Reflections of a Libertine: A European Tour- Prague to Monte Carlo

A European Tour- Prague to Monte Carlo

“He who lives in harmony with oneself, lives in harmony with the world-” Marcus Aurelius

Prague- One of the Most Beautiful Cities in Europe

After I graduated from college I decided to do the typical three-month European backpacking tour that many young Americans do. It seemed like a good idea before starting adult life, but once I stumbled onto Prague in the mid-90s, I threw out all my plans and decided to stay there for a while. It was an exciting and different place in the middle of a cultural transformation. After my money ran out, I got a job cooking at a vegetarian café/lounge for around $1.50 an hour. I pulled in roughly $200 a month. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to live on back in those early post-Velvet Revolution days, but my father, who’d paid for my college education, couldn’t understand any of it and after a few months demanded that I come back to the U.S. and start a real job.

“I didn’t pay for you to go to college so that you could be a short order cook in Czechoslovakia!” he yelled at me on a particularly stressful phone call before adding, “If you don’t come home now- never call me again!” This proved to be the last time I would speak to him for over a year, but I deeply felt that I had to stay in Prague to see what life would send my way.

Over a year later, I heard that my father, his wife and my aunt and uncle were going on a vacation to Spain. They were planning on renting a car and driving from Madrid to Seville, Cordoba and Granada with a short stay over in Toledo on the way down. I hadn’t left Prague city limits for a year and had never been to Spain, so the trip sounded really good. I called up my old man and suggested that it was time to bury the hatchet. I then mentioned his trip to Spain. He knew what I was after and told me, “I’ll tell you what- if you can be at the Madrid airport when we arrive, you can join us. I’ll pay for your hotels and food, but you’ll have to get to and from Spain on your own.”

He was always a stickler on this kind of stuff, but I agreed to the terms. “Sounds good- I’ll see you in Madrid!” I told him and hung up the phone.

A few days before they were to arrive, I filled my backpack with clothes, books and as much cheap Czech wine as I could carry and headed to the train. The ride would take me south to Vienna, then west through Northern Italy and southern France to Barcelona and then over to Madrid. In Europe, train tickets are valid for months and you’re allowed to get on and off as many times as you like if it’s along the route. I managed to scrape up a few hundred dollars for the entire trip, so while it would be tight, I planned a few stops at some select cities along the way that I’d never been to.

I took the overnight to Vienna and then grabbed an early morning train to Italy. Being a literature major and lover of Shakespeare, I decided Verona would be my first stop. It was around 4pm when I got into the fair city where Romeo and Juliet took place. I found a cheap room by the station, packed a smaller backpack with essentials (books, wine, etc.) and went to explore the city.

Verona's Coliseum

Verona is a picturesque Italian town with its own mini-Coliseum. I’ve always been a student of Roman history, so the place really appealed to me. After walking around a bit, I picked up some Italian meats, cheeses and bread at a deli for about $10 and went into the Coliseum. It was a beautiful and historic place. It was also empty with no guards and tourists were few and far between. I sat down under a late afternoon sun, opened a bottle of Czech wine and rolled a joint. I then ate, drank, wrote some postcards and an entry into my journal and read some Marcus Aurelius. It seemed like an appropriate read for the place. After a couple hours, as the sun was setting, I made my way back to the hotel. I showered and then had some drinks at a cool little bar. It was a perfect start of my European tour.

The next morning I caught an early train to Milan, transferred to Genoa and again to Monaco. My next stop was Monte Carlo to see this notoriously elegant city and to gamble at their famous casino. I arrived around 5pm. Unlike most cities in Europe, Monte Carlo discourages “transient tourists” and doesn’t have any place to store luggage at the train station. I had a monster backpack but was determined to get to the casino, so I walked around and went into every hotel I could find to see if a concierge would hold my bag for a few hours before I’d catch the overnight train to Barcelona.

My quest for a kind concierge was quite disheartening. No one would take my backpack and they weren’t nice about it either. After forty minutes of rejection, I decided to try one more place and if they said no, I’d give up and go to Nice for dinner instead. When I entered the next boutique hotel, the guy at reception must have seen the anguish in my eyes.

“Excuse me, is there any chance you could hold my backpack for a few hours so I can take a look around the city?” I asked in a voice betraying no hope of a positive answer.

Surprisingly, this was the moment when things shifted: “Oh, I really should not,” he struggled out, “But, since our restaurant is closed today, I could put it there for you.”

I thanked him profusely and dropped off the backpack. I’d already changed into my best clothes before arriving, which were a pair of raggy Levi’s and a worn flannel shirt. (Living for over a year on $200 a month didn’t leave a budget for clothes.)

