Food, Tickets and Versailles

This morning began with meeting Cookie at 8:30am for breakfast at a nearby bar/cafe.  These "institutions" are very common in Paris and are really warm, cosy places for people to meet for coffee, an alcoholic drink or a small meal.  We have been into many and we always observe how good it would be if these existed at home in Melbourne.  Individuals, couples and groups gather through the day to enjoy company and good food in a very relaxed atmosphere.  We often see workers (some in suits, some in overalls) laughing and chatting together, while drinking a round of espresso, then moving on back to their jobs.  The "bartender" is often part of their jolly conversation and it's clear that these guys are regulars, well-known to him.

A few days ago, after Cookie had arrived and we'd checked her into her hotel, we stopped at a bar for a snack because we were all famished.  We asked for cheese and bread - this ended up being a basket of fresh, crusty baguette slices and sweet French butter for the table, with each of us being presented with our own plate of three cheese wedges.  Together, we had nine completely different cheeses!  The milky coffee and delicious food were virtually "inhaled" in double-quick time, before we stepped back out onto the street to continue our day.

Today for breakfast we ordered "The Continental".  This comprised (for each of us) orange juice, a warm croissant, a huge wedge of fresh baguette, plenty of butter and a selection of jams, as well as coffee and hot chocolate.  Delish.  We then headed off to the train station to take the 40-minute ride out to see the Palace of Versailles, the well-known centre of French royal life from about 1680-something for about a century.  The train takes you to a point about 5 minutes walk from the front door of the chateau, which is all well and good, but there the stress begins - you obviously have to buy tickets if you haven't done so already, and this means queueing in snake-like fashion, around and around inside a building which houses the ticket office.  I volunteered to be "the one" today, who did the standing in line, secretly because it was quite cool and windy outside this morning and the ticket office was in a warm building. To be fair, I beckoned David and Cookie to come inside when I saw that the queue was long and realised that there were banks of cosy couches where people could wait for the poor unfortunates standing in line.  Anyway, I shuffled slowly forward for about 15 minutes to a point where an usher was calling out that if one didn't want to wait any longer in line, we were welcome to use one of the many ticket machines in another room, to speed things up.  Therein lies a dilemma, though.  Should I give up my place in the line (I was about 25 people from the desk) on the chance that the machine room was actually going to expedite matters? Should I?  Should I?  Should I? Would YOU have?  What if the machine broke down when I got in there and I wasn't able to complete the transaction and had to go back to the end of the queue?  I wasn't within eye-view of Cookie and David so I couldn't whistle one of them over to save my spot, otherwise that would have been the simple solution.  So I thought to myself, "Deb, you are SOOO not a risk-taker and you SOOO should be, sometimes" and so, filled with trepedation and with my heart beating way too fast, I left the comfort and security of my shuffling queue to go into the ticket-machine room.  Guess what?  Eight machines.  Two took cash, six took credit cards (I had cash).   There were already about 15 people waiting to use the machines.  Three of the machines had broken down and had "Out of Order" signs on them.  Do you think I was in a happy place?  Do you think I was starting to wonder if I actually really wanted to see the Palace of Versailles?

OK, moving on - we then had to go through a security check.  All very well, except that I knew I had put a super-sharp sabre-bladed knife in our bag because we were planning on having a picnic after our tour.  I knew we would need a sharp knife to cut open the fresh baguette we were going to buy.  We also had a plastic container of freshly-roasted chicken pieces, tiny baked baby potatoes, ripe red tomatoes, a bag of almonds, brazil nuts, fruit, a packet of cheese biscuits and a picnic cloth upon which to spread our bon repast.  What can I tell you?  I'm a Jewish mother - I need to feed my family!  Anyway, I confessed that I had a knife in my bag ("Excuse-moi, monsieur - I have a knife in my bag!" sounded really good, until I explained further).  I was fully-prepared to surrender the knife, if necessary, but it turned out not to be necessary.  We just checked the bag into the baggage lockers and David glared menacingly at the guy who took it, warning him that he had counted the chicken pieces and they'd better all be there when we returned... nah, not really, but that would have made for a good story.  The fact is that when you don't speak the local language, it's difficult to be funny with people in authority.

All of this serves merely as an introduction to saying that the palace was absolutely magnificent, lavishly rich and decadent in decoration and clearly a testament to a time in French history when no expense was spared in furnishing the homes of the nobility with the very best and most ostentatious extravagence.  Volumes have probably been written about Versailles and I've included a couple of photos below, but I do want to say that the crowds were overwhelming, even now in the so-called "off" season, and they spoilt the experience.  Enough said.  Oh, and the picnic was delicious, thanks.  David found us a lovely secluded park in the township, with lots of seats and well-guarded from the cool breeze; it was a great place to rest and collect ourselves before returning to Paris.

