Oh my goodness, Versailles trip! This day was my favorite, as far as seeing Parisian things. Shad and I were FINALLY able to push each other out of bed early on Wednesday morning, as the need to see the most opulent place on the planet was enough incentive.
We took the metro to the nearest RER line C platform and rode the 30ish minutes out to the little town. After hopping off the train, a crowd of people, of which we were a part, made its way toward the palace. I had read in a travel book before, that if one goes to the tourism office, one can buy certain tickets for Versailles, thus eliminating the ominous lines at the palace's entrance.
Louis 14th
So after dodging under some construction work, we entered the office with, thank Heaven, no lines. "Bonjour madame, monsieur" a woman behind the counter greeted. "Yes, we'd like to buy some Versailles tickets," I replied in French. She went into a shpeel about what types of tickets they sell, but I already knew that we wanted "le passeport," because those admit you to all of the sites: the palace, both Trianons, and the domaine de Marie Antoinette. She said yes, they sell them and told me the price, so I pulled out my wallet and handed her my student card, asking if I can get a discount as a French student.
Chapel
Just like at Notre Dame the day before, she said I get to go for free! Freakin' awesome. However, she rang up two tickets and after a bit of arguing with her, she realized her mistake and refunded me the equivalent of my ticket price. After receiving his ticket, we exited the office. I was feeling fairly content with the situation and fiancé was like, "I didn't understand anything! What happened?"
Hall of Battles
Me: "You didn't catch any of that?"
Fiancé: "No! You're not allowed to complain about sucking at French anymore!"
Hall of Mirrors
I just laughed at the back-handed compliment and we headed toward the golden gates. After a quick security check, we entered the palace. Grandeur, grandeur, opulence, more grandeur. That's the only way to describe it. Rooms after rooms of paintings, crystal, mirrors, gold, rich velvets, hand carved designs, and sculptures. It was magnificent. There were WAY too many other tourists, but once we made it out into the gardens, we could breathe again.
We stopped in the little tea salon, as my throat was still bothering me from the vile-pepper-spray thing from the day before and we ordered tea and pastries. Three words: awkward language limbo.
The waiters we had, would begin in English, I would talk in French, fiancé would talk in English, waiter would talk in English, I would talk in English, and then we would all switch back to French. It was awkward and uncomfortable, like we the guy was insisting on speaking English and I was molesting him with his own language, but then when he switched back, I decided to relent to his stubbornness and speak English. That's not the first time that's happened to me. I figure if one is in a country with a certain language, it is polite to speak said language if one knows it, but the service industry tries to be accommodating acting as a polite host country, damn all of the politeness!
Queen's Chambre
The weather was perfect the entire day, which highlighted the beautiful landscaping. We began walking down the large middle path towards the Petite Venise, but were detoured by a random opening in the giant, leafy walls of the gardens to our right. I figured we had to veer to the right at one point anyway to get to the Trianons, so I went that way and Fiancé followed.
I began then to just make random turns and when faced with a five-prong fork in the road, I went left, just trying to keep towards the end goal. This innate sense of direction was, apparently, a little too much for Fiancé to handle. He cracked.
Fiancé: "Why left!? You always go left! How do you know we need to go that way?! Where are we going?!"
Me: Condescending "oh honey" look.
I explained my logic and he seemed like he was going to protest a bit more, until we came upon a sign that had an ice cream cone on it.
Me: "Ice cream! Potties! Let's go that way!"
There was a small opening in the giant, leafy walls with a concession stand filled with yummy goodies, like crepes and ice cream.
We stopped and bought a cone for Fiancé. Walking away, he was giddy and content by the chocolate masterpiece, and like the children who were swarming and buzzing about the stand, he suddenly fell silent. It must have been yummy.
We continued and soon found oursleves facing a giant pond in the shape of a cross. King Louis wanted a Venician experience in his backyard, so he had this giant waterway built for that purpose. There were row boats bobbing up and down on the water and tourists littering the grassy area around it.
Fiancé looks at me, jumps a little in the air, and squeals, "Can I row you?!"
I giggled and curtsied a bit, replying, "Why of course you may, monsieur."
We ran toward the hut to see the prices. 15 euro an hour. "We can do that." I was in such a tizzy to see the domaine of Marie Antoinette, as it opened at noon, I asked if we could come back. He nodded with a protruding lip and hung head, but then smiled, uttered his usual "just kidding," and took my hand. We made our way on a large street (18th century street, that is), and I imagined all of the fabulous carriages making their way down it.
