Everyone who visits Monaco can't help but experience port Hercule and all its lascivious, lavish elements. It's megayachts and cafe-filled piers are the city's focal point and pride. But just around the castle rock, tucked in below the cliffs, there's a second harbor - the smaller and more friendly Port de Fontvieille. Fontvieille's name and a few ruined-looking buildings make it seem old, but it's actually Monaco's newest district. Built between 1966 and 1981, the buildings around the marina rest on "reclaimed earth," which strikes me as a strange term. Before Prince Rainier III began construction on Fontvieille, there was only a scrabbly stretch of sand and rock between the castle and Cap d'Ail on the French border. A sharp increase in demand for space in Monaco drove the project, and it seems likely to spark a second expansion - a further fifteen acres of land are to be "reclaimed" by 2015. The marina guardhouse, above, was built for effect. On a weekday, it's a quiet place to walk around. One might hear music drifting out from one cabin, or see a few sandals on the dock beside a boat, but the restaurants along the quay aren't full and the boats tend to be dark and empty. There's a familiarity about the place, like a little neighborhood or small town, and the atmosphere is more reminiscent of fishing villages than central Monaco.On the weekends, more owners arrive and the complexion of Fontvieille changes - motors are gunned, boats are taken out, the sleeker restaurants fill up. Though the crowd is more relaxed than at Hercule, a certain showiness still prevails. Fontvieille's waters aren't as deep as its sister port; the boats are correspondingly smaller, but still very big. Vessels as tall and crowded as rowhouses bob and creak on their lines. Gerhard's Cafe, on the waterfront, is likely the most popular of the local spots, filling up quickly after work and staying busy long into the night. A strange mix of yachters and dock men stand around the bar, looking out at the boats and the cliffs behind. English is the language of choice, perhaps because there are so many British boatowners, but probably because it feels the most comfortable to the most people. The drinks are stiff and simple, the prices are surprisingly cheap. We watched a heated game of backgammon one night, a couple of sorrowful yacht brokers another. It's a long way from our apartment in Beausoleil to the Fontvieille piers, but we've found ourselves making the trek quite often. Because it feels like a forgotten part of the country, the harbor seems so welcoming - even on crowded weekend nights. The sense of discovery and isolation makes the marina feel wilder, as though Monaco had turned it's back on the revelry.
Soup de poisson is an essential part of the French riviera, as Provençal as sunshine and lavender fields. We talked about making it every day in the region, but never had a kitchen that could handle it. Now, in Monaco, we have the time and the space. Here is our take on a classic - livened up with lots of citrus, made simple and very easy.
The process can take as long as you're willing to give it, with a minimum of about an hour and a half. It's a two-step soup. Step one is the broth making, which can last for a half hour or all afternoon, depending on time investment. The more time the soup simmers, the more fish essence will be dragged out of the bones. The second step focuses on adding a final punch of flavor, where a different fish is cooked and blended into the broth.
The essential flavors are saffron, tomato and fish. It should be noted that this isn't conventional soup de poisson - in fact, locals along the shore would consider it heretical. We like the lightness of the citrus flavors though, and the ease of the cooking process.
Essentially, you buy different types of fish for each step. First, bony, head-on, broth-making fish like red snapper, mackerel, sea bass or trout. Second, boned filets of something a little more delicate and large, like halibut, flounder, dorade or even salmon. It's not necessary to buy expensive cuts; the thing about making this soup is that a lot of fish is going to get boiled and thrown away. Even the filets will get mashed up and incorporated.
Keep the filets in the fridge until later and start with the smaller, bone-in fish. Either buy them cleaned or gut them yourself, then cut them into chunks about two inches long, starting behind the head. Keep the heads, tails and fins.
Because this recipe uses a lot of citrus rind, make sure to scrub your fruit under hot water to get off as much wax and pesticide residue as possible. Grate (don't micro-plane or finely-zest) a few tablespoons of lemon peel and cut one clementine or tangerine into thin slices, including the rind. A small half of an orange can work too. De-seed and chop one very large, ripe tomato (or two smaller tomatoes, obviously). Mince about two tablespoons of ginger and four cloves of garlic, then set it all aside. The broth begins with the hardier elements. Saute onion, leek, fennel and celery in a large pot with the ginger (preferably a stock pot - we don't travel with one, but they're handy). When everything is nicely softened - maybe even a little browned, but not much - reduce the heat and pour in a generous shot of pastis and all of the bony fish (about pastis: see video and note below), then cover and let simmer for a few minutes. Don't be squeamish about the heads and fins! There's a lot of flavor locked inside and you won't actually be eating them.
Add the tomato, garlic, lemon peel and orange (or clementine/tangerine) to the pot and cook until a little juice has accumulated, then add a cup of white wine, a bay leaf and as much saffron as you can afford (not more than a bare 1/8 tsp.). Cover entirely with cold water and bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer.
Add as much water as you can cook off. If you plan on leaving the pot to bubble all day, put in a lot. If you only have a half hour, add not much more than a quart. The goal is to reduce the stock to about a quart's worth of liquid, so imagine how much will vaporize over the span of cooking and try to pour accordingly. It's always better to err on the low side, as it's easier to add water than to boil more off.
To the broth, add about a quarter cup of tomato paste and about half that of anchovy or sardine paste. When the stock is as done as you can make it, strain it into another container. Cheese cloth would work great if you have some lying around - we used two stacked colanders, but a sieve is the obvious choice. Just make sure not to let any bones or fisheyes get through. Extrude as much broth from the solids as possible, pressing on the leftover mash with a spoon before discarding it.
