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!