Morning came a bit gray and chilly. I caught the subway towards the edge of the city, popping up for photos of the Musèe d’Orsay, and heading on to the opulent abode of the Sun King, Versailles. Walking towards Versailles, the first thing you see is King Louis, riding out from the gates, looking over the town. Gold glints from the city gates that failed to protect Marie Antoinette from her people and their guillotine.
The palace sits atop a hill, overlooking the surrounding town and the castle gardens – a majestic view for the king who wanted the most grandiose palace in the world. Marble floors of black and white checkers lead guests into the front entrance, down the hallway filled with statues of former French royalty, up the grand stairway, and towards the boudoirs of the king and his queen. A hall of mirrors and crystal chandeliers leads to the chambers and provides entrance to the sitting rooms of the king and queen. Each monarch has his and her own private suites, decorated sumptuously with beautiful wall and bed hangings, famous paintings, and priceless antiques (that weren’t so antique at the time!) Most of the palace was plundered after the king and queen were ousted from their home, and the museum continuously searches for the lost royal treasures.
I walked down the hallways shown in my history books, imagining the life of the king and queen, their courtiers and servants. No part of the monarch’s lives were private – from the royal awakening, bath, and dressing to the evening meal – every moment was on display. With all the rooms designed for the comfort of the monarchs, it would be heaven just to find a moment to enjoy the splendor of the surrounds alone; yet the monarchs felt that they were ordained by God to be the people’s ruler, thus they must be present with the people. If only today’s governments felt the same.
After touring Versailles, I toodled through the town a bit, stopping by a boulangerie for a picnic lunch of croissant jambon. I caught the train back towards The City Of Light, stopping by Mr. Eiffel’s tower for a few photos before enjoying the street performers of Montmartre near the La Basilique du Sacré-Cœur. I stopped by the apartment to meet Fanni and we headed towards the Latin Quarter for dinner. The area, which had been written of as a student area with cheap eats, was instead one heck of a tourist trap. Hawkers attempted to draw passersby into the restaurants, boasting cheap daily menus and free drinks. Fanni and I surveyed the area, finally getting caught by a hawker for a Greek restaurant. The food was nothing to write home about – it reminded me of why so many tourists don’t find Parisian restaurants to be all they’re cracked up to be. Unless you ask a Parisian where to dine, or do extensive research, your belly will grumble and you’ll stop at the first place you see – which is never a good idea in ole Pari!
Laughing at our dining misfortune, I stopped by a Crêpière and bought a crêpe toasted with sugar and Grand Marnier to erase the lingering tastes of poor restaurant decisions. We made our way through the twisting streets to take night shots of la Cathédrale Notre Dame, La Tour Eiffel, and Moulin Rouge.
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