Next - and we don't have a picture of this - saute your fish filets in the stockpot (or whatever you have that will fit everything. Use a lot of olive oil, some onion, a few delicate herbs if you'd like. Just make sure to cook it hot and to let it break down. It's nice to overcook it slightly, so that it falls apart easier. When it's done, mash it up with a spatula or fork, juice one lemon into it and pour in the broth. If you have an immersion blender, you can make it quite silken, as is generally the Provençal style. If not, don't worry too much about it. It will either be chunky or smooth, but it won't matter too much in the bowl. Heat up the soup to a bare simmer, then let cool for five minutes or so before serving.
Soup de Poisson is typically served with a little grated cheese, a few toasted baguette rounds and a "rouille," which is essentially a spiced mayonnaise. Feel free to use mayo if you'd like. It's delicious.
We used, instead, a mixture of sheep yogurt, tomato paste, lemon juice and garlic. It's easier than cooking egg yolks, it's healthier and the flavor is brighter. Do it the traditional way: spread the rouille on the crouton and float it in the soup until it's absorbed some broth and softened, then scoop it up and eat it.
Here's the recipe:
Soup de Poisson
Ingredients:
1 pound whole, head-on, smallish fish (red snapper, mackerel, sea bass or trout, to name a few possibilities)
1 pound boned and filleted larger fish (halibut, flounder, dorade or salmon, for example)
2 medium leeks, washed, tops discarded and chopped
2 medium yellow onions, chopped
1 fennel root, chopped, top discarded
2 sticks celery, chopped
1 large tomato, de-seeded and chopped
1 lemon, scrubbed vigorously under hot water and coarsely zested enough to yield 1-2 tablespoons
1 clementine or tangerine, given the bath and scrub, cut into 1/4 inch thick rounds
2 tablespoons diced ginger
4 cloves minced garlic
1 pinch saffron
1 bay leaf
1/4 cup tomato paste
1/8 cup anchovy or sardine paste
1 glass white wine
1 shot pastis
Olive oil
Salt to taste
Water to boil
Process:
- After chopping and preparing everything, saute ginger, onion, leek, fennel and celery in a large pot. Cook over high heat until more than slightly softened. Pour in a shot of pastis and throw in the cut-up whole fish. Cover and let sit for three minutes or so.
- Add the garlic, tomato, orange, saffron and lemon zest. Let cook until juicy, then pour in one cup of wine and the bay leaf.
- Cover with enough cold water and bring to a boil before reducing to a hard simmer. Cook for 1/2 to 4 or 5 hours, adding water if necessary.
- Strain the broth from the solids, being careful not to let fish bones escape into the stock. Discard the solids.
- In the cooking pot, sear the fish fillets over high heat in olive oil and some onion until they are done, then mash with a fork or spatula until mostly broken up. Juice the lemon into the pot, pour in the stock and bring to a boil. Turn off heat and let mellow for a few minutes before serving.
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A note about pastis: if you've been to the south of France, you've seen old men drinking cloudy glasses of pastis at sunny cafe tables. It's widely considered a morning/early afternoon beverage, despite being a full ninety proof. The spirit is distilled using green anise, and has a bitter licorice flavor, like a more interesting sambuca. By itself it's brownish and clear, but mixed with water - the way it's normally served - it acquires a milky, yellowish haze.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Everyone who visits Monaco can't help but experience port Hercule and all its lascivious, lavish elements. It's megayachts and cafe-filled piers are the city's focal point and pride. But just around the castle rock, tucked in below the cliffs, there's a second harbor - the smaller and more friendly Port de Fontvieille.
Fontvieille's name and a few ruined-looking buildings make it seem old, but it's actually Monaco's newest district. Built between 1966 and 1981, the buildings around the marina rest on "reclaimed earth," which strikes me as a strange term. Before Prince Rainier III began construction on Fontvieille, there was only a scrabbly stretch of sand and rock between the castle and Cap d'Ail on the French border. A sharp increase in demand for space in Monaco drove the project, and it seems likely to spark a second expansion - a further fifteen acres of land are to be "reclaimed" by 2015. The marina guardhouse, above, was built for effect.
On a weekday, it's a quiet place to walk around. One might hear music drifting out from one cabin, or see a few sandals on the dock beside a boat, but the restaurants along the quay aren't full and the boats tend to be dark and empty. There's a familiarity about the place, like a little neighborhood or small town, and the atmosphere is more reminiscent of fishing villages than central Monaco.
On the weekends, more owners arrive and the complexion of Fontvieille changes - motors are gunned, boats are taken out, the sleeker restaurants fill up. Though the crowd is more relaxed than at Hercule, a certain showiness still prevails. Fontvieille's waters aren't as deep as its sister port; the boats are correspondingly smaller, but still very big. Vessels as tall and crowded as rowhouses bob and creak on their lines.
Gerhard's Cafe, on the waterfront, is likely the most popular of the local spots, filling up quickly after work and staying busy long into the night. A strange mix of yachters and dock men stand around the bar, looking out at the boats and the cliffs behind. English is the language of choice, perhaps because there are so many British boatowners, but probably because it feels the most comfortable to the most people. The drinks are stiff and simple, the prices are surprisingly cheap. We watched a heated game of backgammon one night, a couple of sorrowful yacht brokers another.
It's a long way from our apartment in Beausoleil to the Fontvieille piers, but we've found ourselves making the trek quite often. Because it feels like a forgotten part of the country, the harbor seems so welcoming - even on crowded weekend nights. The sense of discovery and isolation makes the marina feel wilder, as though Monaco had turned it's back on the revelry.
