Giverny II

Monet’s studio is the souvenir shop, also. Massive prints of a selection of paintings are on the walls, probably close to the original size. It’s a tempting place, I warn you. There, Mary and I got separated again. It was getting to be a familiar problem. I went out the exit and waited because we now had a rule that the first one out would wait for the other. I waited a very very long time, sitting under an arbor on a shady bench watching others come and go, but not Mary.

Forty minutes later she finally came out. I greeted her happily, proud of having followed our plan. No. She had been waiting inside the exit, not outside, and was miffed. Sigh.

We walked down the road to a small outside café where tables were set up in front of a house. We were the only customers for quite awhile, and kept motioning to other tourists walking the street to come on up. Some did, and by the time we were finishing our paninis, the tables were mostly full. This was the only time in France we were ever rushed out of our seats! It’s true. After all we had done to bring in more customers, too.

We spent some time walking through the town, looking in the galleries lining Giverny’s narrow main street. Some were good; some weren’t. The houses, though, are all lovely and some are for sale!

Monet and his family are buried in the church graveyard on a hill. On one beautiful tombstone, a man wrote a love letter to his wife who died at 47. Mary asked me to translate it, which was hard to do through the tears.

I mentioned the tour buses in the parking lot. On the main street at the ice cream wagon, we heard an Englishman and his wife shouting at the bewildered vendor, desperate to get directions back to their bus. It’s a fact, isn’t it, that if someone doesn’t understand what you’re saying, all you have to do is say it louder?

We helped out by telling them, “Straight on and then left and under the pass.”

Sounds easy, but when we tried to follow our own directions, we discovered it wasn’t. It had to be left on a particular street, then right a block or so, then under the pass. I assume the English couple made it to their bus since we saw no more of them. Or maybe they are still wandering around Giverny.

It looked as if we wouldn’t even get on the train back to Paris, the line for second class was so long and pushy. Suddenly the German man holding open the 2^nd class door saw that no-one was getting on in 1^st class, so he gave up his post, pushed by us knocking us out of line, and ran off. We had no choice but to follow him to 1^st and find two spacious, comfortable seats. At each stop where someone entered the 1^st class car, I expected to be asked to leave but it never happened. I finally realized that most of the newcomers were just like us, interlopers in paradise.

Giverny I

I’m splitting this blog in half so I can get pictures in without boring you with a long narrative.

Off we go to Giverny! It was the one place besides St. Malo and Lyon that was not negotiable. Was I ever glad (and relieved) when Mary enjoyed it as much as I did!

We rode the train to Vernon then took a bus the rest of the way, with every seat filled and people in the aisle. Several tourist buses had already arrived in the parking lot, so we expected Disneyland-esque crowds.

Everyone who has been to Monet’s town and house and loved it, raise your hands! It looks unanimous. Oh, wait, someone in the back is shaking his head. He says it’s too crowded in the middle of tourist season. What did you expect? A private tour?

Even at the first of May, it was crowded but there seemed to be room for everyone. I figured out two reasons why. First, no pictures were allowed inside the house, which kept people moving. I had only a split-second of sympathy for the Japanese tourists who were in camera withdrawal, forced to look at what was there instead of capturing it on film. The second reason is that permeating the house and gardens is a spirit of joy.

Even with the crowd, you don’t feel rushed. If you want to stop and admire the Japanese prints on the walls, go ahead, no-one will push you along as at Versailles. Want to pause in the bedroom and gaze out at the gardens as Monet did? No problem. He’d rather you didn’t sit down at the long table in the yellow kitchen for a gabfest, but there’s plenty of room outside for that.

If you’ve ever watched the BBC comedy “Keeping Up Appearances,” you’ll understand that while I was inside the house, I saw Onslow and Daisy. (The picture of the couple in the garden is them.) We were all told on entering that we shouldn’t have food inside the house, but there he was, big belly and all, munching an apple with all the insouciance (first time I’ve ever used that word!) of Onslow with Daisy standing by, a sweet smile on her face. They talked loudly in a rough sort of English accent, but were genuinely interested in Monet and had some good comments, so maybe they were cousins and not clones of the originals.

