Tax-exile grand prix
Taki Theodoracopulos
Monte Carlo Penned to the water's edge by the Alps behind it, huddled around the polluted grey harbour and scrambling upward for extra space, the concentrated form of Monaco burst at the seams last Sunday. The 368-acre plot of Ruritanian real estate took the form of Noah's Ark for the huddled masses, the rich and the tax exiles.
First the huddled masses. More than 300,000 of them mostly Italian and French poured across Monaco's undefended borders in motorised columns of small cars with souped-up engines. With them came tents, camping equipment, baby carriages, rubber dinghies, model aeroplanes, bicycles, picnic baskets and the rest of the accoutrements needed to survive a weekend among the idle rich. The invading army wore sandals, net shirts, blue jeans and paper hats. After paralysing the streets of the Principality
. they pitched their tents in every available square foot.
The dispossessed were less obvious in arriving. The winds of political change had already blown them out of Beirut's seaside resorts, Rome's Via Veneto, and Estoril's casinos. Silently they had infiltrated Monaco through Barclays, Lloyds and First National. The very rich did not have to come in. They were already part of Monaco, whose main and only industry consists of parting the rich from their money. The tax exiles were nowhere to be seen. Some of them, like Bjorn Borg, playing tennis in America, others hiding behind false beards or in the bowels of rented yachts from roving bands of gossip columnists.
The Principality has a population of 20,422, only 2,696 of whom are Monegasques. Fortunately some of the invading humanity spilled over to Cannes. Hundreds of gossip columnists, ordered by their editors to get both stories or else, tried to commute between the Monte Carlo Grand Prix and the Cannes Film Festival. But as the roads clogged up, overloaded telephone lines broke down and helicopters for hire were grounded due to overuse.
The overspill and the mass suicide of the gossip vendors, however, made it possible for the Monaco police to find room in Ruritania for the drivers to practise. Dressed like Ronald Colman in Prisoner of Zenda uniforms, they batoncharged the multitudes and eventually blocked off the streets for the Grand Prix. Cries of 'Fascist pigs' and 'Power to the people', were heard, for the first time in the Principality. Italian anarchists wearing Gucci shoes, flung their Cartier watches at the police. Realising the danger, Prince Rainierand Princess Grace decided to mollify the people by throwing •a party. On Friday night they invited 2l10 guests to dinner in the Palace. Among them were the King of Sweden and his Queen, David Niven, Baron Heiriy Thyssen a recent Monaco arrival from war-torn Switzerland, Jackie Stewart, James Hunt, some Spanish princesses of unknown quality, and Philip Junot, Princess Caroline's plebeian fiancé. Nigel Dempster was later discovered trying to crash the party, *and was unceremoniously thrown out.
While the royal party was taking place; uninvited jet-setters tried to drown or sniff away their embarrassment at Regine's, the local pub. At £75 the bottle, the champagne flowed throughout the night. Police reinforcements had to be called to stop German tycoons from breaking down the doors of the place once it was filled to the rafters, and then again when the lines in front of the pub's lavatories got unruly over the time people would take in the loo. As one jet setter said: 'These rich Germans have no manners. They take ten minutes to have a sniff of coke. What are we supposed to do? Sniff in public?' Across the road from Regine's the Rococo Casino was also doing overflow business. Milanese tycoons wearing masks because of the recent kidnappings in Italy gambled away millions; Arab Potentates went on dining while dispatching flunkies to bet thousands of dollars on a single roulette nutriber. Thirty two brave Englishmen were arrested and roughed up when they foolishly tried to change their pounds for chips.
On Saturday, the Cossack-like police force once again went to Work. This time they ordered all the yachts to move away from the northern side of the harbour in case a racing car got out of control. The yacht set resented it but eventually complied. The time trials were under way. Monte Carlo is essentially a road circuit, a true driver's course, unlike the high speed ovals of Monza or Indianapolis where engine performance comes first and driving ability second. The course has all the natural hazards of the road manhole covers, adverse cambers, rough patches and bumps. It goes up past ornamental balustrades, shop windows, the Hotel de Paris, the Casino, dips down past night clubs and new luxury hotels, curves around a tunnel into the harbour, and winds around, finally reaching the 'Place d'honneur' where the Rainiers sit out the two-hour spectacle.
The circuit measures 1.97 miles to the lap and there are seventy seven laps. It requires 1,500 gear changes and 160 miles are covered in less than two hours. Due to the circuit's narrowness oniY twenty cars take part. Thus, the thne trials not only determine who will take part but also decide pretty much who has a real chance of winning. Once behind, it is impossible t get past and the smart drivers press the leaders hoping to force them into committing a fault. The type °f man who used to race disappeared. It used to be an esoteric event with a few dare-devils, some rich, others noble, all of them romantically inclined towards danger and death. For little or no mane); they would throw down a last glass °` champagne, kiss some actress goodhYe and roar off. There were no guard rai]s' no wire fences, no haystacks, fir°, marshals and fireproof suits. They coal° all be seen celebrating the night before, and after, at the Tip-Top or the Hotel de Paris. Not any more. Professional and businesslike drivers such as Niki La0d3' Jody 'Scheckter and James Hunt, living,3,1,5 tax exiles and constantly conferring "'ci their business managers, cannot aff01* such lightheartedness. The drivers are now walking billboards. Everything they wear, drink or do is fbrf commercial gain. They are extensions ° the outdoor advertising industry. TheiYt are required to be at least 50 per °engineers. On Sunday afternoon, Pre"' cisely at 3.30, the race got under Wt.
Round and round they hurtled,
figures unrecognisable except for tria cigarette and petrol advertisements 7.,h their cars, as distinguishable from ete other as astronauts bouncing about t'd moon the Italian anarchists screatne„ for Ferrari and Lauda (even anarchis"s are chauvinistic in Italy), cursed hirn ar, he failed to overtake the South Afric:'; Jody Scheckter, who won by hall
second. the
Sunday night Monte Carlo in words of playboy Gunther Sacks I reminded him of a Cuban whorehouscl during Batista's days. The French atl,..„ Italian invaders began the long retreat 'ill. gunning their motors, and hooting theeir horns. Young Arabs revved LIP their fathers' Rolls-Royces while their inha sive mothers sat eating their dates. ding Germans, their ham-like faces explo after a weekend of rich Provencal f000 wine and sun, roared off in unis°°.ar their Mercedeses for the four-sa,b5 restaurant closest to Monaco. The Ar,,ier moved their yachts to. Cannes for heaiv'ate gambling. The Greeks flew their Pr.ta, planes back to more cosmopoIR to setting, while the English began ;h. thumb rides back up to the frozen Or st And Nigel Dempster was af to Tropez, following Princess Caroline.
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