La Poste Monaco, Monaco
18 November 2014

This is all an image. The richest place on Earth. Five-and-a-half hours from Paris, they tell me it’s a heartless principality. Here you can walk to the edges, or drive around the hairpin turns. From this rooftop I am facing the pink palace and three hundred days of sunshine. For the Monégasques there’s no space, every inch is worth a fortune. And the house always wins. An improbable playground. A sovereign nation. A rock protected by the oldest of weapons: guile and determination. It doesn’t get any better than this. Can I show you how happy I am here? Here where the cunning one dressed as a monk with a dagger under his cloak. Here where the offspring grow up to be croupiers. I know I’m in Monaco-Ville, and in France’s sights. A tiny corner of the world where a girl from Philadelphia produced a fairy tale. I have looked up at the Gallery of Hercules and pictured her spell. It’s not real life, and it’s not make-believe. It’s the House of Grimaldi and a symbol of personal liberty. I’d like to leave now.
Audrey Reynolds, Monaco