How the Other Half Live in Monaco

There’s something about Monaco that quietly dares you to keep up. A place where time slows down just enough for you to notice how fast everyone else is moving. The cars, the jewellery, the silent glances. It’s a city built on precision and style. Everything looks perfect because it almost is.

But beyond the flash, there’s something far more interesting. The restraint. The man in the linen suit with no logo in sight. The woman in silk walking past a Bugatti like it’s a streetlamp.

I used to write for the luxury yacht world. Long copy about champagne fridges and master cabins bigger than most homes. Monaco was always there in the background. Whispering. A place that taught me how to speak about luxury without ever raising my voice. It sharpened my eye for taste. For elegance. For what doesn’t need to be explained.

And for all its surface glamour, the moment that stayed with me most wasn’t a car or a watch or a yacht. It was a stillness. A quiet view over the marina. A warm breeze. And one question that changed everything.

I got engaged here. To a woman who steadied everything in me.

Among all the theatre and movement and soft chaos, that moment was ours. Honest. Simple. The kind of memory I carry with me wherever I go. Something to hold onto when life moves too fast. When things get loud. A reminder that what matters most doesn’t shine or shout. It just stays with you.

The other half might live in Monaco.
But I left with something far more meaningful.