One Day, One Nation--on Foot

Have you ever walked across a third of a country before lunchtime? Come face to face with a camel or a razor fish? Seen a Revolutionary War submarine? Descended from a manicured cactus garden into a dank, 40-million-year-old grotto? And all that before dinnertime?

These are some of the simple and affordable adventures offered by a destination not generally thought of in terms of simple or affordable anything: Monaco, that well-heeled principality carved out of the southeastern corner of France.

Mention Monaco--or Monte Carlo, its prime address--and predictable images come to mind: high-roller gambling, playboys’ yachts, the Grand Prix and a colorful royal family once gilded by the presence of an American movie queen. But these just form the backdrop for this scenically and culturally rich mini-state on the Riviera. (Monaco takes up less than 400 acres, less than a square mile; by comparison, Los Angeles’ Griffith Park covers about six square miles.)

Extending a bit more than a mile along the sea, the country sets the standard for national compactness. It is this compactness that makes it a walker’s delight. And the limited space for roads--the territory is on the flank of a coastal mountain range--makes walking, combined with breaks on the public transit system, which includes elevators, escalators and funiculars, the preferred way to get around.

You don’t need a passport to enter Monaco from France. No customs booths or signs, no change in language or currency. No visa. In fact, the hiking tour I devised for myself on a break from business last fall originated in France, at the waterfront Marriott just across Monaco’s western border.

I started out early after eating more than I should have at the Marriott’s American-style breakfast buffet. Across the street from the hotel, I entered Monaco. A block or so later, in Monaco’s redeveloped Fontvieille quarter, I passed a state-of-the-art soccer stadium and, in the seaside Fontvieille Park, a bustling heliport.

Small as it is, Monaco has its own airline, in the form of a snazzy fleet of red-and-white helicopters that shuttle between the principality and the international airport at Nice, about 25 miles west. The ride takes less than 10 minutes and, at about $60, costs slightly less than a taxi.

Past the heliport and modernistic conference center is the first of many reminders of the American beauty who for three decades made Monaco virtually synonymous with her persona. This is the Princess Grace Rose Garden, dedicated by the bereaved Prince Rainier III in 1984, two years after her death in an auto accident. Like the former Grace Kelly, the garden, with its 3,500 rose specimens, has a quiet and enduring feel, as well as fresh beauty. I sat for a while on an out-of-the-way bench, and her aura seemed to fill the air.

A stroll down the hill from the garden brought me to the new harbor of Fontvieille, which accommodates the yachts that can’t tie up in the crowded main harbor. At the head of the harbor walk a pedestrian overpass took me across the busy Avenue Prince Albert to the glossy Centre Commercial de Fontvieille. There, amid upscale boutiques (and a discreetly placed McDonald’s), stands a collection of collections that begs a closer look: a museum of vintage cars owned by Prince Rainier, a naval museum billed as a model-ship aficionado’s dream and a stamp and coin museum. I knew if I went into any of them, I would lose track of time, so I kept walking.

Just behind the center is the Animal Garden, a small zoo with a big view. I followed a ramp to the end of the second level, where a lone camel was in residence. He eyed me as I gazed out over Fontvieille harbor and its fringe of high-rise apartment and office blocks. Straight ahead, the Mediterranean. To the left, a massive, sheer rock rising 330 feet from the water, crowned by the tower of a medieval castle. This is Monaco-Ville (informally called “The Rock”), seat of the principality, home to the Grimaldis, who have ruled almost continuously since 1297.

I retraced my steps down to Centre Fontvieille and walked the quarter-mile to the base of the Rock. There are two ways to the top; the public elevator is the easy one. I took the challenge of the Rampe Majeure, a long red brick and concrete walkway. From there, the combined natural and constructed beauty of Monaco comes into play. Inland, rising up the steeply terraced hillside streets, is the old residential quarter, whose buildings seem to perch on one another’s rooftops. At the base is La Condamine, the shopping and commercial heart of the principality. Across the boat-choked harbor, rising on a bluff, is the Monte Carlo quarter, with its legendary hotels, restaurants and nightclubs and signature casino.

After five minutes of huffing and puffing, I passed through a pointed archway dated 1714, constructed just high enough to accommodate the horses and riders that once passed under it. A few steps beyond, another archway opened onto the 18th century. A brightly uniformed sentry wearing a blue pith helmet, rifle at the ready, stood in a toy-like hut guarding the imposing stone palace behind him. His twin marched back and forth, rifle on shoulder. Suddenly a brigade of blue-and-red-outfitted soldiers emerged from the palace courtyard, drums beating, horns playing. I hadn’t planned it, but I was on time for the changing of the guard, a ceremony that unfolds at 11:55 a.m. daily, as it has for hundreds of years.

(Just as these are reminders of the regimented old days, the sign greeting visitors at the entrance to the palace grounds is a reminder that today’s Grimaldis continue to run a tight ship. “Warning: People Wearing Bathing Attire Are Subject to Arrest.”)

