It isn’t long before the driver pulls over to park up and Harrison points to the start/finish line. Today the traffic is free flowing, but busy. It’s hard to believe that in two weeks’ time it will turn from a normal, busy road into a starting grid. Harrison taps the partition and asks the driver to wait nearby for us, giving him a thank you nod. Maybe inspired by his position on the grid, the guy then rams the car into gear and pulls away from the kerb a little too fast for my liking. Aside from some marks on the road where the cars line up, there isn’t very much to see, but Harrison seems satisfied.
‘Now we’re heading off to the tunnel. It will probably take us a couple, maybe three hours with coffee stops, before we jump in a taxi to take us back to the ship. Are you happy?’
I’m already snapping away, taking as many photos as I can in the hope that at least a couple of them will be useable.
‘Perfect. The coffee is on me and let me know what the taxis cost and I’ll split it with you, it’s the least I can do.’
He grimaces. ‘I’m a man who has learnt the hard way that it doesn’t pay to argue with a woman.’ He defers to my request and I can see he isn’t really happy but then, this isn’t a date. I know he works for the company but it is always a comfort to have someone to chat to when you are on your own, and it’s still a generous offer.
It’s clear that while everything is functioning normally, preparations for the race are well underway. There is a hive of activity going on with staging and scaffolding being set up at various points on our journey.
Getting back in the taxi, it’s only another short ride before Harrison taps on the partition again and we pull up in a layby. Proceeding on foot, the trek through the tunnel is great fun and it turns out to be surprisingly ordinary and very narrow, so there isn’t much to see. However, as we walk along on the right-hand side we catch views out over the sea, a constant reminder of our stunning location. Looking down onto the hypnotically blue ocean there are some craggy rocks and a seagull stands surveying the scene. Simply knowing F1 cars will be whizzing through this section again soon is a little thrill.
‘I can’t believe racing cars drive through here,’ I exclaim.
‘I think their speed drops down to around thirty miles per hour as it’s so tight. There is a long list of cars that have hit into the walls on the bend, or in the tunnel itself. Overtaking isn’t an issue because it’s impossible; keeping your wits about you and getting a good steering lock on is what this part of the race is all about.’
I guess he’s a big fan. I do watch the highlights as I have a passing interest, but only because I think Lewis Hamilton is so charismatic that he’s well worth watching.
As we climb higher and higher the views are unbelievable. It’s steep, tight and must be very difficult to navigate given the length of the cars. My calf muscles are screaming already and I struggle to keep up.
Because it’s so tiring on the legs we stop twice for coffee. The highlight for me is the Place du Casino, a lavish public square in Monaco’s most famous of neighbourhoods. Also on the square is the Monte Carlo Opera House. Two stunning buildings in a perfect setting, as the square features an impressive fountain and a terrace with jaw dropping views of the coastline.
This leads us on to the Jardin Exotique, which is in the more modern section of Monaco and borders on the older, historic centre. Perched on a steep cliff it, too, looks out across the dazzlingly beautiful sea vista. Lush vegetation and a climate that doesn’t have wildly diverse extremes means that the hillside conditions are perfect for tropical plants and succulents. The craggy mountainside is covered with a plethora of species from Africa, Latin America, Cape Town and even Mexico.
Being away from the roads the air is sweet and clear; only the slight breeze gives a little relief from the balmy heat. Breathing in the warmth and the tang from the sea, it’s intermingled with little whiffs of fragrances given off by the blooms on some of the luscious and more exotic plants. I can see that Harrison is equally impressed.
‘If I was wealthy, I’d probably be fawning over the rather expensive shops we’ve walked past on our way here. But I’ve seen everything I need to give my readers a tiny glimpse into the delights on offer and I’m thrilled about that. I’m so glad you talked me into doing this today,’ I admit.
Harrison is not only a good companion, but he’s knowledgeable. I feel like I have a tour guide accompanying me. I’m surprised how quickly the afternoon passes before it’s time to flag down another taxi and return to the ship.
We arrive back at the quayside shortly before half past five, after a very enjoyable few hours. My notepad is full of jottings and I have taken probably thirty, or even forty, photographs.
When we part, I thank Harrison and shake his hand. He’s interesting and I’m really enjoying his company but it’s disappointing that I’m not feeling any chemistry between us. Even though he is a head-turner. But then I haven’t really looked at a man since Antonio left. I assumed that was because getting my life back onto an even keel required all my focus. But what if I’m never going to feel that flush of excitement over someone again? What if it wasn’t just my pride that was shattered when Antonio left? What if there’s something permanently damaged inside of me? Maybe I’m just not worthy of having someone’s love because I can’t seem to hold onto it.
‘Ah, is this my dismissal?’
‘No, more of an apology,’ I admit. ‘I will still need to be taking notes and photographs to record the details ready for my write-up. It’s too easy to forget this isn’t just a holiday for me. So, it won’t be the usual relaxing dinner and leisurely browse around the ship, I’m afraid. I don’t think it’s fair that I inflict that on you.’ And I don’t want to mislead you in any way, my conscience is urging me to add, but I instantly dismiss that thought.
A part of me is hoping he’ll brush it off and suggest we meet up anyway, just for the company, but he doesn’t. Suddenly I find myself feeling the teensiest bit disappointed.
Don’t Judge a Book by its Cover
After a long Skype session with Rosie and an hour on social media, I can’t wait to hit the shower.
I am excited and in a good mood, but it is rather lonely. I’m used to sharing pretty much everything with Rosie and it feels odd to be away from home for a few days without her. She would have loved this entire experience, but school is more important and she’ll thank me for honouring that principle when she’s older. I hope.
It’s rather daunting now that I’m ready as there are seven very different styles of restaurant onboard. Leafing through the details in the handbook I decide to opt for the chic, Parisian fine dining located on deck ten, aft. Aft? Well, it might take a little while for me to get my bearings, that’s for sure.
I head out to the elevator and it’s easy enough to find the right deck. As I’m not sure where exactly the restaurant is located, I’m going to tag along behind a small group of people who look like they are dressed for a very special dining experience. I was worried my second-best posh frock would be a little over the top, but now I’m relieved as it isn’t at all out of place. The silky, knee-length lilac dress is simple but it stands out. My hair is twisted up and pinned on top, to complement the open back that falls just above my waistline in a cowl. It’s elegant, easy to wear and, thankfully, doesn’t crease. The dress might not make the woman, but it certainly gives this woman a much-needed confidence boost.
La Maison Chapelle is indeed very chic and has that old-world sense of romantic elegance about the décor. I wait in the small queue, hoping they will be able to find me a table because I didn’t have time to make a reservation.
‘We are pretty full tonight, I’m afraid. If you are happy to wait about forty-five minutes then I’m