Hungover like a Monegasque tourist

The morning after the night before, Monaco was cold, full of rain and we were tired. We were made painfully aware of the fact that we were primarily in the town to compete in a sailing competition, when our alarms went off promptly at 8am. The girls were lacklustre, but the boys even more so as they had all woken up in our hotel, without a beautiful international sailor in sight.

Having said that, our team was in a better state than some, as three competitors had been arrested the night before. It sounds like a cliché but an Englishman, an Irishman and an Italian walked out of the bar (told you it sounded clichéd), they had been distracted by some bikes and [allegedly] decided to steal one. Unfortunately the bikes had been parked outside a police station and while their drunk efforts were not strong enough to prosecute them for bike theft the 3 amigos were extremely surprised to learn that it is a criminal offence to be drunk on the streets of Monaco and so they were promptly locked up until such time as they were fit to go free.

This was considered highly entertaining by those who made it safely had to the Marina the next day (particularly those who still had a full team of sailors). We soon saw the Italian girl safe, well and (more importantly) sober but the Irishman didn't appear until 4pm! He was obscenely grumpy at this stage. This is largely because it transpires that police hospitality does not extend to feeding their short term guests. Even basic provisions like toilet roll and water are only given on request.

Sailing did not go well for us that day. It rained torrentially and I couldn't help thinking (while shivering violently) that I might prefer to be in the UK. With a sedentary hobby (board games might be nice). Indoors.

It might sound like this would be a good place to end this sequence of stories from Monaco – everyone has learnt a valuable lesson and is ready to go home. However, what we really needed was to get a grip!!! This was a 3-day event and we were only half way through.

#ClareInMonaco

This is how Russians celebrate Christmas in Monaco. Apparently

First off I'd better explain the reason for the sudden drop in the quality of picture - my phone smashed today when I dropped it on the ground and the protective cover flew off. I feel a bit nervous about using it in case I get shards of glass in my fingers (it's not a clean break at all) but did risk it in order to photograph this doodle. As you can see, even the camera is not happy!

This is to be my first Chirstmassy post, inspired a couple of weekends ago when I was in Monaco with a team of 7 other Brits for a sailing competition (it isn't half as glamorous as it sounds but you’ll have to take my word for it). One of the highlights of the event was being able to explore the city in the evening. In particular, at the centre of town there is currently a fantastic Russian Christmas market, which we liked.

So many Russian dolls

All in all I'd say that Russian markets don’t feel that different to German ones only there are Russian dolls everywhere and very few tourists. It’s hard to be sure if the dolls are there due to the Russian influence or because that is what the Monegasques think defines Russia. What is for sure though is that the wicked tartiflette (basically potato, bacon and cheese cooked together and then grilled with yet more slabs of thick cheese melted generously on top) which we all had for dinner was almost certainly very French, although I expect it will soon be adapted as the national dish of Scotland. At least the for the cosmopolitan folk. It was gorgeous in a slightly guilt ridden way.

The star of the fair was the ice go carting. After walking the same streets as the F1 drivers during the day we were keen to get behind the wheel ourselves. It was an experience that did not disappoint. Just like when you drive on icy roads, the go karts have no grip on the track. The really fun thing about it is the way in which you spin out at corners. If you’re particularly unlucky you’ll find you’re than in everyone else’s way, maybe facing the direction of ongoing traffic (which is slightly more alarming because then you can see how much of a nuisance you’re being!). There is nothing to be done at a time like this but laugh. I think my helmet may have muffled me as I spent about 50% of my time laughing. I eventually worked out that the trick to a faster lap time is to drive slower and spin off at fewer corners. This is a bit of a boring lesson, so once it was established I returned to practice my my 'tail spin'. I’m happy to say I never did learn to get this under control and so it remained fun.

Ice Go Karting

After a few mulled wines on the trackside (because that’s probably a classic Russian tradition) we were ready to find a party and so followed some music we could hear playing to a marquee (I was by now clutching a chocolate coated banana, (another great Russian Christmas classic, probably) not because I was hungry but because I wanted to find out what it tasted like. It was delicious but I found it very difficult to eat because my teammates were so amused by its phallic appearance that I was only prepared to put it in my mouth when no one was looking, which wasn't very often since there were 8 of us in the team.) Anyway, as I was tantalised by this wretched banana that I couldn't eat, the rest of the team were intent on experiencing the Monacan night life. As mentioned, we had followed the sound of music to a big marquee. We trouped inside (me still clutching my banana) and were somewhat aghast to find a bingo hall with 4 middle aged people line dancing on stage wearing cowboy hats. It’s a very foolish looking person that can’t find a party in Monaco! With this top of mind we very quickly set out to leave the Russian market and all those Russian bingo-playing line dancers, to find a proper night club in the good old town (with very little banana left - what a good distraction!). 

