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This guide breaks down how New Year’s Eve unfolds in Monaco, where to celebrate, and what to expect.
New Year’s Eve in Monaco is not a single event—it’s a progression. The evening typically begins with long, elegant dinners, transitions into live music and performances, and peaks around midnight with fireworks and nightlife that stretches well into the early hours.
Most restaurants operate on fixed New Year’s Eve menus, often paired with live entertainment. Dress codes lean formal or “elegant chic,” especially in casino-adjacent venues and nightclubs. Reservations are essential, and prepayment is common.
Fine Dining & Gala Evenings
For many visitors, New Year’s Eve in Monaco is about the table. The Principality’s palace hotels and Michelin-starred restaurants treat December 31st as their culinary showcase of the year.
The Hôtel de Paris Monte-Carlo anchors the luxury dining scene, offering multiple New Year’s Eve experiences—from haute gastronomy at Louis XV – Alain Ducasse to panoramic dinners at Le Grill and large-scale gala productions in its grand salons.
Nearby, the Hôtel Hermitage Monte-Carlo delivers a more Belle Époque atmosphere, pairing refined menus with live music and dancing. Expect multi-course tasting menus, champagne included, and service that extends well past midnight.
At the Monte-Carlo Bay Hotel & Resort, the mood shifts slightly toward contemporary elegance, with Michelin-starred dining alongside more relaxed but festive options, often featuring DJs and performers.
These dinners are ideal for couples, food-focused travellers, and anyone who wants the New Year to begin at the table rather than the dance floor.
Monaco’s modern dining scene comes alive on New Year’s Eve. Brasseries and nightlife-driven restaurants blur the line between dinner and party, making them popular with younger crowds and social groups.
Around Place du Casino, venues like Café de Paris set the tone with live music and an energetic atmosphere from early evening onward. Further into the night, celebrity-favoured restaurants turn dinner into a full celebration, with live bands transitioning to DJs and champagne flowing at midnight.
These venues are ideal if you want glamour without formality and prefer movement, music, and crowd energy over a seated tasting menu.
New Year’s Eve in Monaco is also defined by its international influences. Mediterranean, Asian, and fusion restaurants often host themed nights, complete with DJs, dancers, and immersive décor.
Expect Omakase menus, sharing-style feasts, and late seating times designed to carry guests through midnight without changing venues. Many of these restaurants function as full party spaces after dinner, making them a popular choice for groups who want a seamless dinner-to-dance experience.
For travellers staying in Monaco’s major hotels, New Year’s Eve is often just an elevator ride away.
Large hotels host gala evenings with buffet dining, live performances, DJs, and entertainment, making them a strong choice for gatherings. At the same time, luxury hotel restaurants offer curated tasting menus for guests who prefer something more intimate.
These celebrations provide a structured, stress-free way to experience New Year’s Eve without navigating multiple venues.
Nightlife: Where the City Celebrates After Midnight
Once midnight passes, Monaco’s nightlife takes over.
Legendary nightclubs open late and run into the early morning, attracting an international crowd dressed for the occasion. Lounge bars and hotel bars offer a more refined alternative, often with live jazz or vocal performances continuing into the New Year.
If your plan is to dance into 2026, it’s worth securing nightclub entry or table service in advance—New Year’s Eve is one of the busiest nights of the year.
Each year, Port Hercule becomes the centre of the public celebration, with open-access festivities organised by the city. DJs, live music, and food stalls animate the harbour, culminating in a fireworks display at midnight over the water.
It’s the most accessible way to experience the collective energy of New Year’s Eve in Monaco and a favourite option for younger visitors, families, and those celebrating spontaneously.
Book early: Many venues sell out weeks or months in advance.
Expect prepayment: Fixed menus and deposits are standard.
Dress the part: Elegant attire is the norm, especially after dark.
Plan transport: Taxis and ride services are limited late at night—walking is often the easiest option in central Monaco.
Decide your style first: Fine dining, party dining, nightclub, or fireworks—each offers a very different experience.
The story begins in the 4th century BCE, when Greek settlers from Massalia (modern Marseille) established Nikaia, named after Nike, the goddess of victory. The settlement sat strategically near the sea, serving as a trading post between the Mediterranean and inland routes.
Later, the Romans formalized the region’s importance by building Cemenelum (in today’s Cimiez), leaving Nice as a coastal satellite to a larger administrative center. While few visible Roman remnants survive in Vieux Nice itself, the city’s role as a port and crossroads was firmly established.
From the 12th to the 18th centuries, Nice found itself repeatedly caught between competing powers—Provence, Savoy, France, and various Italian states. Control changed hands often, and the Old Town reflects this instability: fortifications, religious institutions, and tightly packed housing designed for both faith and survival.
