In Monaco, with eyes wide open

4-1/2 hours. Like clockwork.

I went to bed at 1a last night. 5:30 rolls around. Ping ! Wide awake. Fair play: I did get a nap yesterday afternoon for an hour or two, so that certainly had an affect. But that follows a night in which I crawled into bed -- crawled being the operative word -- at about the time I was waking up today. I crawled into bed at 5:30 on Thursday morning, got up again at 8:30, dragged my ass into the shower, and was fresh and perky for the conference's activities. As if. I won't go into details about what I was doing before 5:30 in the morning, but vodka and Red Bull were complicit, and several moments were spent contemplating toilets and the uniquely smooth surface of porcelain. Wednesday night was the conference's big party with open bars that stayed open well past the time it was wise to be attending them.

The conference is actually why I'm here in Monaco, and I'll say a few words about that in a bit. But first a couple of random observations.

My friend Andrew, who's from England but lives in the US (and works for EMC), told me he loves to say "toilet" when he's hanging out with Americans in Europe, as in, "Do you know where the toilet is?" That of course is what they say in the UK. Americans, he observes, do not like to call the bathroom a toilet (and I confirmed it) because, he says, "You don't like to acknowledge what you're actually using that room for." We like to say we're going to the bathroom or the restroom.

As if we're simply taking a few minutes to rest ourselves. From what? The strenuous activity of dining in a restaurant?

Or as if we're actually stepping away for a quick bath, as we Americans are prone to do. "Excuse me, can you tell me where the bathroom is? I need to bathe myself. We've been telling dirty jokes at the table and I don't feel clean."

Andrew, being British, loves to see Americans squirm.

Another Britishism I like is the expression "Fair play," as I used it above. We would say, "To be fair" or "To be honest," but when the Brits say, "Fair play" -- and it has a subtle meaning we don't pick up here. In typical British fashion it's used in a slightly self-deprecating way. As if to say, I deserved that. "Oh, my back is bloody killing me today. I slept on the couch last night, didn't I? Fair play: I came home from the pub at three, half-cocked, and the wife wouldn't let me through the bedroom door." See what I mean?

I've been surrounded by Brits in this conference, and their dry sense of humor and wry use of language has amused me on a constant basis through the event. I asked Ian, one of the lads who helps coordinate a number of different bits of the conference behind the scenes, where I could find the signage directing people to shuttle buses to take them back to the airport at the end of the conference.

Me: "Ian, I'm looking for a sign."

Ian (completely deadpan): "Well, you might see a blinding flash of light, maybe the face of the Virgin Mary on a piece of toast, that sort of thing."

.....

In my first missive from Monaco, I talked about cars. I don't know why I was so impressed by the price of a Bentley. The next day after telling you all about the $300,000 cabriolet model, I saw a black Mercedes Mclaren in a dealer's window and realized what a bargain the Bentley was.

For only 450,000 euros, you can drive the Mercedes Mclaren out the door. At today's exchange rate, that's a tidy $661,500. The Mclaren is a sports car, and apparently a somewhat speedy one. I think I remember seeing that its engine was rated at 650 hp. Now, I know what you're thinking: No one actually owns a car like that. I mean, who in their right mind would spend that kind of money on a vehicle? Well, last night I saw a silver one parked outside the Monte-Carlo. So apparently someone does see it as a justifiable investment of their after-tax income.

.....

Last year when I went to Rome, I spent several months studying Italian beforehand so that I would at least be able to get by. I didn't pretend I would be able to communicate more than the simplest things, and some of my experiences, as you may recall, were pretty amusing. This year I'll be in Paris without the benefit of having spent any time brushing up. (I did study French for a year in college, but that was a long time ago.) This should be entertaining, and I'll be sure to share any particularly embarrassing stories.

.....

I assumed you all knew why I'm here in Monaco, but I realized (having exchanged e-mails with some of you since) that I hadn't explained the reason for my trip. I'm at my company's annual European user conference. I've been fortunate to have been invited for the past four years (including this one). It's my ticket to Europe. Prior to going to Lisbon in 2004, I didn't own a passport. I'd only been outside the US one time, and that was for about 45 minutes when we crossed into Canada at Niagara Falls. I work on staff at the conference, which makes for a very busy week. It's not a job I would want to do on a regular basis: People who work conferences work very hard for very long hours on very little sleep. I do it because I am truly grateful for the opportunity to travel and see parts of the world I'd only dreamed about previously. After Monaco, for example, I'm going to Paris for a couple of days, a city I've wanted to see for a long time. I really do feel blessed to have had these opportunities.

At this moment I'm sitting in a taxi on my way to the airport in Nice. Leaving Monaco, which I know I haven't told you much about. It's a beautiful city, rising right out of the sea and tucked into a little cove in the mountain range that lines the coastline of southern France. It's an extraordinarily clean city, which might not surprise you considering the amount of money here. But in my limited observation, even wealthy European cities have an accumulated layer of dirt built up over the centuries. Their cobblestone roads are old and small, which of course is part of the charm but not conducive for cleaning. Their buildings -- ancient and architecturally intricate -- are impossible to keep clean.

Not so in Monaco, where the roads are smooth and well paved, the buildings (like the Monte-Carlo Casino and the old hotels that cozy up to it) are newly painted, and the cars are freshly minted from the factory floor. And the women? In Monaco they are wrapped in Prada and trail in their wake a scent of some complex eau de toilette that leaves an American male like myself acutely conscious of his raw status in the monied world of old Europe.

Au revoir for now.