In Paris: The Queen's Hamlet

Nestled away in several acres of countryside outside the hubbub of central Paris lies Marie Antoinette's little rural sanctuary. Aside from being a place for her to go and escape her privileged yet harried royal life, it was also one of her charitable institutions. The hameau consisted of a working farm and dairy with residential cottages for a dozen or so impoverished farmers and their families, according to Juliet Grey, who used Huff Post to bust several myths about the infamous queen. For me, the hamlet was refreshing after the almost oppressive symmetry of Versaille's gardens, and a wonderful place to spend an afternoon exploring.

The hamlet consists of about a dozen cottages clustered around a central pond, and a once-working dairy farm. Some animals, including sheep, rabbits, cattle, and chickens, still reside there today. The cottages, whose thatched roofs once sheltered families of farmers, now house gardening supplies and are not open to tourists. Katie and I peeked through some windows, though, and found most to be empty.
 
The main cottage, where Marie Antoinette presumably stayed, is two stories, with a wide veranda and a set of  vine-wrapped circular stairs that are now crumbling toward the dirt.

Katie and I declare this one to be our new home!

If you ever visit Paris thinking that Versailles isn't for you, give the Queen's Hamlet a try. This was my favorite part of the day, and I definitely plan to go back again someday.

Paris: The Gardens of Versailles

Katie and I still had a busy day ahead of us after Sainte-Chapelle, and it was going to take a lot to impress me after that stained glass-colored chapel. But a short train ride to the outskirts of the city would see us arriving near the Chateau de Versailles, and I'd be in for yet another pleasant surprise.

As the line to get into Sainte-Chapelle had taken up such a large chunk of our morning, we found ourselves facing an incomplete day in which to take in Versailles; in Katie's opinion, the chateau (palace) was overrated; the gardens are a cheaper and more pleasant way to spend the day. She also really wanted to take me to the Queen's Hamlet (which will be my final Paris post), and it would be impossible to take in all three in the time we had left. So, it was decided that we would skip the palace and spend the day outside; anyway, it was around 80 degrees and wonderfully sunny.

After a train ride spent munching baguettes and being entertained by a duo of accordion players, we got off at our stop. We approached Versailles from a distance, but the undulating crowds and the gold-tipped gates were easily visible in the brilliant sunlight. We passed historic buildings on either side of the cobblestoned street. At one time, these served as stables, carriage houses, and other essentials that had no place amidst the glamor of the main palace. The palace itself is so large that I couldn't get a good photo of it from the front. Instead of trying, Katie and I allowed ourselves to be absorbed into the crowd, fighting the swarms of people making for the main entrance, and walked along the gates to the garden entrance.

"The people of Paris were starving, and they were adding more gold to the gates," said Katie, looking up at those gates and shaking her head as we passed them. The gold made for a dazzling sight to modern eyes, but I could certainly understand why they had once enraged so many people.

We waited in line for quite some time to get into the gardens; queuing was our theme for the day, it seems. And there was no shade, so we got a bit sweaty and freckled and browned; I left Paris tan lines on my feet. But we finally moved past the ticket booths and onto the smooth white gravel paths of Versailles gardens. I had expected the view to be grand, but I wasn't prepared for this:

Adding to the grand atmosphere was the baroque music blaring out from speakers hidden by hedges and trees; nice touch, management. I felt like I should be strutting around wearing an enormous white wig and hoop skirts. "Let them eat cake!" (Marie Antoinette never said that, by the way; here's proof.)

Anyway, the long body of water stretching out into the distance is the Grand Canal, which collects water drained from the fountains above and was popularly used for boating parties when royalty still occupied the palace. These days, rowboats full of tourists and regal white swans decorate the water.

The garden is laid out in the traditional French style, here perfected by Andre Le Notre; that is to say, it is symmetrical to the point that I found it almost annoying. The avenues, grottos and gardens are mirror images of each other, separated by the fountains and Grand Canal in the center.

