It may be the most exclusive event on the Grand Prix calender but Monte Carlo can be done on a budget, writes Barbara McCarthy.
In the world of Formula 1, probably only about 10 per cent of the people you meet could name more than three drivers on the circuit. In Monte Carlo this weekend, this will definitely be the case.
But who cares? The screaming engines, smoking tyres, casinos and sunshine will be enough to attract the champagne drinking playboys this industry thrives on.
Every year, once the Cannes Film festival is over, Europe's royalty, movie stars and bikini-clad supermodels make the next lap of their annual pilgrimage to the small European principality. As I found out last year, you don't need a 100-foot yacht to be part of the celebrations. This last bastion of wealth and decadence is no longer reserved for the disgustingly rich, and any self-respecting Formula 1 fan or otherwise can gatecrash.
Taking the budget air option, you have to fly to London first, which we did on Friday night, then on to Genoa early the next morning. The flights cost about €110, with tax, each. They can be cheaper, depending on when you book them.
On arrival in Genoa, we hired a soft-top sports car (did I say soft-top sports car? Ah yes, that was from the money saved from the low air fare). It was €178 and we needed something comfortable because we didn't have anywhere to stay yet.
The drive along the coast takes about two hours on the motorway and three to four hours if you take the scenic route. We took the scenic route along the Ligurian coastline, which isn't half bad on a sunny Saturday morning.
Hotels cost about four times their usual price so it's important to get close to Monte Carlo without actually staying in Monte Carlo. As luck would have it we got a room in nearby Menton for €45 each, hurrah. We had a few drinks there and then took a 15-minute taxi ride to Monte Carlo which cost about €20. It's good to get there before sunset so you can check out the boats on the harbour and later catch the fireworks.
I went to Imola in 1996 and paid about €250 for tickets, so there was no way we were buying this time round. But this is the only race of the season where tickets aren't necessary. With more balconies per capita than anywhere else, I was sure we'd meet someone nice who would let us share their view. For free of course. That someone turned out to be Mario, who we met at the Rascasse bar, at the famous hairpin of the Virage Rascasse. Why you meet a guy called Mario every time you go on holiday I don't know, but this one was to deliver the goods.
With all these taxing administrative tasks out of the way the celebrations could truly begin. The nightlife in Monaco is normally quite geriatric, but when thousands of Formula 1 pundits and beautiful people turn up to play it's pretty damn good. I spotted some of Monaco's young royals at a few of the hip bars, where, not surprisingly, drinks were half the price they are here.
I didn't make much of an effort regarding clothing as I felt that anything I own looked like it was picked up in East Germany pre-1989, even though in this place, for girls at least, less is more.
We went to all the bars in town as well as the Casino and the Hotel de Paris before we went to Jimmyz. It's the most sought-after hotspot in town and is a bit away from the centre. It wouldn't normally be my kind of place, but you have to see it to believe it.
The queues outside were tremendous and we had to wait about 45 minutes to get in.The guest list on a night like this reads like a who's who, so the chances of getting in are slim. Girls have it easier, though anyone not size eight may want to consider liposuction, botox or collagen implants.
Inside, I thought it important to chat up a rich Arab as quickly as possible. My trusty sidekick, however, had already made her way to the bar with a €50 note to order two glasses of champagne. A further €109 was required. The colour had totally drained from her face when she arrived at the table with the half-filled glasses. We had to sit down beside Ivana Trump to deal with this tremendous faux pas.
The prices, however, didn't stop the other punters from buying magnums of Cristal. I believe a bottle of water cost around €56 and remember saying to the young gentleman beside me that it was a bit on the expensive side. He agreed; he had spent €60,000 himself that night. Easily done.
I vaguely recall drinking someone's Mai Tai before we said our goodbyes to Ivana and left. It was about six in the morning, but still kicking.
I hope they don't remember us this year, because I found an unopened bottle of water beside my bed the next day and I don't recall buying it on the way home.
The next day I drank the €56 bottle of water and it tasted divine. We then had to leg it to Monte Carlo where we had arranged our rendezvous with Mario. On race day, there's a great buzz about the town but traffic is manic and parking spaces are scarce so we had to park on the other end of town and run across to make the 2 p.m. kick-off. I got the feeling that Mario was a little shocked by our appearance, I think we may have looked a little better in the moonlight.
But it was too late, we were there and, had it not been so difficult to get a phone line, we could have rung everyone to tell them about our blag. And what a beautiful blag it was too: first-class seating along with a first-class meal and wine, and enough horsepower to blow away my hangover.
The funny thing about a live Grand Prix is that you see very little, no matter where you sit, but would I rather be in the comfort of my living room? I think not. It was also refreshing to know that you can enjoy such a high-class weekend break for the kind of money you would spend on a low-class weekend in Dublin.
We had to leave straight after the race to catch our flight home and avoid traffic. We flew to London, stayed with a friend and flew to Dublin the next morning and, like any good anti-climax, I had to go straight to work. Worst of all, by bus. Ouch.