After a bit of walking, we came upon another 5-way fork in the road that are so common in France, and following suit, I went left.
Fiancé: "Really? Are you just messing with me now?"
I just smiled playfully and pulled him, hand first, toward the Trianons.
Walking up to the Petit Trianon, we came across a sign that designated the area as being the domaine de Marie Antoinette. I was ecstatic. She's like my favorite historical character. You may hate me for this, but before you do, I ask that you do some research on her. Like everyone else, I saw her as the selfish, spoiled, evil queen who was rightfully beheaded, but when I began reading about her, I realized the error of my assumptions. Now I love her, not to mention that she has the best style of any European monarch.
Pressing on to the Petit Trainon's golden gates, we arrived a few minutes before the clock struck noon. I began snapping pictures again. We went through a short security check and entered the first room. There was a grand staircase and a small passage door under it to the kitchen area and servant quarters.
We took the metro to the nearest RER line C platform and rode the 30ish minutes out to the little town. After hopping off the train, a crowd of people, of which we were a part, made its way toward the palace. I had read in a travel book before, that if one goes to the tourism office, one can buy certain tickets for Versailles, thus eliminating the ominous lines at the palace's entrance.
Louis 14th
So after dodging under some construction work, we entered the office with, thank Heaven, no lines. "Bonjour madame, monsieur" a woman behind the counter greeted. "Yes, we'd like to buy some Versailles tickets," I replied in French. She went into a shpeel about what types of tickets they sell, but I already knew that we wanted "le passeport," because those admit you to all of the sites: the palace, both Trianons, and the domaine de Marie Antoinette. She said yes, they sell them and told me the price, so I pulled out my wallet and handed her my student card, asking if I can get a discount as a French student.
Chapel
Just like at Notre Dame the day before, she said I get to go for free! Freakin' awesome. However, she rang up two tickets and after a bit of arguing with her, she realized her mistake and refunded me the equivalent of my ticket price. After receiving his ticket, we exited the office. I was feeling fairly content with the situation and fiancé was like, "I didn't understand anything! What happened?"
Hall of Battles
Me: "You didn't catch any of that?"
Fiancé: "No! You're not allowed to complain about sucking at French anymore!"
Hall of Mirrors
I just laughed at the back-handed compliment and we headed toward the golden gates. After a quick security check, we entered the palace. Grandeur, grandeur, opulence, more grandeur. That's the only way to describe it. Rooms after rooms of paintings, crystal, mirrors, gold, rich velvets, hand carved designs, and sculptures. It was magnificent. There were WAY too many other tourists, but once we made it out into the gardens, we could breathe again.
We stopped in the little tea salon, as my throat was still bothering me from the vile-pepper-spray thing from the day before and we ordered tea and pastries. Three words: awkward language limbo.
The waiters we had, would begin in English, I would talk in French, fiancé would talk in English, waiter would talk in English, I would talk in English, and then we would all switch back to French. It was awkward and uncomfortable, like we the guy was insisting on speaking English and I was molesting him with his own language, but then when he switched back, I decided to relent to his stubbornness and speak English. That's not the first time that's happened to me. I figure if one is in a country with a certain language, it is polite to speak said language if one knows it, but the service industry tries to be accommodating acting as a polite host country, damn all of the politeness!
Queen's Chambre
The weather was perfect the entire day, which highlighted the beautiful landscaping. We began walking down the large middle path towards the Petite Venise, but were detoured by a random opening in the giant, leafy walls of the gardens to our right. I figured we had to veer to the right at one point anyway to get to the Trianons, so I went that way and Fiancé followed.
I began then to just make random turns and when faced with a five-prong fork in the road, I went left, just trying to keep towards the end goal. This innate sense of direction was, apparently, a little too much for Fiancé to handle. He cracked.
Fiancé: "Why left!? You always go left! How do you know we need to go that way?! Where are we going?!"
Me: Condescending "oh honey" look.
I explained my logic and he seemed like he was going to protest a bit more, until we came upon a sign that had an ice cream cone on it.
Me: "Ice cream! Potties! Let's go that way!"
There was a small opening in the giant, leafy walls with a concession stand filled with yummy goodies, like crepes and ice cream.
We stopped and bought a cone for Fiancé. Walking away, he was giddy and content by the chocolate masterpiece, and like the children who were swarming and buzzing about the stand, he suddenly fell silent. It must have been yummy.
