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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