streets wind in intricate loops, a culture of quiet cafes and local bars thrives in the upper, shaded neighborhoods. The "maritime alps" drop in a knobby jumble towards the water - it's a vertical city, and it's fitting that the country's biggest cave has its entrance so far above the sea. Near the top of this outcropping, inside the wild-feeling "jardin exotique," the mouth of the grotto opens in a protected nook of rock.
It's visitable only by tour, and it's not a very long experience. The signs outside have been altered, seemingly with a magic marker, making note of the decreased duration. Once a forty minute tour, thirty-five minutes are all that's promised now.

Steep steps - three hundred of them, a man told us pointedly - descend almost straight down. The drop occurring quickly and without comment. At the bottom, we paused for a few minutes in each of two caverns. The laconic guide pointed out a few features and went over a summary of La Grotte's history, then began to lead us back up towards the entrance.
It is not an unwelcome climb, actually, because the cave is quite hot. The constant temperature of sixty-five degrees feels much warmer because of extreme humidity. Sweating, our guide told us that this is the warmest cave in Europe, and one of the hottest in the world. Location plays a major part in the high temperature, as the cave follows a path downward that runs nearly parallel to the south-facing cliff, which catches the sun and traps heat in the cavern. It's the first spelunking we've done where a warning was given about how hot the cave would be, not how cold.

The current climate is quite mild, though, compared with what it used to be like. Before the cave was opened up during construction of the tourist route, circulation was poor and hot air had nowhere to escape. When the first explorers descended into the depths, in the 1940's, the ambient temperature was a constant (and unimaginable) ninety-three degrees, the hottest recorded non-thermal cave temperature in the world at the time.

The construction of the staircases and route was a difficult and fast-paced project, completed only a few years after the first explorations of the lower reaches. Between 1947 and 1949, La Grotte was explored, charted, opened up and fitted with walkways. Prince Rainier III was welcomed in June of 1949, when he expressed his satisfaction and excitement, apparently. The name of the cave was given because of an old celestial observatory that once stood at the top of the cliff.

Although the depths were only plumbed in 1947, the entrance to the cave had been in use for much longer - in fact, La Grotte d'Observatoire is often called "the birth of humanity in Monaco." Pre-Neanderthals, Neanderthals and Cro-Magnon man all used a portion of the cavern, near the top, and a trove of flints, tools and animal bones were found there during an excavation between 1916 and 1930. The nearby Musee d'Anthropologie Prehistorique has a concise collection of curios and relics relating to the finds, and is worth a look simply because of it's proximity and loneliness.

The cave enjoys one of the best views in the country - early inhabitants likely considered it prime Monegasque real estate. It's not a popular place to visit because it's a little out of the way and not well advertised. Tourists in Monaco tend to be day-trippers, and attractions like this get overlooked.

It is a little surreal to emerge from underground and feel such an immediate sense of space. The hot wind off the Mediterranean felt cool and deliciously dry, and we lingered for a moment in the sunshine, slightly bewildered.

Gypsy Kitchens: Monegasque Cold Noodle Salad

Here is a perfect cure for muggy nights: cold noodle salad with anchovies - a staple fish in Monegasque cuisine. On a hot evening in Monaco, with barely a breeze off the sea, eating a warm meal was out of the question. Our luck was particularly good; we found soba noodles at the grocery store, the first time we've seen them in Europe since (oddly) Belarus. The nutty pasta was excellent alongside the brine and salt of anchovy paste. Light, refreshing and delicious, the dish is so perfect we want to have it every night.

Anchovies were once the backbone of a major industry in Monaco. Salting and canning were done locally into the 1950's, with the fish being stored in coastal caves as they cured. Today, there are still a few fishing boats in Hercule Harbor, but they are vastly outnumbered and overshadowed by mountainous pleasure yachts.

We bought a tube of anchovy paste as soon as we arrived in the country (we have a fridge!), for dressings and sauces. For the noodle salad, we decided on marinated fish, instead of salted, to allow for more fish flavor without overwhelming the other ingredients.
In the heat, dinner needs to be simple. Tomatoes and lamb's tongue lettuce added juiciness and greenery, chopped scallion and fennel root provided flavor and texture. The only other ingredients: olive oil and a pinch of sea salt. Soba is one of the great pastas of the world, with a lot of flavor and earthiness. It works very well as a compliment to greens, because it's not as starchy on the plate and allows the salad flavors to shine. (Soba is also healthier than wheat noodles, and much easier to digest.)

It's good to try a little bit of the paste beforehand, to make sure it's not too salty or otherwise flavored. Ours - made by "Le Monegasque" brand, but not actually produced in the country anymore - is nicely fishy and powerful, with a taste somewhat reminiscent of strong olives.
It would be easy to use all sorts of different greens, as long as they're not too strong-flavored. Fennel is sometimes hard to find in America, but worth the search. Chopped thin, it's succulent and interesting enough to be a salad base by itself. Cherry tomatoes work well for this recipe, but consider using something bigger if you'd like wetter noodles. The larger and riper your tomato is, the more saucy the dish will be.
The "dressing" itself is nothing more than olive oil and fish paste, combined here with the scallion and salt to make a slurry. Start with a conservative amount of oil and add more as you mix your ingredients into the pasta.

