A strange principality and microstate nestled in the corner of France on the border of Italy, Monaco is commonly associated with glamour and casinos where the rich and famous walk between luxury hotels and perfect shorelines to their supercars filled with cash. They even have a king. I was excited to pull up to a life of luxury with high hopes of being invited onto a mega yacht by supermodels after doing a quick lap of the Formula 1 circuit. As you can tell by the low-down placement that was not what happened. Monaco is a shithole. I don’t even know if I am meant to call it Monaco or Monte Carlo, I don’t think anyone knows. I don’t care. The buildings were grimy eyesores and the harbour was dirty and devoid of any crown toting royals. My plans to cruise around the street race circuit was a nightmare. I couldn’t even find it and it was not as free flowing as I would’ve hoped. The expensive cars were in abundance and clogged up the famous roads and every nervy hill start was a horror show of sweat as Fanny rolled back towards the plush front end of a Rolls Royce before pulling herself up the slope moments before a costly collision. Every hill start was a nerve-wracking experience and we had no idea where we were meant to be going. Camping spots were hard to come by and one narrow road which offered hope came to a dead end where I had to do a million-point turn whilst being yelled at by an angry local. Heading down the hills was equally as terrifying, especially when the engine cut out and we thought we were heading to a cliff edge plummet that was cartoon worthy. The misery was compounded when somewhere along the way the exhaust end fell off the van. Sleeping on a hill was a sweaty nightmare and we did not find any supermodels. All in all, it was a very confusing and stressful experience. Definitely not a place to try and attempt vanlife. Will not return.