We wandered down along the canal until we came to a tree-lined path that Katie thought would take us to the Queen's Hamlet; all we found, however, was a creek and a brick wall. 

After pulling out a map and getting our bearings, we found our way to the far gates of the Versailles gardens, where the estate meets a public park. From there, we followed a dirt path uphill to Louis and Marie's "country house."

Country house indeed. Our admission to this mini-palace included admission to the Queen's Hamlet, which will be documented in another blog because I've already got too many pictures in this one.

After our visit to the Hamlet, which took a few hours, we were so exhausted that we paid an exorbitant amount of money to take a tram the short distance back to Versailles. We crammed into the little seats alongside other tourists and exhaled a simultaneous "whew." We were exhausted! Back at Versailles, we picked a spot of soft grass beside the canal and snacked on the pastries we'd brought from Paris. Our spot was very good for people and swan-watching as well. Couples walked by hand-in-hand, athletes jogged or pedaled by along the canal. For several minutes we watched a couple of swans fly side-by-side, their synchronized wingbeats brushing the water.

We made our way back up the hill to the palace in the still-warm sunlight of the afternoon. We ducked into the remaining grottos we hadn't explored the first time, including one where, Katie says, Marie Antoinette and her family hid from the angry mob that breached the palace gates. It was quiet here, and whether as a result of Katie's story or of intuition, I felt I could sense a long-ago fear, or the echoes of skirts hurriedly sweeping over gravel.

 

 

Back behind the palace, I took a video of Versailles in 360 degrees, slowly turning on the spot for full effect. Then, tired as we were, it was time to go.

Outside the gates, where people were still queuing for entry to the palace, we let the crowd guide us back down the stone streets to the train station. When the train finally chugged up alongside the platform, we settled back on the tired vinyl of the crowded benches and let ourselves be carried back into the heart of the city, like leaves on a French country stream.

In Paris: Le Sainte-Chapelle

Notre Dame didn't really do it for me. There, I said it. Yes, I can check it off in my copy of "1000 Places to See Before You Die" (of which I've seen about 40), and I thought the gargoyles were pretty cool, but I wasn't moved. I wasn't blown away. As I was to find out just a few days later, Notre Dame, for me at least, couldn't hold a 3-Euro prayer candle to Saint Chapelle.

Well now (to the left). See what I mean?
(All photos on this post by me, by the way)

Before we get into too much detail, here's the thing about Saint Chapelle. If you don't want to wait in line, get there early Very, very early. Katie and I got there by 9:30, I believe, and we waited for almost an hour. And the place is easy to miss; the line blocks most of the signage.

Once off the street (about an hour after joinin the queue), we had to go through security, We walked through a metal detector and had our bags x-rayed; my water bottle almost met its doom before Katie explained to the guard what it was! This is beacause right next door is the Palais de Justice, which was once the seat of the French monarchy but whose modern function I don't exactly remember at the moment. It's important, I'm sure, hence all the hubbub. But here's a picture of me in front of it after we left the chapel, trying my best to look Parisian.

After security, we were free to walk out into the courtyard; once there, I found myself wondering where all of the people had gone! The line in front of us had been pretty substantial, yet I only saw a dozen or so people milling around. The chapel I found myself approaching is much smaller than any other places of worship I had entered on this trip; in fact, it looked positively tiny by contrast. I took in the faded gray sides of the building, including the crumbling gargoyles resting at its base, and wondered why Katie had been so eager to bring me here. But then, we paid our admission, and I found myself here:

Then, I could see why. The colors! The details!

The lower chapel is dedicated to the Virgin Mary; her plinth stands at the center of the nave. Fleur-de-lis are everywhere on this level, as they represent the royal family of France, and the chapel was commissioned by 12th-century royalty. You can see here that much of the place still needs to be restored; many of the frescoes are crumbling, and the glass is dirty. But restorations have come a long way, as you can see from the brilliant gold features of the room. There was an impressive selection of souveniers here for so small an attraction, which he poked and prodded but didn't buy. Then it was up, up, all the way up a winding staircase to the second floor.

