Morning Commute - Riviera Style

From the desk of Jase:

So a few weeks ago we had a large corporate event in Monte Carlo, which is one of the zones of Monaco. Monaco is a small principality on the Riviera coast and entirely surrounded by France, but treated (somewhat hilariously, I might add) as its own country. With an actual Prince, a Princess, and even a chic looking version of Bowser. Well, that's how I explain it to my kids at least once they find out the Prince who lives in the palace is a schlubby guy that looks more like a sitcom Dad than the square-jawed Disney stereotype. And like many other modern-day princes, this prince followed the classic fairytale plot of choosing among, courting and connecting (wink wink) with many dizzyingly pretty socialites who loved him "for who he is", taking his sweet time in the selection process, before his receding hairline reminded him firmly: "Dude, you had better lock this down right quick."

But back to the event. This particular incentive trip event featured a lot of distributor guests from all over Europe, so we local corporate staff who live in the area commuted to/from the venue each day. This meant that we had some late nights, a 45-minute drive home, and then an early morning wake-up call to get back there and fight the traffic in time for the business meetings. Not terribly convenient, but it saved some costs by having us all commute back and forth. And we were trying to save costs wherever possible. I even asked some Europeans to drink "still" water instead of "sparkling" during meals. Yes, it was that bad.

One particularly early morning, as I was driving from my house past Antibes, Villeneuve Loubet, around Nice, up into the hills, and then through the 1,600 meter tunnel into Monaco, I caught myself from thinking about how a cold Diet Mountain Dew would really help me survive this late-night-early-morning commute situation. And instead, like a ray of sunlight, I noticed the actual view of the sun coming up over the calm, beautiful azure Mediterranean. Instantly, I felt like--as the French might say--"le cretin."

Herein then are my hastily shot photos from my BlackBerry as I tried to remind myself that there are worse places to commute to than Monte Carlo. Places with snow. Or tractors. Or zombies--no, worse--Idahoans (shudder)!

Looking out the window as I descend the steep cliffs into Monaco.

Look at that scooter just passing us by! The nerve of some Vespas.

One of my favorite things about the calm Mediterranean is that you sometimes can't tell where the sea ends and the sky begins. This smooth and sometimes psychedelic effect can also be noted if someone were stupid enough to take 3 Benadryls to defend against a foreign pollen attack.  Not that I know anyone that lame (*tear from itchy eye*).

There are also buildings and people here on the Monegasque cliffs. But no goats. Unless they are outfitted with Louis Vuitton collars and matching underpants, then they are allowed but must first be registered with the gendarmes.

A regular old boring construction crane for those residents so poor that they can't have their villa pre-assembled and dropped in by helicopters. How mortifying.

The front of the famous Monte Carlo Casino and its less famous "Fountain of Belgian Tears." Dip your finger in and try it--definitely a little salty with a hint of beer. Very authentic.

A closer shot of the Monte Carlo Casino. Those are gardeners and not mirror worshippers (I hope). They did, however shoo me away when the car alarm sounded. The alarm goes off whenever a non-Bentley/Rolls/Ferrari/Lamborghini/Aston Martin tries to get within 50 meters of the front door.

Heading down the Princess boulevard, with cherry blossoms in bloom.

Here you can see some of the apartments and the cliffs behind them.

Arriving to the front door of the Monte Carlo Bay Resort, where the valets huddled up and drew straws to see who HAD to park the Nissan.

Side view of the Monte Carlo Bay Resort. Hoping to myself that wearing board shorts under this suit-and-tie combo was not just wishful thinking. (It was....or was it?)

The view from a hotel room balcony where a corporate visitor was staying. The air is a little hazy, but the view beats the typical Utah inversion weather patterns.

Final shot from the hotel balcony.

In summary, if I had stayed overnight at the hotel, I would have enjoyed some exhilarating views, peaceful sleep, and fresh-squeezed orange juice, flaky croissants and 2-egg omelets every morning for breakfast. Which is pretty much what I get at my house every morning anyway, minus the occasional crying fits and creating cereal box "walls" to separate problematic behavior. (Not to mention when the kids finally wake up and join in.)

But by driving, I was able to take in the full experience of this corporate assignment, and enjoy it for what it is: a job and not a vacation. But every job has its perks, and mine sometimes includes an amazing commute all the while listening to my French language CD's test me on phrases like: "I'll bet when you were much younger, you were quite beautiful", "Excuse me sir, but I think that front tooth is dead", and "Who taught you to drive?! An Italian?" You know, all the useful phrases. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to clock in.