Tulips and Dawg

Remember when Mary and I rescued some tulip bulbs from the dug-up gardens at Versailles? I think we each had five; I know I did. Three of Mary’s were taken by Customs (hope they planted them), but for some reason mine all came through even though I declared them. (I hope Customs people don’t read criminal blogs.)

Got them home, put them in dirt in an old yogurt container and set them on top of the fridge for safekeeping. Around September, they went inside the fridge so they could know that winter had come. About a month or six weeks ago, I planted them in the pot you see and waited. Waited. And now, look! They are coming up!

What will they look like? Worthy of Marie Antoinette? Or when they bloomed at Versailles, did they only look good because they were part of a mass of color in that classic garden?

The Little Prince (Saint-Exupery) searched for a way to protect his single rose, the one who gave meaning to his life, who complained about everything he did for her. Then he discovered a rose garden with five-thousand roses looking just like his rose. He was overcome with disappointment.

“I thought that I was rich, with a flower that was unique in all the world; and all I had was a common rose, and three volcanoes that come up to my knees – and one of them perhaps extinct forever . . . That doesn’t make me a very great prince . . .”

As he is crying, the fox comes and teaches him that “[My rose] is more important than all the hundreds of other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen . . . Because she is my rose.”

The fox’s final lesson: “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

No matter what my tulips look like, they will be unique because of where they came from and because of all I went through to get them back here. They were wrapped in paper that had formerly held lemon tarts from the patisserie, then placed in a plastic sack like you get in grocery stores but not for much longer if cities or states outlaw them. Yes, Europe is rife now with plastic bags, having followed our lead there as in many other things.

It’s our music that’s played in restaurants and cafes, sometimes soft rock, country or pop, but more frequently, Frank Sinatra.

Why did Europe follow our lead in bad lending practices, too? I always looked up to England as older and smarter, right? Or at least too stodgy to buy into bad loans. Now Britain is going through an austerity program and soon Greece, birthplace of anciently smart people, will, too. How about us? Austerity? Should we? Sure, but never in an election year. Politicians don’t want the backlash.

So my tulips arrived safely padded by paper, plastic, and PJs. I planted them and now they are growing on a stand far from nibbling Nibelungs. I don’t know what a Nibelung is, but Wagner did and he made a ring of endless operas about them or for them.

My kind of Nibelung (kinds of Nibelungs?) are deer, which devoured tender shoots every year that we lived in Boulder, CO, leaving us with oddly crooked but still colorful tulips.

Here in the desert, everything animal, rodent or bird is a Nibelung, but particularly desert rabbits, those wild long-eared high-hopping fast-running guys that outdo Dawg every time. The other day, one popped up not 5 ft from Dawg, almost bumping into him as if saying, “Catch me if you can!” and loped off. Dawg ran after, but lost the race. It’s the running and not the catching that will keep him young.

He’s one of a kind because he’s tamed me.

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.