And here we have the upper sanctuary, with its 13 stained glass windows chronicling the full biblical story of humanity, from Genesis through Christ's crucifixion. 

It took my breath away. After several seconds of turning in a circle with my mouth no doubt hanging open, I found myself facing Katie, who laughed as she said, "that's the reaction I was looking for."

The windows on one side of the chapel have been fully cleaned, while on the other side, you can clearly see the grime that needs to be carefully wiped away. But it was here that I had the moment I had expected to feel in Notre Dame: feeling very small, yet full of light.

Fun facts:
1. The entire chapel contains 6,456 square feet of that brilliantly colorful stained glass.
2. The chapel is open 9:30-6:00 nearly every day of the year; it closes only for New Year's Day, May 1 (anyone care to explain that?) and Christmas Day.
3. Admission is €5.50 ; Red.: €3.50 ; Group: €4.50.
4. Commissioned by King Louis IX to house such precious relics as the crown of thorns (supposedly), Saint Chapelle (literally meaning "the holy chapel") was constructed around 1240 and consecrated in 1248.
5. Most of the chapel is a reconstruction, following periods of disrepair and several fires; additionally, the windows of the lower chapel had to be completely replaced after the Seine flooded it in the 1800s.

The upper sanctuary is captivating, but you also need to tear your eyes away from the stained glass and take time to enjoy the details on both levels:

I think the little gargoyle dude is my favorite thing ever. He looks like the pet I would have if I were a medeival/Gothic villain. And his face! He looks so distressed! I just want to comfort him!

...Anyway.

Here's my suggestion. Get up early, take the number four line to Sainte-Michel/Notre Dame, and get in line for Saint Chapelle. The morning light breaking through the stained glass of the upper sanctuary is the perfect way to start a day in Paris. Even if Christianity isn't your chosen faith, you'll feel something in there. I did. And there will always be time for Notre Dame.

In Paris: Pere Lachais

 Monday morning in Paris dawned warm and bright once again, but unfortunately Katie needed to spend the day inside, catching up homework. So, I was handed over to the very capable other Katie (in whose apartment we had spent that enjoyable Saturday night) and Orla, sans Luke, who had already flown home to Dublin. Our first task for the day (and a very important one) was to obtain baguettes; after that, to visit a cemetery which had particular significance for me: Pere Lachais.

Unfortunately, I forgot my wallet, leaving it somewhere in Katie's room (blargh!) but fortunately the girls were able to spot me Metro tickets and lunch money. We obtained baguettes (oui!) from a corner cafe and carried them down the street, where we ate on a bench, crunching away. My lap was covered in crumbs by the time the mozzerella, tomato and basil baguette had fully met its doom; nothing else was left but the brown paper in which I'd carried it there. So crunchy! So savory! So tasty.

We had bought a map of the cemetery at a local newspaper stand before eating, and we unfurled it as we passed through the front gates. We were met by cobblestone streets and a sudden quiet; only a few steps in, we could barely hear the traffic on the street behind us. A large monument of white marble read "for the dead" in French, in case we didn't already know where we had found ourselves. We walked behind it, picked a side street, and set off. It really was like a small city; the tree-lined roads gave that impression strongly. And the monuments on either side of us could have been buildings. There were so many: thousands upon thousands. It was really impossible to try to capture the scope of the place in a single frame. A video may get the point across, but it still wouldn't capture the hushed reverence of the place.





As we made our way toward the center of the cemetery, I felt excitement mounting. After a brief consultation of the map, we settled on a more direct route. Then, at last, there it was: the final resting place of an author most beloved, Oscar Wilde.