Port Hercule in Monte Carlo

I then made my way toward the casino via the port. Once at Port Hercule, I stopped gobsmacked. The sun was setting and the Mediterranean was a deep, rich blue like I’d never seen before. Yachts were gracefully coming and going and the backdrop was this little elegant city surrounded by lush rolling hills. It was stunning. It seemed to be the most beautiful place on earth. I decided to roll a joint in honor of such beauty, so I sat on a mooring post and rolled one up on my lap. As I sat there, the worst dressed person in Monte Carlo, watching the sun slip behind the hills, but still sparkle off the sea smoking a joint as elegantly dressed citizens strolled by in shock and horror, a previously unknown level of beauty and refinement presented itself to my youthful mind.

The Casino de Monte Carlo

Once that realization passed, I walked up to the Casino de Monte Carlo. Just walking into a posh place of such architectural beauty was intimidating. I registered at the reception and received many scowling glances from everyone who saw me. It was painfully clear that in my attire, I floated among the rich like a putrid fart in an elevator.

When I entered the floor of the casino I couldn’t find any of the games I expected. It was all baccarat and roulette. I asked a casino employee if they had blackjack, “Of course not, Monsieur,” he said, clearly offended that I would suggest such a thing, “This is the European casino. You need to go to the American casino for that game.”

“American casino? Oh, where’s that?”

He reluctantly told me how to get there (it was only on another floor, not another building) and off I went.

The American casino lacked the elegance of the European one, but it was crowded. I had $100 to gamble and blackjack was my only hope of making a decent run at it. The table was full, so I stood around drinking gin and tonics, observing, and waiting for a place to open up. I noticed that the other patrons in high-end suits and designer dresses were stealing troubled glances in my direction.

A player finally busted out in front of me and I took his seat. When I sat down, two other players got up and left the table in what appeared to be disgust. I’d never been snubbed by fellow gamblers before, but I shrugged it off- we all have our own path to walk in this life and this was mine. I ordered another drink and cashed in my $100. I then put up the table minimum as my first bet.

When you only have $100 to gamble, you’re really at the mercy of Fate. You need to be hot from the start or you’ll bust out- it’s that simple. Tonight, after getting through so much bad snobbish energy, Lady Luck was waiting to reward me. I won my first five hands.

I started stepping up my bets. I ordered another gin and tonic and some cigarettes and started making some small talk with the players. As the cards kept coming, I started playing two hands when the spot opened up next to me. This is a strategy I always try to employ, as one hand often covers the other and when you’re running hot, you can really make a bank. I was running hot and it spread to the entire table. As time flowed by we were all hooting and hollering as the dealer kept busting and paying us off one hand after another. It was a blast.

The drinks kept coming. The cards kept hitting. I was splitting cards and doubling down. It was a run I’ll never forget.

When I’m winning, I always put some money into my pocket after big hands. Once a chip is off the table, it stays off the table. That’s my rule. About an hour into the session I had over $100 in my pocket and easily another $300 on the table. The other players and I were talking and laughing with each other. A crowd even formed to see what all the noise was about. It’s amazing how winning money can break down social barriers between anyone.

After another hour or so, things shifted again. Understanding these shifts in luck is what separates the good gamblers from the bad. I was young and drunk by now (drinking on an empty stomach) and I started chasing my losses by increasing my bets- a seriously foolish thing to do. The cards were brutal and before I knew it, I was cleaned out and had to leave. The bourgeois crowd was actually sad to see me crash and burn in such a spectacular fashion, but it wasn’t as bad as it looked. I had quietly accumulated a large bulge of chips in my front pocket. When counted, they totaled $425, which was a $325 profit! These winnings would easily fund my entire trip.

I cashed in and made my way back down to the port. The moon had risen and everything was in a nice serene light. I lit a smoke and stared at the spectacular surroundings. What an amazing night! I felt so grateful that I had stayed true to myself and was now at this place experiencing these things instead of wasting my youth in some dreary entry level job back in the States.

My overnight train was still a couple hours away and I was hungry, so I decided to splurge on a nice meal. I stopped at a high-end little restaurant. Now that I was out of the casino, I’d again assumed the role of the worst dressed vagrant in Monte Carlo and the Maître-de looked at me with contempt when I asked for a table. Remembering that a man is only worth his ambition, I took the rudeness as inspiration. I ordered beer and perused the menu. It was quite pricey to say the least, but I was determined to finish Monte Carlo on my terms.

When the waiter came back with my beer, he asked if I was ready to order.

“Yes, Monsieur, I am ready. I’ll start with a soup de Poisson,” I said in my best, pretentious French accent, “and a T-bone steak.”

As I sat there awaiting the best meal I would have since arriving in Europe over a year earlier, it didn’t matter one bit that I was spending over a third of the winnings for it. I was living in the present and fully understood what Marcus Aurelius meant when he said, “We should not fear death, but rather we should fear never beginning to live.”