Monet must have been a happy man because other artists flocked to the town just like tourists do now, gathering at his house and at the Baudy Inn the artists made famous. The Inn is still there. In fact, my friend Laura stayed there one night, having arrived too late to see the gardens.

The gardens are spectacular. Pictures tell the story, not words. Monet loved to paint in his garden. Some of his most popular ones were done right there, often with women and children.

After looking around, we wanted our picture taken just like everyone else, so enlisted a French gentleman for the task. After that, we took pictures for two women from Tasmania!

Royal Whimsy and Street Food

In the late 1600s, the crowds, politics, and intrigue of court life in Paris made Louis XIV miserable. Because he was absolute monarch and absolutely wealthy, he bought a huge chunk of land in the country and built Versailles. Didn’t he realize that the court, all those people he detested, would have to follow him? How else could the government and administration of the nation get done? So there he was in his chosen, gorgeous palace, still swamped by crowds.

His solution was to build Le Grand Trianon where he could entertain chosen guests and house a few family members or friends. It is beautiful (see pix with pillars).

When Louis XV took over, he built the Petit Trianon for his mistress, Mme Pompadour, who died before it was completed. Mme du Barry was pleased to take over for her, both with Louis and with the Petit Trianon.

Then Louis XVI, at age 20, became king and turned both Trianons over to his queen, Marie Antoinette, 19. She reigned absolute there, deciding who could and could not visit. Even Louis had to ask permission, which may explain why, after five years of marriage there were still no children. A few years later, after her brother taught Louis how to make babies, Marie had three. This new entertainment apparently helped their relationship blossom.

Marie hated court life where she was always on display and always the object of gossip and backbiting. Frivolous and extravagant, proud and capricious, she was disdained by the court. Homesick for Austria, she convinced Louis to build her an Austrian country village called the Hamlet. It is charming, like a little child’s grown-up play place where she enjoyed pretending to be “normal.”

Swans float on the pond and nest on its banks. It’s easy to picture groups of elegant ladies dressed in their country-style frocks strolling the paths, picking bouquets of fresh flowers to brighten up the pseudo-rustic rooms of their humble homes.

It was a long morning for Mary and me, and we had become overwhelmed by the oppressive luxury of these royals. We were also hungry, hot and tired. I was relieved to see a snack stand selling baked potatoes with your choice of sauce. My choice was cucumber/yogurt sauce and the combo was divine. One of my favorite meals in France, truly. Mary didn’t like hers but she had chosen a different sauce. I even took a picture so you’ll know who to buy yours from when you go.

I was sifting through my memory of various meals in France, doing an informal survey to choose which were my favorites. Street Food won out over all the others. When my daughter who married Vivek, an East Indian, entertains, Vivek makes Indian Street Food, or chaat (sp?). It’s a variety of things ordinary people eat, and it’s wonderful. Same with French Street Food. These baked potatoes are high on the list of favorite SF, followed by the Panini in Nancy, the brochette Provencal in Paris (tomatoes, onions, cheese, lardons (a bit like bacon), on bread, all toasted until wonderfully hot and melty), lemon tarts and ice cream.

The shuttle picked us up and headed to the next stop, the Grand Canal. We almost didn’t get off, we were so bushed, but thank goodness we didn’t give in to laziness. I think we spent about three peaceful, happy, restorative hours strolling or sitting on the banks watching the boats, the family groups, and the swans.

You can see the swans nesting on the boating dock. It’s blocked off by only a ribbon across the path, but that’s all it takes. No-one bothers them! That amazed us. I’ll bet you, too, have watched children chasing fowl, scaring them to make them fly away. Not here.