The Castle, once a key military stronghold overlooking the Old Town, was destroyed in 1706 by order of Louis XIV, permanently altering the city’s skyline but opening the way for Nice’s future expansion.
For centuries, Nice was culturally and politically tied to Italy. Under the House of Savoy, the city shared language, architecture, cuisine, and customs with neighboring Liguria and Piedmont. This Italian heritage is still visible in Vieux Nice’s pastel facades, shuttered windows, baroque churches, and family-run food traditions.
Everything changed in 1860, when Nice was officially annexed by France following a controversial plebiscite. While French administration reshaped governance and education, daily life in Vieux Nice retained a distinctly Italian rhythm well into the 20th century. The Niçois dialect, a blend of Provençal and Italian, continued to be spoken in homes and markets.
Just as important was Cours Saleya, the Old Town’s marketplace. Long before it became a postcard-perfect attraction, it functioned as the city’s pantry—supplying vegetables, fish, flowers, and olive oil. Even today, it remains one of the strongest links between historic Nice and modern daily life.
Yet this marginalization helped preserve it. Large-scale redevelopment largely bypassed Vieux Nice, allowing its medieval layout and historic buildings to survive intact. In the late 20th century, restoration efforts, combined with renewed interest in heritage and tourism, sparked a gradual revival.
Nice’s long-standing identity as a port city and borderland fostered a degree of cultural flexibility. Sailors, artists, seasonal workers, and outsiders passed through regularly, creating pockets of anonymity that allowed LGBTQ+ individuals to exist with slightly more freedom than in rural or more tightly controlled environments. This was especially true in Vieux Nice, where dense living and mixed-use streets blurred the line between public and private life.
In the late 20th century, as LGBTQ+ visibility increased across France, parts of the Old Town naturally became informal meeting points. Bars and cafés—often not explicitly labeled as “gay” spaces—served as social anchors for locals long before rainbow flags became common. This understated integration remains characteristic of Vieux Nice today: queer life is present, normalized, and largely unsegregated from the rest of the neighborhood.
Rather than forming a distinct “gay quarter,” LGBTQ+ residents and visitors have historically blended into the wider social life of the Old Town. That quiet coexistence reflects both the limits imposed by history and the subtle resilience of communities that learned to carve out space without demanding visibility.
Vieux Nice endures not because it has been frozen in time, but because it has adapted—layer by layer—without erasing what came before. It is a place where history isn’t curated; it’s lived.

By the early 20th century, Lo Scoglietto had become a coveted address among Europe’s elite. In the 1920s, it was rented by Consuelo Vanderbilt, Duchess of Marlborough, one of the most famous—and famously reluctant—American heiresses to marry into British aristocracy.
Its reputation only grew. In the 1950s, the villa served as a temporary residence for King Leopold III of Belgium shortly before his abdication, reinforcing its status as a discreet haven for royalty seeking privacy on the Riviera.
The villa’s cinematic chapter began in earnest in 1956, when Charlie Chaplin spent a summer there with his family. Photographs from the period show the silent-film legend enjoying the rocky shoreline and relaxed pace of Cap-Ferrat life—a striking contrast to the global fame he carried with him.
The villa also made a rare on-screen appearance in 1983, when scenes from Trail of the Pink Panther were filmed there. The film became one of Niven’s final screen roles, permanently linking the house to his cinematic legacy.
Following Niven’s death in 1983, the village of Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat honored him by naming the small square in front of the villa Place David Niven—a rare tribute that reflects how deeply he was appreciated not just as a star, but as a neighbor.

In subsequent years, the villa was restored and expanded. In the late 20th century it was acquired by Ana Tzarev and Robert Chandler and lovingly maintained as a private residence.
Today, La Fleur du Cap stands as a discreet landmark of Riviera history: a house shaped by merchants, royalty, silent-film legends, and one of Britain’s most effortlessly elegant actors.
The French parliament has passed a bill that would make the renewal of long-term cartes de séjour automatic, a reform widely seen as a practical and long-overdue modernization of France’s immigration administration.
Under the new legislation, foreigners who already hold long-term residency permits—such as multi-year or long-term cartes de séjour—will no longer be required to repeatedly prove their eligibility each time their card expires, provided their situation has not changed.
In practical terms, this means:
No more routine renewal appointments for eligible long-term residents
No repeated submission of the same documents year after year
No risk of falling out of legal status due to administrative delays
The reform recognizes a simple reality: if someone has lived legally in France for many years, paid taxes, worked or retired legally, and complied with residency rules, forcing them through the same bureaucratic loop serves little purpose.
