Come for the Corbusier, stay for the Grand Prix, I suppose. The engines’ whine was clearly audible from the cabin’s front door (I’ve placed a red rectangle around Monaco in the previous blog entry) so in the evening, after the race had ended, I snuck in to see how the city had adjusted itself to the spectacle. The Gran Prix is unusual because it takes place on the city’s streets rather than on a race track. I didn’t walk the whole course but I did explore the harbor, which the surrounding hillside cups like a grand natural amphitheater.
The top panorama pictures the cove toward the end of the evening. The water is filled with multi-million dollar yachts and the red cranes to the right are busy disassembling barriers and a huge television screen. I’ve placed a red rectangle around where I took the next panorama, just below, earlier in the evening. For me to walk on those bleachers a few hours earlier would have cost 750 Euros, because the race circled the harbor where the yellow moving van and red truck can be seen. On the other side of the road are the yachts, which comfortably replace the American skybox or the RV parked in the middle of a NASCAR competition.
The third image is taken from the opposite direction, standing alongside the track. I include it to reiterate the relationship between stands and yachts and to look with a little more depth at the road boundary mechanism. Here, barriers keep rogue formula 1 racecars in as much as they keep rambunctious spectators out. The setup consisted largely of highway guide rails, chain-link fencing, and lashed-together automobile tires (the chain-link fencing has already been taken down here). Tires struck me as slightly morbid but I suppose it’s a bit like the native Americans using every part of the buffalo.
Unlike other urban celebrations I’ve seen, the Gran Prix is decidedly non-participatory, at least for the duration of the race. It is a carefully regulated linear spectacle, with controlled viewpoints (120 Euros for standing room) and constructed seating. It paralyzes the city for a brief, spectacular, and incredibly lucrative spasm and then life continues and street traffic resumes….only in this case, street traffic consists of Lamborghinis and trophy wives and the life consists of gambling and martinis on the rocks. I thought I had it good to be paid to travel for a year but this event left me feeling absolutely insignificant in the socio-economic scheme of things.