Versailles is enormous in scope and concept. Other monarchs came, saw, and copied, including Stanislas, whom we “met” in Nancy. What a change in spirit was our excursion to Giverny, the country home of Claude Monet and his family. I can’t keep from smiling, just thinking about it. I’ll share it next time.

Mary, Me, Marie & Louis

We rode the crowded train to Versailles in the company of a whole host of nationalities, all heading to Versailles. The place held particular significance for me since this is where Mary and I began our hitchhiking adventure 50 years ago. As we walked from the train station to the palace, nothing looked familiar. Nothing.

Here’s what I wrote on that earlier trip. You’ll see that Versailles, the town, must have been much smaller then:

Friday, November 10, 1961

We did it! After touring Versailles, Mary and I walked past all the cars in the parking lots trying to look as if we had all the confidence in the world, though we were scared. At what we thought must be the proper hitchhiking distance from the corner, we set our two small bags down and waited for a car. For ten minutes or more we stood there, the stone walls of Versailles at our backs and a luxurious expanse of grass, lake and trees, at our front, watching the sunset with great interest while pretending to be unconcerned about the cars that weren’t coming.

As the sky became a Boucher painting of blue, pink and white sunset, headlights appeared! We thrust out two thumbs toward the oncoming car in what we hoped was the right style and -- O Lord! The car stopped! Our first ride!

Now, as I looked around, it seemed that one would have to walk miles to get to a good hitchhiking spot. Note that we stood with the stone walls to our backs and grass, lake and trees at our front, watching cars on a two-lane highway. Where could that have been? Everything now was built up, construction of roads and buildings everywhere. Bewildered, I knew I had to replace my former memory it with this new look.

It’s impossible to understand the power and wealth that extravagant kings had not so very long ago. Versailles is enormous – I was going to expand, but a couple of pictures will be better than words, and many of you have been there anyway. You know.

What’s amazing are the crowds! My word, look how packed everyone is! It’s got to be double or triple that later in the summer. The leaders of the Japanese tourist groups held little flags aloft so their people could find them. That was a good idea. Mary and I got separated and once again – I’ll tell you later.

I thought about Marie Antoinette and how this spoiled, arrogant woman felt with masses of peasants storming up her stairs as she tried to run away through a little blue door in her chamber. Imagine the fury driving those peasants forward, determined not to be awed or cowed by anything they encountered in the previously hallowed halls.

Now we peasants were back, clambering up the stairs, suitably awed by the exquisite profligate décor and architecture surrounding those monarchs. It’s hard to even try to imagine living like that.

Here’s a good timeline for Marie-A if you’re interested -- http://www.pbs.org/marieantoinette/timeline/married.html.

The one who comes out ahead in the history of Versailles is Louis XIV, the “sun king.” He became king at 4, but was mostly neglected as a child since regents ruled for him and his mother had better things to do than look out for him. But later, when he ruled on his own, France attained a glory and stature higher than any other nation at the time. He took his father’s hunting lodge and transformed it into Versailles as we see it now. I guess you need unlimited wealth and power to even think about, let alone succeed in, transforming a natural landscape into the extravaganza that’s there now.

After Louis XIV, his son and grandson (XV and XVI) led the way to ruin of the monarchy and into the Revolution.

Now, as I mentioned earlier, Mary and I got separated. We had made a rule that when one of us exited a place, we waited until the other came out. Why didn’t that work? Because these places are so huge that there are always multiple places to think, “Oh, this is where she would expect me to be waiting.” Next time we go somewhere, we are each going to have a cell phone, or even a flag like the Japanese tour guides.

However, the wait was not in vain. I strolled around some of the closer gardens and saw tulip bulbs dotting the surface where they'd been abandoned after tulip season. Most bulbs had been saved for next year, but these orphans needed a home, so I rescued three and hid them far away. Mary got four, but Customs in the U.S. took two of hers. I am just going out to plant mine now and hope they have survived the winter in my refrigerator.