A
European Tour- Prague to Monte Carlo
“He who lives in harmony
with oneself, lives in harmony with the world-” Marcus Aurelius
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| 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.
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| 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.)
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| 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.
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| 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.”
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| Marcus Aurelius |
Want to see how this one ends? Please click the link below for Part II:
https://libertinereflections.blogspot.com/2018/07/european-journey-part-ii-monte-carlo.html
Also, if you like stories about exotic places you should check out my extended travelogue of my month in India:
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