The other big event on the Cote d’Azur other than the Cannes film festival in May is of course the Formula 1 Grand Prix. Since we were in the middle of moving flats, and also because of last year’s less-than overwhelming race experience, I decided to not go and see the actual race this time (it makes much more sense on the telly, anyway…).
But since Kartsa, a mate from the UK who works for MacLaren as a mechanic was naturally in Monaco, I couldn’t very well pass over the opportunity to catch a pint or two. Just take the train there, have a couple of pints, then head back on the last train. Simple, right? Not…
Everything started well, as I took the train to Monaco (well, apart from the 20 minutes delay). As I got out of the train, I quickly realised to my horror that SNCF (the French railroads company) had kindly decided to go on a mini-strike (which meant that the last two trains were cancelled) – excellent timing I must say… Well, no matter, I figured I could take a night bus (I mean last year, I only waited for about 1 hour…). So I wasn’t too worried as I strolled down to meet Kartsa, who was accompanied by another Finn, Petri, who was also in the racing biz. After a couple of not-too-ridiculously overpriced beers sold at a street stand (only about 6 euros for a pint), we headed over to the bar across the street (the name of which I forget), to have the more “normal F1 weekend” priced beers (10 euros each). Here we were joined by Mari (who was visiting the Cote d’Azur for a few days) and Veronique (a friend of Mari’s), and we also bumped into some other MacLaren guys including Spencer the tire wiz.
The atmosphere was great, just as last year. So it like a bit of a pity to leave – but I figured with our move and everything, I better be in bed not too late. So I headed off to the night bus stop just after midnight. And waited. And waited. Then decided to have a F1 weekend-priced cappuccino (5 euros) in the bar next doors. And waited some more. In fact, I waited 3 f***ing hours! Taking a taxi even crossed my mind at some point (although that would’ve cost probably in the region of 150 euros) – but that wasn’t even a possibility (the taxis wouldn’t even take people as far as Nice). Well, at least there were plenty of people in the same situation as me – so the atmosphere was one of resigned solidarity rather than impotent fury.
The bus journey itself can’t be described as a pleasure either – as I had to stand for most of the 1-hour trip. And of course that wasn’t it for me – I still had to change to ANOTHER bloody night bus at the airport – which I had to wait for about an hour for… (this one was “only” half an hour late). Creeping into bed has rarely been such a pleasure as it was tonight – at 5:30 AM…
And the race? Nothing much to write home about, to be honest. It rained, and both of the Finns did poorly. So just as well I didn’t go and see the race.
But since Kartsa, a mate from the UK who works for MacLaren as a mechanic was naturally in Monaco, I couldn’t very well pass over the opportunity to catch a pint or two. Just take the train there, have a couple of pints, then head back on the last train. Simple, right? Not…
Everything started well, as I took the train to Monaco (well, apart from the 20 minutes delay). As I got out of the train, I quickly realised to my horror that SNCF (the French railroads company) had kindly decided to go on a mini-strike (which meant that the last two trains were cancelled) – excellent timing I must say… Well, no matter, I figured I could take a night bus (I mean last year, I only waited for about 1 hour…). So I wasn’t too worried as I strolled down to meet Kartsa, who was accompanied by another Finn, Petri, who was also in the racing biz. After a couple of not-too-ridiculously overpriced beers sold at a street stand (only about 6 euros for a pint), we headed over to the bar across the street (the name of which I forget), to have the more “normal F1 weekend” priced beers (10 euros each). Here we were joined by Mari (who was visiting the Cote d’Azur for a few days) and Veronique (a friend of Mari’s), and we also bumped into some other MacLaren guys including Spencer the tire wiz. 
The atmosphere was great, just as last year. So it like a bit of a pity to leave – but I figured with our move and everything, I better be in bed not too late. So I headed off to the night bus stop just after midnight. And waited. And waited. Then decided to have a F1 weekend-priced cappuccino (5 euros) in the bar next doors. And waited some more. In fact, I waited 3 f***ing hours! Taking a taxi even crossed my mind at some point (although that would’ve cost probably in the region of 150 euros) – but that wasn’t even a possibility (the taxis wouldn’t even take people as far as Nice). Well, at least there were plenty of people in the same situation as me – so the atmosphere was one of resigned solidarity rather than impotent fury. The bus journey itself can’t be described as a pleasure either – as I had to stand for most of the 1-hour trip. And of course that wasn’t it for me – I still had to change to ANOTHER bloody night bus at the airport – which I had to wait for about an hour for… (this one was “only” half an hour late). Creeping into bed has rarely been such a pleasure as it was tonight – at 5:30 AM…
And the race? Nothing much to write home about, to be honest. It rained, and both of the Finns did poorly. So just as well I didn’t go and see the race.
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