Oscar Wilde's tomb

As you may or may not know, tradition dictates that ardent admirers leave something other than flowers for Oscar: a kiss. I'm not a lipstick-wearing gal, at least not yet, but I had obtained a tube of reddish rouge from Katie for this purpose. I was determined. However, when I got up close, I was...to put it lightly...slightly grossed out. I had underestimated the number of previous visitors, and I found myself taken aback by the sheer number of red and pink smooches. I couldn't find an untouched spot that wasn't a foot over my head. I took my time applying lipstick and waiting for the other tourists to clear out. I found the least touched spot possible on a far corner, and handed the camera to Orla. Finally, I screwed up my courage, pushed back my germophomic tendencies, and planted a wet one on Oscar. I'll admit the reception was a bit...cold. And hard. Perhaps Oscar knew I was reluctant. For that, I apologize.

I rubbed off the lipstick on a tissue, smothered my hands in sanitizer and patted them on my face. Yeah, it was that nasty.



Memorials to the Haulocaust victims of France.

We kept walking until we found ourselves at the rear of the cemetery, right along the far wall, which is lined with memorials to victims of the World Wars and of the Holocaust. Honestly, I hadn't been prepared for this kind of thing. Actually, I hadn't even known that there had been camps in France; just a few miles from Paris, in fact. After the giddiness of finally seeing Oscar's tomb, I felt a wave of quiet flow over me, and I observed these monuments in silence, taking fewer photos.



After that, we saw the tomb of Edith Piaf, the famed French singer whose life was documented in the film "La Vie en Rose," which I still have yet to see. Piaf is buried in her family tomb with her parents, wedged in tightly among other monuments. I had to step on/around other tombs to get there and take a proper photo, and I whispered "sorry!" repeatedly as I went. I always feel the urge to do this in cemeteries.

We spent a while searching for a historic figure Orla had studied, then found the resting place of a British comedian. The sheer number of famous names here is impressive. We later found out that the composer Chopin is laid to rest here as well.


Arguably the most famous person of recent years laid to rest in Pere Lachais (to Americans, at least) is Jim Morrison, front man of The Doors, who died here in the city in 1971. There are barriers around his tomb to keep people from getting too close to it, but the tomb was covered in flowers and candles anyway. A nearby tree was so covered in Doors-related graffiti that it seemed the bark had just given up on trying to grow back; nearby graves hadn't been spared either, which I thought was rather disrespectful to their inhabitants. Morrison's celebrity seems almost greater in death.



Jim Morrison's grave

After that we returned to the 3rd arondissment to retrieve my wallet, then took the Metro downtown for some shopping! I don't have any pictures from that afternoon except for a hastily-snapped photo of the Opera House. I indulged a bit in some very French-looking tops. I was tempted by some beautiful dresses, but I'm very glad I saved my money, as I would need it for my Eurostar adventures.

The evening was rounded off with homemade crepes, macaroons, plenty of French cider and beer, and lots of laughter. Still, Pere Lachais was in my head. It had been just hours before that I had pressed my lips to the final resting place of one of my final authors; just hours had passed since I had learned that there had been internment camps just outside of Paris, and seen memorials to those that had suffered; just hours had passed since I had walked through a city of the dead right in the middle of one of the most famous cities of the living. I don't think I'll ever experience anything quite like Pere Lachais.

Paris: Foodie Things

I know you're not going to believe it, but I really didn't take many pictures of food on this trip! Actually, I think I only took a photo of one meal. I know, I know, what's wrong with me? I guess a lot of this had to do with the fact that I did not want to look like a tourist. I was doing pretty well at not sticking out because I was with Katie, who is such a fluent French speaker, and I wanted to keep it that way. I figured breaking out the camera, even without the brain-numbing flash, would ruin the charade. So, I went photo-less for most of my meals. Still, I had a very good time eating them.


A typical (and wonderful) Parisian afternoon



The first thing I ate in Paris (and in France!) was an applesauce pastry from a patisserie a few blocks from Katie's apartment; before we even got there! I'd just gotten off the train from London; I hadn't eaten since England and was a bit peckish. Katie suggested a pastry, and who was I to say no? It was flaky like a croissant and filled with cinnamon-laden homemade applesauce. It was after bite 3 or 4 that I knew i was in trouble. Such availability wold be the death of me.

