Why is it expensive to live in Monaco

Monaco - Mecca for the rich and famous?

22. 09. 2016

The rich and the beautiful live in Monaco. One could think so. But it's not that simple. Why should you move to a concrete desert where the apartments are expensive and, on top of that, ugly?

OK. The swanky ships in the marina are evidence of money, but the busy people around them with their tight-fitting suits and neat costumes look more like millionaires and not like real bigwigs and certainly not like old money nobility - at least not on this day. It's boat show. And of course it means more than ever: Look more important than you are. It's a shame for me. I would have loved to see the owner of a 100 meter yacht. Now it is the "lackeys", the brokers and shipbuilders who dream of making the deal of their lives here and now, while at the same time "Candle in the Wind" by Elton John sounds out of the boxes in an endless loop. Perhaps it is supposed to put potential buyers in a kind of trance state. Personally, it gives me a catchy tune, and I decide to look for the rich and famous somewhere else - in the legendary Monte Carlo casino.

With wise foresight I put on the short black dress. The casino's homepage says that everyday clothing is allowed during the day, but who wants to go to one of the most legendary houses in the world with flip-flops after sunbathing? That does not fit. Just as little as going to the Oktoberfest in a business outfit.

In front of the pompous casino entrance is a white Lamborghini that apparently belongs to a Saudi prince. The inscription "Royal family of Saudi Arabia" testifies to this. A black Ferrari and a Porsche are parked next to it. A Royce Royce drives up shortly after 8 p.m. "This is the place for me" I think to myself and look forward to watching multi millionaires gamble. A Mediterranean-looking man in jeans and a green and black checked baggy shirt gets out of the Royce Royce - a somewhat irritating sight, but with a little good will it could still be classified in the "understatement" drawer. With high heels and a lightly pounding heart, we go up the stairs to the doorman. The man in uniform takes a quick look in my handbag and lets me pass. Lucky I'm in the large foyer and headed towards the cashier with determination. Anyone who gets this far - and that is, as I now notice, actually everyone - can now enter the holy halls for ten euros, those rooms where so many stars have already come and gone.
Pompous oil paintings hang on the walls. The heavy crystal chandeliers sparkle and exude a flair of glamor and times gone by - a feast for the eyes. Suddenly an Asian woman in jeans dungarees and bathing slippers disturbs my field of vision. She plays roulette. And that at a table where everyone must have bought chips for at least 100 euros - money that said Asian should have invested in a new dress. Fortunately, there is also a roulette table where smaller bets are allowed. I bet five euros on red. The ball stops on black. Also the next times. In the meantime I have gambled away 20 euros, time for a second cocktail - again with an eye on the Asian. Is she luckier than me? In the end, did your jeans dungarees affect the way the ball runs? Or is jeans rather the material from which the dress code habits are turned into their opposite and the moral decline gradually takes its course? And the new rich set the rules that are no longer any longer? My euphoria is gradually disappearing. I dressed up for one of the world's most beautiful casinos and now I'm pretty stupid with my high heels.
I decide to make the next trip to Munich, to the legendary Oktoberfest. There, the woman proudly shows the wood in front of the huts, pushed or unpushed, and pretzels with style - the pretzels are very popular there (little joke). And rich and beautiful can also be seen at the Oktoberfest - so cheers!