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How To

If anyone knows how to fit Paris into 8 days, I wish they would tell me.   It's probably impossible.  What a city!

Yesterday we headed out on the serious part of the visit, which oddly enough (for me) is not primarily about eating as much French pastry as I can manage in the given time, but in fact to see the sights I have heard and read about, while drinking coffee and eating as much French pastry as I can manage...

The Pantheon is at the end of our street, just 250 metres around the corner from our apartment and rises up in all its elegant magnificence to welcome locals and wayfarers alike.  I think we chose a good time of year to make our trip - the crowds are not bad at all, and queueing everywhere is minimal.  As far as the Pantheon goes, there's no problem in that regard - walk straight in and start being overawed immediately.  It is difficult to find the right words to encompass the feeling you get when you visit these ancient sites, and I am already thinking ahead to how on earth I am going to write about Notre Dame, in this post.  You will just have to come and see it all for yourself and use this blog as a list of MUST SEE items.  Sorry, that's the best I can come up with - perhaps David will do better when he posts next.

After the Pantheon we visited the church of St Etienne - another one of the many churches in Europe which appear "ordinary" from the outside, but once you're through the doors, are simply jaw-droppingly beautiful.  Not every church is like that, of course, and Notre Dame Cathedral is obviously at the opposite end of the scale in that regard, but we have seen dozens of churches in Italy and now some in Paris which fall into that category.

Then on to Notre Dame - we had seen it on the first night, lying solidly luminous on the bank of the Seine, and knew of course from literature, television documentaries and so on, that we were in for a treat.  We intentionally rose early to be through its doors at the opening time of 7:45am, wanting to enjoy it before others spoilt the experience.  To say that the initial sight when I entered, brought me to tears, is not a lie - those who know me well enough are already aware that I'm a cry-baby for less of a good reason than the spectacle of Notre Dame.  I don't know what to say now, to adequately describe how it made me feel.  It is truly overwhelming. 

On to the Louvre, then.  We decided that when Cookie arrives, she and I will actually go inside and see the artwork, but in the meantime David and I walked around the grounds - and what grounds!  I had no idea of the immensity of the building, which apparently comprises some 60,000 square metres - the grounds are larger than that, and I truly have no clue how we will be able to see even a fraction of the artwork stored within.  The museum is MASSIVE, and stating its size in square metres does not really give a true perspective.  Does it help create a visual to say that the MCG oval is 25,000 square metres?  The photo below shows one small section of it.

We continued our walk on to the famous Champs Elysees, a very wide long road, flanked on both sides by shops selling only the highest quality goods and designer labels.  We only window-shopped while we strolled and it was hard to take it all in;  your senses are assaulted by the beautiful window displays but I really wasn't interested in going in to shops only to discover the prices of items were prohibitive and I would have to (possibly) deal with shop assistants who didn't consider me worthy of crossing their thresholds.  David and I agreed that the Champs Elysees is actually a bit boring, but it does lead to the Arc de Triomphe, and that is where we were headed.

The Arc de Triomphe is a majestic structure which stands to celebrate the legions of French men and women who have died in various wars for the glory of France. It is also typical of every other public space in Paris with an elevation more than three metres above street level - if you want  to see the view, you have to pay, and that really sucks.

The use of the only public toilet on the Champs Elysees (two euros, but it was nothing short of splendid), then a chicken-filled baguette while sitting in the nearby park watching a group of well-dressed local gentlemen playing boules, was followed by the decision to move on.

At this point we succumbed to age and tiredness and caught the Metro to our next destination at Invalides, a vast establishment originally used as a hospital for returned servicemen, but which is now a miltary museum and the location of Napoleon's tomb. Again there is the temptation to pay money for an elevated view of Paris, and again we kept our hands in our pockets, did a brisk about-face and headed back to the comfort of our small apartment for a refreshing nap and a cup of tea.

Refreshed and renewed, we headed out into the depths of the Latin Quarter in search of a restaurant named La Papillion, only to discover that it was not open, and it did not look like it was going to open anytime soon. Drinks at a bar instead, followed by dinner at one of the all too numerous eating establshments that line every street, with tables and chairs all turned to face the street to allow the diners to engage in the main pastime of people-watching. Food OK - experience fantastic.  I had warm chicken livers with caramelised onions, then the vegetarian choice which turned out to be a piquant potato dish with salad, before the dessert, which was an apple tarte tatin.  All of this splendour for the very meagre sum of 15 euros, which was outstanding value, I thought, despite perhaps not falling into the category of food "fit for a king".  I don't think I've had a 3-course meal in Melbourne for years and I was consequently as full as can be and vowed (as one does) not to eat AT ALL for the next 24 hours.  Pfffft....! As if!

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