The biggest winners are long-term foreign residents who are already well integrated into French life, including:
Retirees who renew the same permit again and again
Professionals on long-term contracts
Family members of French citizens or permanent residents
Foreigners who have lived in France continuously for many years
For these groups, the change removes one of the most persistent sources of stress associated with life in France: administrative uncertainty.
French prefectures have been under enormous strain in recent years. Backlogs, staff shortages, and the digitization of procedures—often unevenly implemented—have made residency renewals increasingly slow and frustrating.
By making renewals automatic for long-term residents, the government aims to:
Reduce pressure on prefectures
Free up administrative resources for first-time applicants and complex cases
Bring France more in line with other European countries that already treat long-term residency as stable status rather than a recurring test
In short, it’s a move toward efficiency—and common sense.
Automatic renewal does not mean a free-for-all. Authorities will still retain the right to review or revoke residency permits in cases involving:
Serious criminal convictions
Fraud or misrepresentation
Loss of eligibility (such as prolonged absence from France)
The reform is about eliminating unnecessary repetition, not removing oversight entirely.
For foreigners who have built their lives in France, this reform is more than administrative housekeeping—it’s a signal of trust and recognition. It acknowledges that long-term residents are not temporary guests endlessly on probation, but stable members of French society.
If fully implemented as intended, automatic renewal of long-term cartes de séjour could quietly become one of the most popular quality-of-life reforms for foreigners in France in years—saving time, reducing stress, and letting people focus on living their lives rather than managing paperwork.
The text will now move on to the Senate for review.
The origins of Sainte-Jeanne-d’Arc reflect the upheavals of its time. Construction began in 1914, led by local architect Louis Castel, who completed the foundations and crypt before the outbreak of World War I abruptly halted progress. The project remained unfinished for more than a decade. Work resumed in 1926 under Parisian architect Jacques Droz, later joined by René Lebel, and the church’s main structure was completed in 1933. Despite this, the building was not formally consecrated until 1965, underscoring the long and complicated journey from conception to full ecclesiastical recognition.

The church’s brilliant white exterior once earned it the affectionate local nickname “la Meringue.” While the color and form initially provoked skepticism and even mockery, time has softened opinions. Today, the building is widely recognized as an important work of Art Deco and Art Nouveau–influenced modernism, blending decorative elegance with structural innovation.
Official recognition has cemented the church’s importance. In 1992, it was designated a Monument Historique, and it also carries the “Patrimoine du XXe siècle” label, acknowledging its value as an outstanding example of modern architectural heritage.
To understand the Château de Madrid, you have to return to a moment when the French Riviera was reinventing itself—when imagination, extravagance, and sunlight were the region’s unofficial currencies.
Several dazzling hotel projects were drawn up, some ambitious enough to rival the Carlton in Cannes or the Le Negresco in Nice. But one by one, these Riviera fantasies were abandoned, their blueprints left to gather dust.
Then, finally, one dream became reality.
From its terraces, visitors could take in both the Beaulieu harbor and the deep, luminous curve of the Saint Jean Cap Ferrat peninsula—views so expansive they seemed painted onto the horizon.
The hotel was expanded several times, modified to follow shifting tastes, and updated to meet the expectations of wealthier and more cosmopolitan travelers. But even as it evolved, it never lost its whimsical soul.
In the 1930s, a well-known English novelist stayed at the Château under a pseudonym. He claimed the view from his suite made the Mediterranean look “as if it were listening,” and he drafted an entire chapter of a future bestseller from the terrace overlooking Cap-Ferrat.
In the 1950s, two scandal-struck American heiresses fled New York society and hid at the Château for nearly a month. Staff recalled hearing them dancing barefoot late into the night, gramophone echoing down the stone corridors—determined to forget the headlines waiting for them back home.
Several painters, attracted by the region’s unparalleled winter luminosity, set up small temporary studios inside the hotel.
These stories—half-whispered, half-documented—give the Château de Madrid the air of a place that kept its guests’ secrets safe.
The hotel contained several narrow service staircases, built so staff could move unseen. One hidden passage connected directly from the upper floors to a private garden terrace. Another is rumored—though never confirmed—to have once led toward a villa farther down the hill.
Beneath the Château lie vaulted storage rooms shaped like medieval armories. During World War II, these cellars sheltered local families during air raids, quietly echoing the building’s “castle” identity.
Yet the building endures—an elegant sentinel watching over two harbors, a reminder of a time when imagination ruled architecture and the Riviera treated fantasy as a design principle.
The Château de Madrid stands today as a tribute to what the region once dreamed of becoming—and to the people who came searching for light, reinvention, or simply a place to disappear for a while.