As I get older, my relationship with money matures correspondingly. The more I travel, learn of different ways of life, and meet people to whom money represents different things, the more I have come to realise that I don’t like it. I’ll never be rich, and that’s just fine by me!
One of the biggest misconceptions of our time, which thankfully is now beginning to be disproved by many, is that money equates to happiness. I would almost go so far as to say that the inverse is true. Some of the happiest people I have ever met have been those who have very few material possessions but have a strong sense of community and family, and cope with the struggles of poverty supported by each other (a perfect example being Isaya, a ten year old Maasai with no toys who spends his days in the bush with a herd of cows who has the biggest smile I have ever known).
Conversely some of the most miserable, dissatisfied people I have ever seen are those where I am today: Monte Carlo. I am very fortunate (so some would say) to have a friend who lives in Monaco. As I write, I am in her apartment looking out over the harbour, with a view of the Grand Prix race track and the Palace of the Grimaldi royal family. I don’t wish to appear ungrateful, and I have enjoyed seeing my friend for the past few days. But if it weren’t for her I wouldn’t choose to come here for my holidays.
Beautiful as Monaco is; blue sea visible from almost everywhere in town, manicured gardens, elegant well-preserved buildings against a backdrop of towering cliffs, it’s just not for me. It is a country (or Principality to be pedantic) built on the cult of money. There’s no escaping it, and those who have it certainly don’t hide it. Perhaps it part of my Englishness, but I find talking about money and overt displays of wealth to be vulgar. People have no such scruples here. Every car parked in front of the Casino is a Ferrari, and each yacht in the marina is bigger than the last. Wealthy wives spend their days parading between designer shops dressed in furs, accompanied by the obligatory pint-sized dog.
Being the intrepid traveller that I am, I should try to see this experience and the people I have encountered as I would any other exotic tribe. The people of Monte Carlo really do live in a world that is completely alien to me. To each his own, so long as you’re happy and not hurting anyone else. But give me a week in an impoverished Sao Paoloan favela, Mongolian yurt, Inuit igloo or Bedouin tent over Monaco anyday…
Welcome
Well, here we are. I don't know where 'here' is exactly, but I hope you will join me on the journey to find out... Let me start at the beginning. I'm 26 (actually now 28... so the world turns...), female, and British. That's the first few things you will notice about me if we were to ever meet. But there's a lot going on in this here noggin' of mine (that means head in olde english speak by the way). I am writing this blog for myself really, but you are very welcome to pop in to visit every now and then. I can't promise anything mind-blowing or life changing for you, but it may well make you think, laugh or even explore your own mind. I love to write. I also love to travel, meet people, have adventures and generally get the most out of what life has to offer.