That first day, we had lunch in Katie's apartment, then took in Notre Dame, Shakespeare and Company, etc. But we took a break at a little cafe and had some half pints of lager, French style: crammed in on the sidewalk, elbow-to-elbow with strangers, facing the street, people-watching. 

 After the Eiffel Tower:

Croque madame; a croque monsieur comes sans egg

We were hungry, so we hopped on the Metro to a cheaper destination; remember, from my previous post, that everything is more expensive closer to the landmarks! I believe we were close to the University of Paris when we stopped for food.


Check out that cheesy, crunchy beauty to the right. That is a croque madame, a French sandwich consisting of ham, crispy, sharp cheese, and in this case, a fried egg. I can't imagine having it without the egg. That gooey, yolky goodness added much-needed moisture to the sandwich and really made it savory. We were tricked into ordering the pommes frites and salads; the server told us they were included, but they showed up on our bill! Merdre!



I waited and waited and finally got my crepe!



In Montemartre, I finally got my crepe Nutella!! I had been looking forward to this since I got to England. I was too cheap to dish out for strawberries and nuts in mine too, but when you have the crepe made right in front of you, you don't necessarily need the extras. A smoking hot crepe with creamy Nutella was just perfect. Nobody in my family seems to understand Nutella; oh well, I have the jar to myself!



It was also in Montemartre that I finally obtained the coveted candies I'd been searching for: little violet-flavored candies that Katie had brought back to America after her first trip. They taste flowery, but sweet, and whenever I eat one I feel like I'm eating something I shouldn't be; like that guilt one feels for eating a flower garnish even though it's on one's plate. They are sooo good. They also had rose ones that I wanted to try, but at 3.50 Euro a tin, forget it.

 

Can we talk for a minute about macaroons? They are delicious. Why am I just now discovering these?? I am ashamed to admit that I had my first one at McDonald's. But it wasn't my fault! Orla and Katie really really wanted McFlurries since it was such a hot day! I opted for a strawberry-banana smoothie and a bite-sized caramel macaroon, which I successfully ordered in French. And let me tell you, it was love at first bite. That soft, chewy, creamy macaroon and I had an instant connection. Later that evening Katie would buy two packs of them from the grocery store (the patisseries having closed early) and I'd eat about six more: caramel, chocolate, lemon (possibly my favorite), pistachio, they're all amazing! May 31 is Macaroon Day here in the states, so I have to figure out where to find some so that I can celebrate properly.



A heavenly display in a Parisian patisserie...bring it on!

Of course, what would a trip to France be without some baguettes? The morning we went to Pere-Lachais cemetary, Orla, Katie and I got baguettes to go from a cafe nearby, and ate them streetside, steaming hot and crispy. On the day we went to Versailles, Katie and I got some from Paul, a French sandwich chain that offers a really good variety, and ate them on the train. Also on the train, we were entertained by two performers with accordians that were wandering through the cars, collecting change. Dinner and a show! It just felt so very French, munching away on a crispy baguette while being serenaded by accordion sounds. Ah, me.



A tasty sampling of French beers and ciders.



If you're only a part-time coffee drinker, as I am, beware of French coffee. It is extremely dark and very strong, and usually served without any milk or cream If I hadn't built up my caffeine tolerance by the 3+ cups of tea I'd been drinking in England, this French stuff would have destroyed me. You've been warned.

Also in France, I got to sample some really good beverages: red and white wines, cider, beer. I wish I could tell you their names, but honestly I was too busy sampling everything to take note. C'est la vie.

Aside from the baguettes and croque madame, I didn't eat a whole lot of "French" food; dinner my first night in Paris was a massive vegetarian platter of Lebanese food followed by baclava. And Katie and I ate food her parents had sent her from home on more than one occasion. I guess the point is the same as on any trip; expand your horizons. Try new things; I did. And I certainly wasn't disappointed.