Super rich in Super Monaco

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August 22, 2008 by stuartnoel

One of the must see places in Europe during your lifetime has to be Monte Carlo, or Monaco to give it its true name. Essentially Monte Carlo is the main town within the principality of Monaco, but as the place is so small there isn’t really room for any other habitats and so the names tend to be interchangeable. The fact still remains though that it ranks up there as one of THE places to be seen in. However, whilst other high class spots such as Marbella, Cannes and Portofino are definitely the playground of the rich, Monaco is actually a place of work. Go a few yards behind the harbour, the Hotel du Paris or the Hermitage and you will find normal people living in normal flats doing normal jobs. But that is not the Monaco people come to see. They want their slice of fame, fortune and high class living. And that is why once a year all of the big cheeses in European football decamp to the principality for a few days. Of course there is work on the agenda. There is the annual Gala of European Football where various stars are honoured, the group stage draws for the Champions League (and from 2008 the UEFA Cup) and of course the annual game played between last season’s Champions League winners and UEFA Cup winners.

Nobody can give me a decent reason as to why the game is played in Monaco’s small stadium. It is not as if the clubs who ever win the Champions League are small unpopular teams (OK – maybe Porto in 2005) but in recent seasons AC Milan, Real Madrid and Barcelona have played in this curtain opener, which of course leads to a huge influx of ticketless fans – and there is one thing that Monaco is not able to handle and that is large crowds (witness the chaos leading up to the annual Grand Prix which brings the whole area to a halt for days). It is also not cheap to get to. The Nearest airport is Nice, which on Bank Holiday weekend is very hot, packed and above all very expensive. From Nice you also have to contend with getting to Monaco. Book ahead and Helicopter transfer is a bargain at little over £50 each way and a spectacular journey time of less than 10 minutes.

I was in the Cote d’Azur on a regular remote offices visit. I had spent a couple of very pleasant days in Sophia Antibes, which is the French equivilant of Milton Keynes, but with killer views of the Mediterranean. I had managed to secure Media accreditation not only for the Super Cup game between Champions League winners AC Milan and UEFA Cup winners Sevilla, but also to the Champions League draw on the Friday afternoon in the International Congress Centre. As the trip co-incided with pay day I decided to trat myself with the helicopter option into Monaco, and the train back to Nice afterwards (the commercial helicopter shuttles stop operating at 9pm). I arrived at the check in desk at Nice iaport and was whisked off in a plush Range Rover to the far side of the runway, next to the sea where the choppers were coming in and out. As luck would have it I only had two other passengers, meaning that my views of the short journey were spectacular to say the least. As I was getting ready to board my other passengers arrived in a Limo, with blacked out windows. The wealth that dripped of this middle aged couple was obscene. Their luggage tags were worth more than my whole wardrobe, and the look I got from the female of the pair at my brand new Adidas trainers was as if I had stepped in some dog crap. I can honestly say though that money cannot buy class and whilst she looked every part the millionaires wife with her manicured nails, smart suit and tanned skin I bet she still liked a bit of rough!

As we came into land in Monaco the stadium was visible in between the high rise apartments. From the air it appeared as if Monaco was no different to places like Seoul in Korea or Bratislava in Slovakia in terms of the amount of apartments squeezed in a small space – except they are worth 100 times more! I set off on foot from the Heliport for the short walk to the stadium. Or so I thought….Despite looking very close to the harbour where we had landed, I could not find the stadium for the life of me! There were a few fans milling around, but nobody could actually see where the entrance was. I found a petrol station where the end behind the goal should have been, I found a supermarket where the main stand where I would have put a main stand, and where the pitch shoudl have been there was a park. With few fans around the stadium I couldn’t even follow the crowd to the stadium. I was about to ask one of the petrol pump attendants when I saw Gerard Houllier walking down the road. So I followed him.

Ten minutes later Monsiour Houllier went into a posh looking restaurant close by the station, leaving me looking like a stalker. Fortunately, the walk had taken me up the hill far enough so that I could see the stadium down below and the error of my ways. So I headed back down the hill, through the small gap between the petrol station and the supermarket and there in front of me was the Stade Louis II.

I was expecting great things from the stadium, and I was very disappointed. I only popped in to pick up my accreditation and expected red carpet, canopies and champagne on offer, but instead there was just concrete everywhere. Armed with my latest lanyard I headed off across town to the International Congress Centre for the Champions League draw, and my chance to rub shoulders with Mourinhio, Ferguson and Wenger. Err No. The media went in via press entrance (in this case the back entrance through the kitchen) and were in a separate part of the hall to the main dignitaries. It was good to see some of the reaction to the draw, as well as the surprise on some of the faces, even during the “practice” draw when Man Utd were drawn against Barcelona and Fenerbahce.