A pasta note: soba is made primarily of buckwheat and it cooks very quickly. It's so delicate that it can't be treated like normal, flour pasta. Left hot after boiling, even drained, it will continue to cook and turn to mush. It's important to run it under cold water immediately, and to continue rinsing until the noodles are cool. Also, most soba cooks in only four minutes, so be ready with the colander!

When everything is mixed, your done. The anchovies were tender and huge - splitting them in two made incorporation easier.

A wonderful thing about cold noodles is that they can keep. Made in the afternoon, the salad came out of the fridge at dinnertime ready to serve. This would perhaps make a good side dish, but we were happy with it as the centerpiece of our evening, served with steamed broccoli and cold drinks.
Here is the recipe, if anyone still has questions.

Monegasque Cold Noodle Salad

Ingredients:

2 portions soba noodles (they usually come wrapped in a little paper thing)

1 1-2 cups cherry tomatoes

2 cups lamb's tongue lettuce (which is also known as mâché or mache)

Most of one fennel root

2 large scallions

1/4 to 1/2 cup olive oil

1 1/2 tablespoons anchovy paste

About fifteen to thirty marinated (not salt cured) anchovies, depending on size

Salt to taste

Method:

- Cook the soba until done, usually 4 minutes in simmering water. Immediately remove from hot water and run under a cold tap until noodles are thoroughly cool. Let drain.

- Chop all vegetables into manageably mixable sizes.

- Combine anchovy paste and olive oil until smooth. Add minced scallion and stir.

- Toss all ingredients in a large bowl, adding olive oil if the result is too dry. Serve or keep cool, depending on your immediate needs.

Jardin Exotique

Perched high above Port de Fontvieille in Monaco, with views of the French and Italian Rivieras, there is the Monegasque Exotic Garden. Opened in 1933, it was the brainchild of Prince Albert I (dubbed "Prince Savant") and took twenty years to create. A large number of the plants were already hanging around, part of a collection housed in the principality since the 19th century. Today, there are over 1000 different species in the tiered, cliff-side garden.
Something that's surprised us about this country is its lushness. Plants are everywhere and there's at least ten different parks and gardens scattered around - but none like the Jardin Exotique. It feels like a botanic garden, an art museum and a safari rolled into one. The plants may originate from the Americas, Asia and Africa, but most have been living right there in Monaco for so long that you're - in a sense - seeing them in their natural habitats. The original plants in the collection are still thriving over a hundred years later.
Unlike most gardens, these plants flower at varying times of the year and, even, of the day. They are succulents - plants that store water, like agave and cactus. They are hardy, resilient colonizers that know how to survive in tough environments. There wasn't an overwhelming amount of signage in the garden, but just enough to give you an appreciation for what you were looking at. Many of these species are greatly endangered in their country of origin, due to urban, industrial and agricultural influences. To a large extent, this is a conservatory and it feels almost encyclopedic in its variety.
The thing about succulents - they are just so darn fun to look at. I'm not knocking roses or anything, but, as Gertrude Stein once said, "a rose is a rose is a rose." Here, most of the scenery felt brand new. Some plants are downright sculptural and the textures are unbelievable. Some look like enormous flowers, some look like they're covered in burgundy velvet. Some are as small as a baseball, others reach as high as a chestnut tree. Some hang from above, with their roots floating in pond water.
So many gardens that I've been to have seemed too organized, too curated, too spaced out to really build a sense of environment. That is absolutely not the case here, where you're not as worried about trampling a flower than you are of one drawing blood if you get too near. That is, I think, it's most appealing feature. These plants are every bit as beautiful to look at, but have a sort of inherent strength. You completely forget that someone planted them. You're in their world, they're not on show in yours.
Over 21 million visitors have walked through the Exotic Garden, according to its posted statistics. A few choice cacti bore evidence of the people that had come before; names were scrawled, scratched into their skin. Twenty one million is just a fraction of the people who have gone to Monte Carlo casino or the prince's palace. Overflow from the Carnival cruise line parked in the main port didn't find its way up here. On a hot Saturday, it was one of the least congested places we'd visited, but there was still a good amount of activity.
Merlin took some great black and white shots of a trio of cacti standing tall, against the blank sky - but I felt like it gave a sense of barrenness or desolation that simply doesn't exist in the space. It s about as similar to a dessert as an aquarium is to the ocean. In a lot of ways, it feels overgrown and congested. You walk across faux wooden bridges and down staircases with exotic plants all around you at all times. But, still, when you look down at the rest of Monaco, you feel a sort of bizarre tranquility - up, on the top of a cliff, surrounded by a rare world of plants.