retiredmartin

February 2026. Monaco.

Finally leaving Genoa after what readers of this blog will say feels like a month, we take the train to Ventimiglia and then reach a third country in 30 minutes on a colourful French train, daringly taking an earlier departure to Monte Carlo than the time we’d booked for. Does Monaco even have a prison for fare dodgers ? ChatGPT says we’ll be fine, probably.

American readers will be interested to know that Monaco is in the news today as one of it’s most tax efficient residents has declared the UK “colonised by immigrants“, which will hopefully have put an end to Jim’s attempt to leech a billion quid of taxpayers (UK, not Monaco) funds to rebuild Old Trafford.

A week ago I was getting my Monaco pin on the world map,

which leaves just Andorra and Belarus for me, and Belarus is just too exciting for now.

Mrs RM had been here 40 years ago, probably sleeping on a beach and winning her night’s beer fund at the casino, as part of her grand European tour as an 18 year old. I just had those images from the Grand Prix to go on, but I knew it wasn’t going to be cheap.

As the most densely populated country in the world, it ought to be very walkable, unless you direct Mrs RM to the wrong exit out of the vast Monte Carlo station, of course.

Genuinely, one of the swankiest railway stations I’ve ever seen, with the longest exit.

We should have left the station at the little train sign marked top right on the map, with our Aparthotel a mere 200 feet and 3 elevator rides away,

but instead emerged half a mile south at the foreign-sounding “Entrée piétonne gare ferroviaire Monaco Montecarlo” where at least we had a dramatic introduction to the local high rise.

Monaco is not for everyone, but I found it architecturally thrilling,

layer upon layer of tower blocks of different eras leading to the killer views.

Mrs RM’s blog recommends staying at least a night, even in the microstates like Liechtenstein. Not sure how that strategy works in Vatican City, and in Monaco you won’t find anything under a ton on a wet Thursday in February.

From our (upgraded) hotel balcony at Accor’s Aparthotel we could see the border with France (it’s where the road changes colour, honest),

but we were clearly a yard or two the wrong side. Perhaps a VAR review would declare us onside.

Never mind, the hotel fridge dispensed Monte Carlo beer,

the water dispenser gave us sparking water on tap, an afternoon at the Casino waited. Only our meagre budget could stop us now.