So with the formalities over with I decided to go and sample some of the high life and went for a drink in Hotel de Paris – well if it was good enough for Sepp Blatter a few minutes ahead of me I thought it would serve my modest tastes. Mr Blatter and I actually go back a few years, having shared the same hotel for a few nights in Coimbra during Euro2004 in Lisbon. We often shot the breeze around the pool on those non game summer days. actually there is an element of truth here and it is not just fantasy. Mr Blatter and his entourage were indeed staying at the same palatial hotel as me and at the time I was writing a thesis on Corporate Governance for my MBA. I was focusing on the collapse of the Parmalat empire, which had serious ramifications for AC Parma in Serie A and I managed to speak to a member of his staff concerning the issue, and even got a quote from FIFA that gave me a couple of credit marks in the final appraisal. Sepp had obviously forgotten me as whilst he was driven in his Chrysler Gran Voyager from the ICC (all 200 yards),I had to walk. Located opposite the Casino, and on the route of the Grand Prix, the hotel has long been the most opulent in the principality and has featured in a number of films. Interestingly enough, my mother claims that the character Charles Wells from the legendary story (and film) “The Man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo” which was filmed here is part of the Fuller family somewhere down the line.

I passed the first test of the day by at least having a shirt on, and was ushered inside by an immaculate doorman. I toyed with the idea of a Martini (shaken not stirred) but that was a bit naff, so went for the universal accepted drink of a Gin & Tonic (specifically asking for Bombay gin to add a touch of class). It was the best G & T I had ever had, which was probably expected considering who the barman had probably served in the past but the €20 bill was a little bit of a shock, even by Monaco’s standards.

There is really not a lot of “touristy” things to do in Monaco. Casino check, Hotel de Paris check but what everyone wants to do is to drive the Grand Prix route. Fortunately help is on hand. Outside the Casino was a special motorbike taxi that for €20 would take you anywhere in the principality. I asked him to take me to the stadium, but via the GP route and off we set, taking the corners on the infamous down hill stretch with ease and racing through the long tunnel under the ICC. At least it is one more thing to tick off your list as a “done that”.

With a couple of hours to kick off I headed inside the stadium once I had dismounted the bike and took up my seat in the media area, which like the entrance area was quite frankly a dump. The food was bland and there was no free drink on offer. The best part was looking out of the windows and watching with VIP’s and dignitaries were arriving. I saw Michel Platini, Sepp, Eusabio, Enrique Inglesias and Michael Schumacher in the space of 30 minutes obviously very keen on getting inside for their beef stew and flat coke.

Another strange fact about the stadium is it has a tiny media area within the arena. So for such a high profile game when the media descend on the stadium once a year you would thought they would put in extra facilities. Not a chance. I took my cramped seat, like 90% of the rest of the media with not area to write or work, which in some ways is a good thing because it means I can concentrate on the game.

With 30 minutes to go before kick off, the familiar figure of Silvio Burlesconi and his huge minders walked around the pitch, fresh from having a word with the referee (perhaps). He really is a tiny man, and you have to wonder if it is a good idea to surround himself with such big men as it just makes him look tiny (Imagine Ronnie Corbett surrounded by the likes of Hulk Hogan and Lawrence Dallaglio). The game was going to be very emotional for the Spanish. Just two days before their young midfielder Antonio Puerta, who had collapsed in the previous weekend’s game versus Getafe, had died of complications after a heart attack. The game was in doubt for a brief while, but the Spanish wanted to play in his memory.

A very moving minute’s silence was held with the Seville team all wearing shirts with his name and number on the back. The Milan Tifosi also showed their respect by unfurling a huge banner with the name of Puebla on it and walked this around the pitch to the Seville fans. The game was always going to be tense and emotional, but credit must be given to both teams for attacking from the first whistle. Renato gave Seville the lead early in the game with a free kick that the whole Milan team misjudged. The celebrations were a sign of the release of a lot of emotion, and for once the lighting of the flares was seen as a mark of respect not a sign of trouble.

After the break Milan came out a different team, as if they had allowed Seville to win the first half. Filippo Inzaghi, a man who has no concept of the offside rule always plays the percentages in that if he is given offside 10 times then at least once the officials will get it wrong. That was the case here when a blatant decision was missed and he was allowed to equalise.

Marek Jankulvosky put Milan into the lead for the first time, and after this goal the Spanish faded from the game. A last minute penalty from Kaka was saved by the goalkeeper but he managed to head in the rebound. As a final mark of respect the deeply religious star lifted his short to show a picture of Puebla.

Milan took the cup for the second time in four years, and I stayed around for the celebrations and fireworks for a while, but I was conscious that I had to get the last train from Monaco to Nice airport where I was staying. One thing I wasn’t disappointed to see was that Monaco station was as ramshackle as most, with poor signage, no announcements and dodgy people wandering around. The journey back took nearly an hour – slightly longer than my initial helicopter trip – back to the real world after a taste of the life of luxury. I made it back to the hotel after wandering across the railway line, motorway and beach just in time for a beer in the bar. The price – a bargain €10 for a Stella. Not quite Monaco standards but still completely overpriced. Thank God for my modest expense account!