Monaco’s Latest Power Move: Fishing Tourists Out of the Sea With a Net Because They’re Basically Just Tuna Now
MONACO—In a move that has the world’s billionaires clutching their $40,000 limited-edition fanny packs in horror and the rest of us howling with laughter, the Principality of Monaco has officially announced a new “coastal management protocol” that sounds less like a city ordinance and more like the plot of a B-movie about a rogue crab-fishing trawler. Effective immediately, any tourist caught swimming in the designated “No Swimming” zones—which, news flash, is basically the entire waterfront except for one microscopic, heavily regulated beach—will be physically extracted from the Mediterranean using a commercial-grade fishing net.
Yes, you read that right. Monaco. The tax haven for Russian oligarchs who still have a few yachts left. The place where the average car costs more than your house and the average apartment costs more than your soul. They have run out of patience for the unwashed masses (literally) and have decided to treat them like the invasive species they apparently are.
Let’s get the obvious out of the way: Monaco is a tiny, glittering rock on the French Riviera that is roughly the size of a medium-grade Walmart parking lot. It has more supercars per capita than any place on Earth and a population density that would make a Tokyo subway car feel like a national park. The locals—and I use that term loosely, because most of them are just money-laundering ghosts who own a penthouse they visit twice a year—have apparently decided that the real estate in the water is also theirs. And they want it back.
According to the official statement from the Prince’s Palace (yes, they still have a prince, because why not), the new rule is aimed at “preserving the tranquility and safety of the Monegasque coastline.” But let’s be real, Karen. It’s about the view. These billionaires didn’t drop $50 million on a penthouse overlooking the port just to see some sunburned tourist from Ohio doing the doggy paddle in their personal ocean. They want to look out at a pristine, empty sea, dotted only with the occasional $20 million Azimut yacht, not some schmuck in inflatable arm floaties.
The video that’s already gone viral (because of course it has) shows a tourist—a guy who clearly thought he was being clever by sneaking into the water near the iconic Casino de Monte-Carlo—being unceremoniously scooped up by a small, efficient boat that looks like it was borrowed from a shrimp trawler. The guy is flailing, screaming something in broken French about “human rights,” while the crew, who look like they’ve been doing this for years, just shrug and dump him back on a concrete jetty like a halibut that’s too small to keep. The comments on the video are a goldmine of pure, unfiltered Reddit energy. “YTA. You’re not a tourist, you’re a fish. Act like it.” “NTA. The sea belongs to the yachts now.” “Info: Were you wearing a swimsuit that costs less than a used Honda Civic? If so, YTA.”
The sheer audacity of this is what makes it so beautiful. Monaco is basically a giant, open-air mall for people who have so much money they’ve forgotten what a struggle it is to find a parking spot at Target. And now they’re weaponizing that wealth against the one thing that threatens their carefully curated reality: the presence of a regular human being in their field of vision.
I reached out to a local, a man named Jean-Pierre who claims to be a “yacht broker” but looks like he just stepped out of a 1980s Miami Vice episode, to get his take. “It’s simple,” he said, adjusting his Wayfarers. “The water is for looking at. Not for being in. If you want to swim, go to Nice. It’s right there. It’s full of... people. And sand. And smells. We have none of that here.” He said this with a straight face, as if he wasn’t describing a dystopian hellscape. But honestly? From his perspective, he’s not wrong. Monaco’s entire brand is “exclusive.” You can’t have exclusivity if Brad from Accounting is doing a cannonball in your line of sight.
Of course, the internet, being the beautiful cesspool of hypocrisy it is, has already split into two camps. Camp A: “This is class warfare, and the rich are literally treating the poor like fish. Rise up!” Camp B: “Dude, it’s Monaco. You knew what you were getting into. You don’t go to a five-star Michelin restaurant and ask for a ketchup packet. You don’t swim in the billionaires’ bathtub.”
And honestly? I’m leaning towards Camp B. Look, I’m a cynical Reddit user. I hate the 1% as much as the next person who has to check their bank account before buying a coffee. But Monaco is not a democracy. It’s a principality. It’s a small, sovereign nation that has decided its main export is “being a place where rich people can feel rich.” And if that means treating tourists like invasive marine life, who are we to judge? It’s their country. Their nets. Their overpriced sunscreen.
The real kicker? The fine for getting netted is reportedly 150 euros. That’s it. 150 euros. For a city where a single night at the Hotel de Paris can cost more than your first car, that’s essentially a “stupid tax.” It’s not meant to be punitive. It’s meant to be humiliating. The goal is to make you feel like a moron. And if the viral video is any indication, mission fucking accomplished.
So, to the tourist who got caught: YTA. Not for swimming. That’s a basic human right. But for being surprised that the place that literally has
Final Thoughts
Having reported on tax havens and sovereign enclaves for years, I find Monaco’s enduring allure lies not in its gilded casinos or yacht-filled harbor, but in its masterful balancing act between medieval tradition and hypermodern commerce. The principality remains a fascinating paradox: a place where the average citizen enjoys the highest police-per-capita ratio in the world, yet the streets hum with a palpable, almost theatrical sense of security. Ultimately, Monaco is a living testament to the belief that stability, privacy, and low taxes are the most valuable commodities of the 21st century—a conclusion that feels both profoundly pragmatic and quietly unsettling.