We continued and soon found oursleves facing a giant pond in the shape of a cross. King Louis wanted a Venician experience in his backyard, so he had this giant waterway built for that purpose. There were row boats bobbing up and down on the water and tourists littering the grassy area around it.
Fiancé looks at me, jumps a little in the air, and squeals, "Can I row you?!"
I giggled and curtsied a bit, replying, "Why of course you may, monsieur."
We ran toward the hut to see the prices. 15 euro an hour. "We can do that." I was in such a tizzy to see the domaine of Marie Antoinette, as it opened at noon, I asked if we could come back. He nodded with a protruding lip and hung head, but then smiled, uttered his usual "just kidding," and took my hand. We made our way on a large street (18th century street, that is), and I imagined all of the fabulous carriages making their way down it.
After a bit of walking, we came upon another 5-way fork in the road that are so common in France, and following suit, I went left.
Fiancé: "Really? Are you just messing with me now?"
I just smiled playfully and pulled him, hand first, toward the Trianons.
Walking up to the Petit Trianon, we came across a sign that designated the area as being the domaine de Marie Antoinette. I was ecstatic. She's like my favorite historical character. You may hate me for this, but before you do, I ask that you do some research on her. Like everyone else, I saw her as the selfish, spoiled, evil queen who was rightfully beheaded, but when I began reading about her, I realized the error of my assumptions. Now I love her, not to mention that she has the best style of any European monarch.
Pressing on to the Petit Trainon's golden gates, we arrived a few minutes before the clock struck noon. I began snapping pictures again. We went through a short security check and entered the first room. There was a grand staircase and a small passage door under it to the kitchen area and servant quarters.
Passing through those areas, we saw the spacious kitchen and storage areas for things like gardening tools, which were all adorned with ribbons, charms, and paints. They made me smile. We then rounded back to the staircase and climbed the cold marble steps to Marie Antoinette's salon and bed chamber, as well as her ladies' chambers. Loved them!
All of the fabrics were light and airy, the powdery blue paint and white accents on the walls, made me want to stay forever and just relax.
I now know why she never wanted to leave! The palace is so overwhelming and with all of the strict rules and pomp of that time, I wouldn't have wanted to go back either. We giggled at the little beds, apparently people slept curled up in the fetal position to keep warm, so they made the beds smaller to create less surface area.
Believe me when I tell you that it makes perfect sense. Seriously, it is frigid in France. All the time. I never shaved my legs in France. That's saying something (except when Shad came to visit, of course).
After walking through more adorably decorated rooms, we descended the staircase and made our way outside. I couldn't wait to see the Hameau! Marie Antoinette commissioned this petite village to be made, because she wanted to live a simpler life. Pictures I'd seen of it were just perfect, therefore, I couldn't wait. Of course, there are no signs to direct one to it. Anywhere.
Le Petit Trianon from the back
Fiance insisted
Traversing the little pathway into the gardens, we came across little ponds and mini-canals that lead us to the Temple of Love. How sickeningly cute, right? Standing in the Temple of Love on our honeymoon. Oh well, it was pretty. Cupid posses in the middle and it's ceiling is ornately carved. Quite enchanting. Here are some pictures:
Shad and I, then, began stumbling around the wilder gardens, trying to find the Hameau. The gardens in this part of Versailles are nothing like the palace's. They are more English and unkempt. I like it. We stumbled across the Hall of Music, which is really just a well-painted, octagonal building that overlooks a little waterway.
Shad and I stuck our heads in it and belted out a few off-key notes and giggled at the echos reverberating back at us. By the way, in order to get to this little masterpiece, one must pass by an enormous rock and cute little bridge. Shad decided he wanted a picture.
After some more stumbling, we finally arrived at the Hameau. It had grown warmer and it was only the second time, I believe, that I sweated in France.
We wandered between all of the earthy building and snapped away at my camera, which died, so we had to switch to phone pictures. Sad day.
The bull looked up at that exact moment. It was funny.
After convincing Shad that it would be a bad idea to jump the fence to get closer to the animals, we headed back toward the Trianons to see the big one. On the way, I had made my way ahead of Shad by about 30 feet, as he had stopped to tie his shoe, or look at something, or I don't know what. Regardless, I passed by a gorgeous, flower-ridden tree ahead of him and upon approaching the white beauty, I noticed that it was buzzing.