A party such as that which followed deserves a blog post in it's own right. In fact, the whole trip probably deserves a series of posts in it's own right. I will therefore endeavour to bring you the stories of this trip to Monaco in it's entirety before the new year (potentially even upgrading the picture quality at some point) using #ClareInMonaco to tie it all together. 

Aqua aerobics at Virgin Active

I was supposed to be having a day of Christmas card writing and sleep when I got a message asking if I might like to come to a fitness centre instead (of course I would). My friend (Jess) had got 2 induction sessions at Virgin Active which meant that we could use all the facilities for free as long as we pretended to be interested in becoming members (although if I’m honest, when we learnt that there’s a 90s disco dance class in which they turn the lights out and give everyone glow sticks, we very nearly were interested).

It felt a bit voyeuristic being shown around the gym while feigning enthusiasm. My favourite part was spotting a woman on a leg exercising machine while totally engrossed in a novel from the waist up. What we really wanted was for the tour to be over so we could go swimming.

Eventually it was and, once changed, we shuffled out of the changing rooms in our brightly coloured bikinis (feeling a little self-conscious because all the serious gym-goers were in black one-piece costumes manufactured by speedo). More awkwardly still, we found we’d shuffled into the wrong room and were standing in a busy stairwell. The place was like a maze! You don’t really want to be lost in your swimwear though, it’s quite a compromising time to walk into inappropriate rooms. Someone pointed us in the right direction which was relatively helpful and (after another unintentional foray into a deserted corridor) I followed Jess into the pool room. She was looking over her shoulder, talking to me and reversed straight into a very toned, good looking Asian guy wearing nothing but a small towel around his waist. He seemed alarmed but I thought it might make my day.

After doing the obligatory few introductory lengths in the pool we spotted an aqua aerobics class a few swim lanes over and decided to join in. A lot of the ladies were taking it very seriously but we were not (perhaps me least of all because I had left my glasses in the changing rooms, couldn’t see a thing and was making up a good 60% of the manoeuvres). Our instructor didn’t seem to mind though – I suppose as long as she sees a lot of happy ladies exercising enthusiastically then the class is a success. A new level of glee was reached when ‘good Christian men rejoice’ came on and it was announced that we were to do some sort of barn dance/ceilidh. I can’t get enough of those on land let alone in the water! As it turns out, this is not an easy thing to do in a swimming pool as you move at half the speed owing to the water resistance, which in turn means it takes twice as long to correct your mistakes (which should be numerous, or you’re not having enough fun). There was a lot of splashing and a lot of giggling (from one particular dance pair, who couldn’t believe their luck at ending up in a swimming pool barn dance). Whenever the dance allowed us to get close enough, we'd continue our conversation. The conclusion of which was that when you reach an age whereby you can no longer muster an enthusiasm for clubbing, you go to aqua aerobics classes instead. This fulfils a basic human need to laugh and dance at the same time.

You might think it would have been funny to be a fly on the wall during this scene, but there’s a group of middle aged men on exercise bikes who went one better than that. One wall of their gym is made of glass and overlooks the swimming pool. I do find that slightly weird, but it’s hardly worth worrying about.

After this strenuous class we went to the sauna. I didn’t think I liked saunas (the air is so hot it’s almost dense and so they make me feel claustrophobic) but once inside I changed my mind. I actually found the sauna quite a funny place. It reminded me of the London underground. Everyone sits in extremely close proximity but we all do so in silence, as if no one else was there. Only in the sauna they’re all wearing speedos (going one up on the underground) and of course no one comments on the weirdness of the scenario. The steam room was a bit better in this sense and seemed to feature wearers of longer shorts. But the bubble pool was best of all.

I'd be a climbing star by now but life gets in the way

My weekend got off to an amusing start on Friday night when I failed to go to bed at a sensible time. I was just settling down at 1 am when Tim (my housemate and honorary brother) came bounding in, extremely drunk, wanting a hug. He took off his trousers (as everyone knows you can't get into bed with trousers on) and jumped in. I had a hug and heard all about his evening. Then, after being allowed to play me just 1 Coldplay song (against his better judgement as there really were a great many he thought I ought to hear!) he got out of bed, realised how drunk he was, picked up his trousers, then picked up my trousers and was preparing to put them on when he caught sight of my bra, which had been put on the chair underneath them. This terrible sight filled him with horror and so he left immediately. In the morning I put on my jumper, went downstairs, and climbed into his bed to see if he was hungover yet. Luckily he was still drunk and so agreed to come climbing.
Reflecting on this trip, I definitely think that our technique is starting to improve, even if the difficulty level of walls hasn't. We've set ourselves the challenge of doing a 'blue' or 'salmon' coloured route by Christmas (they're equivalent levels). The trouble is that people tend to put on weight at Christmas time, which then makes it harder to climb walls. A healthy eating binge has been suggested in order to conquer this as soon as possible. It's either that or we could progress by turning up without hangovers on a full nights sleep. Hmm, the 'body of a god diet' starts here.