Across the wide cobblestone courtyard from the castle is Vieille Ville, the original “old city.” Not more than a couple of square blocks in size, it is a near-perfect living museum. People still reside in the ancient buildings lining its warrens and work here in the elegant Parliament building or the castle. The few streets (pedestrian only) include some attractive but modest restaurants and shops. This would have been a good place to stop for lunch; a couple of cafes had tables outside and inexpensive fixed-price menus, but I was still working off my breakfast.

The narrow, shadowed lanes beyond the stores tempted me to take a detour back in time. The shuttered windows, occasional laundry hanging on a balcony, tarnished copper street lamps, old women sitting in their windows and watching the world go by--it all cast a spell. The echo of my footsteps on the cobblestones could have been from a second ago or a century ago.

I emerged at the cathedral and followed the pretty cliff-top avenue to the far end of the Rock and the venerable Oceanographic Museum, built in 1913 by Prince Albert I (Rainier’s father) and directed for many years by Jacques Cousteau. It’s a stately edifice, and I approached it with enthusiasm.

Inside, my initial impression vanished. Although much of the interior is attractive--intricate frescoes, ornately carved wood--the museum itself was a letdown. Its old-fashioned display cases did not do the exhibits justice.

It was a different story on the museum’s lower level, where the aquarium’s tanks allow underwater viewing of their inhabitants, many of them rare. These include the scorpion fish, a bizarre and ungainly creature that seems to be wearing layers of ornate headdress, and the razor fish, truly as thin and shiny as a razor blade.

The museum also houses some unusual historic watercraft. Of particular interest to American visitors is the Tortoise, which looks like an oversized barrel that has sprouted foot pedals, periscope and snorkel. It was a submarine, the sign said, used in the American Revolutionary War to monitor enemy shipping.

A long stairway descends from the museum terrace to St. Martin’s Garden, a lovingly manicured little waterside park at the base of the Rock. (An escalator takes the weary back up the easy way, and there’s a public elevator outside the adjacent entrance to the Monaco After Dark attraction.)

By then I had covered a third of the principality’s length. Now I wanted to traverse its depth. A bus from the Oceanographic Museum took me across the boulevards and as far as I could go into the hills above Fontvieille. Destination: the Exotic Garden (Jardin Exotique), a park that incorporates a botanic garden of succulents, an archeological museum (containing bones and fossils found in the local mountains) and a prehistoric underground adventure. The setting is almost vertical and provides an unbeatable panorama of Monaco and the Riviera. Its paths spiral down the foothills, under small natural bridges and over little streams.

Beneath the cactus-landscaped mountainside is a 40-million-year-old grotto. Once an hour, guided tours go down to the main chamber. It’s about 300 steps to the bottom; water seeps down the steps, and the air thickens with warm moisture as you descend. Surreal white formations stud the walls. At the bottom are chambers of stalactites and an amazing white calcareous waterfall sculpted geologically over the eons.

After climbing back up the 300 steps, I thought the old city and its castle looked smaller. The gold-domed casino beyond it could have been a movie set.

The roar of the crowd floating up from the soccer stadium shook me out of my reverie. It was time to go back to the hotel and get ready for dinner. If I hadn’t had an appointment, I could have taken a bus back to the base of the Rock and walked to the casino in 20 minutes. And I could have spent the evening strolling its plaza, slipping into the lobbies of the luxury hotels for an off-the-cuff tour of Belle Epoque interior design. Then I could have boasted of doing the entire country, end to end, in a single day.

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Guidebook: Walking Monaco

* Getting there: The airport closest to Monaco is in Nice, France, about 25 miles west. From Los Angeles, connecting service (change of plane) is available on Delta, Air France, Lufthansa, KLM, British Airways and Swissair. Restricted round-trip fares start at $988. Hourly bus service to Monaco costs $8.50 and takes 40 minutes. Taxi fare is about $65, a helicopter flight about $60.

* Where to stay: Hotel de Paris, Place du Casino, 98000 Monaco; telephone 011-377-92-16-3001, fax 011-377-92-16-69-21. This is the place to splurge if you’d like a glimpse of what the highest of high society demands in lodgings. Rooms run $485 to $525 per night, $312 to $405 in midwinter low season. The hotel can be accessed through Internet https://www.monte-carlo.mc, which also lists less expensive lodgings as well as events, activities and restaurants.

I stayed at the Riviera Marriott Hotel Cap d’Ail, Cap d’Ail, 06320 France, tel. 011-33-492-106-767, fax 011-33-492-106-700, https://www.marriott.com. It’s just west of the Princess Grace Rose Garden. Rates in summer high season start at $167 per room for a mountain view, $220 for harbor view.

* Where to eat: The dining room at the Hotel Metropole Palace, 4 Avenue de la Madone, next to the casino, local tel. 93-15-1515, fax 011-377-93-25-24-44, is stately, with old-fashioned service. A three-course dinner with wine runs about $70 per person.

Restaurant St. Nicolas, 6 Rue d’Eglise on “The Rock,” is more casual, with prices to match. Tel. 93-30-3041.

* For more information: Monaco Government Tourist Office, 565 Fifth Ave., New York, NY 10017; tel. (800) 753-9696 or (212) 286-3330, fax (212) 286-9890, https://www.monaco-tourism.com.