The tree itself was buzzing, because for every flower on the tree, there were three honey bees to that one flower. I smiled and walked passed, trying to imagine Shad's reaction. If Shad has one phobia, it is of bees. Childhood trauma about sums up his reasons. I waited for him on the other side of the buzzing tree. He came around the corner, happy and smiling, heard the buzzing, came to a dead-stop, said, "Oh HELL no," and backed away slowly.
After some convincing and thought on his part, he decided he needed to conquer his fear. He began by walking slowly by it, but then sped away quickly after. Breathing heavily, he asked where we were going next. I responded that we were going to the Grand Trianon.
We made our way over and walked through the impressively manly rooms. If the Petit Trianon was a haven for my prissy side, the Grand Trianon was a haven for any devout hunter. They both appealed to me :)
We then sat on the steps of what could be termed "the back porch," after Shad ran around on the marble trying to slide, like a child trying to slide on tile in his socks. The air was getting quite tepid at this point and the sun was shining high overhead. We decided to split a banana and then head back to Little Venice and get food/hop in a boat. It's probably illegal to eat in any of those buildings, but oh well. No one came after us about it.
Still famished, we walked the long walk back to the water and stopped at a food stand that had paninis, crepes, and ice cream. A bunch of early adolescents kept pushing their way in front of us, all speaking Italian. Us adults decided to let a few slide by, but after a while, Shad and I decided we'd had enough and jumped in front of everyone who had just cut in front of us. Childish, I know, but that is the advantage of having someone Shad's size traveling with you.
After haggling for food and jumping over a bunch of pushy children, we plopped down on the grass right beside the water and watched the ducks and fish swimming around. We'd almost finished eating when we heard a splash on the other side of Shad. Two brothers had been playing at the water's edge and one had fallen into the murky water. He climbed right back out, and as his mother was scolding him in a tangle of German and English while simultaneously stripping him of his drenched clothing, his father and brother sat back and laughed at the spectacle, as did we.
After digesting and further people watching, we rented a boat and got in the water. The Petite Venise is an enormous cross. Shad decided that he would row us the entire length of the four arms. I sat back in the seat and enjoyed the water and charming scenery while he grunted away. Every once in a while, amid his sweating brow and blistering hands, he would shout, "I'm going to conquer the sea!!!" I giggled and snapped a few pictures. After making it up one arm of the cross and out toward the right one, he was growing tired and asked what time it was, as we only had the boat for an hour.
It had been thirty minutes. He looked around us and with a hung head and protruding lip muttered, "I don't think I'll be able to conquer the sea." I leaned over and kissed him, asking if we could sit here a while and relax. He nodded, still with his hung head, but then cracked a smile, which put an end to the theatrics.
We rowed back slowly after a few moments and exhausted as could be, made our way out the golden gates. Once back on the RER, we almost fell asleep, but got distracted listening to a group of American women who were talking about their trip. The rest of the metro rides were a grey blur, but we finally arrived back at the apartment.
We needed to go get food at the grocery store, but figured we could put our feet up for just a little while beforehand. Ha.
We got through the fortress doors, but then noticed that the elevator wasn't working. I checked the other door and on it was note that read that the elevator would be under construction until sometime the next day.
Me: "No problem, we can use the stairs...where are they?"
We looked for them and determined that they were in a hidden space in the wall next to the elevator shaft. I tried to open it with all of the keys on the key ring, given to me by the owner. None of them worked. A few moments of oh shit went by, and a man came out of the stairwell.
He explained that we would need a key for the stairwell and then another one for our floor, and that if we didn't have them, our only hope was to buzz one of our three neighbors and pray that they open the doors for us. Awesome.
He called one lady for us and asked if she would open the door. She said okay, we thanked the man profusely and went up the stairs to wait on the lady. She never came to the door, despite our knocking. I contacted the owner of the apartment, and he said he had those keys, because that had never happened before, and our best bet was to get train tickets to Caen and to stay with my host family.
That wasn't happening, so we waited and pondered our situation. About an hour later, the same man came back and was quite irked to see us. He told us that there had been a break-in and robbery the night before, so everyone in the building was a little skittish. He then proceeded to calmly and politely, call the same lady and ask her if she had the gentle-womanliness to open the door for his American friends. I love French, one can insult someone in the nicest way possible.
When we finally made it back into the apartment, we were NOT leaving until we had a working elevator, so I was sent with an empty backpack to the grocery store to get food and Shad had to watch for me on the balcony and open the doors for me to get back inside the fortress of apartments. Needless to say, we were both glad to relax and sleep late Thursday morning.
