Another day in paradise? (Paris, Versailles)

Paris: Chateau de Versailles

But first, some social observations:

OK, my standards are slipping.  Yes, it's a Phil Collins song, and yes, I'm embarrassed to use one ... but, it is just so appropriate.  I have been aware of the problem surrounding homeless people for sometime, but I had never experienced people begging until our first trip overseas in 2003.  At home and over here, things have changed significantly since then.  We see more beggars on street corners in Sydney and in Paris, although it is not homeless people but homeless families and beggar families.  I don't pretend to have an answer, as usual I have only questions.  This morning as we went to buy our croissants for breakfast we passed a homeless family; mum, dad and three children.  They were obviously from the sub-continent.  I understand homelessness happens for a vast array of reasons, but for people who are clearly migrants to this country; how did they get here in the first place and then what happened that allowed them to be on the street?  To any right-wingers who read this blog - however they ended up there, it is a tough way to make a living and I'm sure any homeless family on streets would gladly swap their life for yours.  Any takers?

The reason this rankled me more today was that I knew we were going to visit Versailles, the palace of opulence and the symbol of royal excess before the ultimate triumph of the people over privilege and position. Sigh. And as they say on the serious news (well they used to when the news was news and not a magazine story), now to something lighter ...

The journey
Have you ever heard of Pontoise?  Me neither until earlier today.

We set off post breakfast with the plan of being at Versailles when the gates opened.  As usual Jayne had done her navigator's homework and knew where we'd switch trains in the Metro and then shift to an outside line.  We boarded the train and all went well until Bastille.  The track was closed and we were shunted to a bus.  Hmmm, remarkably Sydney-like behaviour, except it was a weekday.

Onto the bus to travel 2 stops to Gare D'Austerlitz.  Things could have been worse.  We arrived, back down into the underground to work our way back up again as we changed train lines to the RER.  Given we were heading to a major tourist attraction, there was, as usual, precious little signage to assist.  After wandering in the wilderness for a few minutes, Jayne secured directions and we set off, back in the direction we'd come.  We found the platform, checked the board and waited for the train.  It was there within minutes and we grabbed seats and settled in.

It was a longer trip than we had anticipated.  Our train map was of Metro origin and while it showed our destination, it did not show the stops in-between.  Jayne commented when we finally breached suburbia and saw open fields for the first time.  It wasn't long after that we pulled into Pontoise.  And there we sat.  And sat.  And sat.  I turned around, we were the only people in our carriage. Cait went to the door and returned with the news that people were getting on the train.  That was heartening.  Finally curiosity got the better of Cait and she got off and went to read the board.  She came back with the information that the train would be leaving in 3 minutes.  Well, that was good news.  At least we'd be on the move again.

Emboldened by Cait's search, I got up and saw a map of the train network and went to read it.  It appeared that we had made an error.  While the train we were on was on the correct line 'C', unlike Australia, that single line, 'C', can have a number of different endpoints.  And the one we were on was not going to Versailles, it instead, went to the end of the line, Pontoise.  :(

The train we were sitting in had reached the end of the line and was returning from whence it came.  We had just spent an hour on a train that was not necessary.  Our maps were no use, so we consulted the map onboard.  And so we back-tracked and changed trains and arrived at our original destination some 3 hours after we had intended.

Now, you would think that arriving at a train station named Rive Gauche Versailles, that there might just some inkling as to the fact why most people trundle through their turnstiles.  Yeah?  Well, if there is, that's as far as it extends.  No obvious directions from the station to the chateau.  Yes, I know it's easy enough to work it out, but really, that's not the point.  We walked down the street, turned left and looked at Versailles ... and monstrous crowds.  We were feeling quite smug that we had pre-purchased our tickets, especially when we walked through the first set of gates and saw the queue snaking six times around the cobble-stoned fore-court.

We strolled straight past the end of the queue up to the gate to present our pre-purchased tickets as you would at the Louvre or the Eiffel Tower only to be told that everyone had pre-purchased tickets.  They can't be purchased at the venue.  We were pointed back to the end of the serpentine queue that had six bends in it. OMG.  If the peasants had a day like this any wonder they stormed the gates.

Versailles
Reaching the first entry point was an achievement.  Just like at the airport we had to have bags searched and pass through a metal detector.  A little way in front of us were a couple and their seven(ish) year old son and they had brought a stroller - strictly against the rules.  It was, as they say, on for young and old. Security wanted the stroller, they would not yield.  The crowd beyond us was stopped.  no more in until this was resolved.  In typical European fashion it was settled at top volume.  They left the stroller.  As we later found out it would have been impossible to manouevre it through some of the rooms anyway.

The gates into the forecourt.  Ostentatious?

Given the build up and the history, both Jayne and I expected more.  The Napoleonic apartments in the Louvre leave this place in the shade, although they are on a significantly smaller scale.  The audio guide proved useful, as always, but the crowds ... the number of times we were pushed out of the way, stood on, bumped and had people step in front of us were countless.  Then there were the morons who were obviously on a time-trial and all but ran through the rooms without looking.  Seriously.  I may have inadvertently stepped out in front them, once, OK twice, alright more than that, I lost count, but they deserved it.






Most of the crowd only did the main rooms. YAY. So they missed the exhibition downstairs that contained some serious religious artefacts.  I can just see the priests before mass in the sacristy, "This is new. Do you think it's too much?"  Oh yes, it's too much and there is way too much gold in those candle sticks or chalices or whatever.  Nothing succeeds like excess, but that was the nature of the time.

Beautiful and solo heavy.

Is all gold too much?

The ladies' chambers were similarly uncrowded, although we still encountered tour groups walking from room to room without stopping to examine anything.  I just don't get it. It ranks with the mentally challenged who walk around with their iPad in the air, video recording everything.  They don't see anything because they are too busy recording it to watch later.  So much for live in the experience.  I doubt that they would be able to have a conversation about what they seen.



After the palace we ventured into the gardens.  They too were teeming with people.  While they were expansive, they were not up to the gardens at Villandry.  Again, what they lacked in planned beauty and flowers, they over compensated with size.  It was quite a walk to Marie-Antoinette's summer residence, several kilometres in fact.  So here's the thing, as King you turn your hunting lodge into a massive palace and then on the same property you build a summer residence for your wife.  She was so unpopular with the people that she spent most of her time away form the palace and in the summer residence.  To keep herself occupied she had the workers build her a replica of a working English hamlet.  So much for models and dolls.

I didn't expect Treebeard throwing rocks.

Cait disagrees with Jayne and me.  She has always wanted to go to Versailles, and thought it was spectacular. Her favourite place now, she says, is the Hall of Mirrors.  Cait also loves all things Marie-Antoinette, and thinks she was hard done by, back in the day.  She loved wandering around Marie-Antoinette's apartments and gardens, but thought it was unfair that you could only see her bedroom and the best parts of the house if you were on a private tour.  All in all though, she was riveted.

It looked like Hobbit country

By the time we returned to the station we had been walking, queueing, sight-seeing and standing for 6 hours.  My feet still hurt thinking about it.

Back home it was music night again at La Republique.  The live music concludes on Saturday night.  Happy, happy, happy.  As we were retiring for the evening Jayne noticed that she had bite marks covering both ankles and unusually, so did I.  The bitey things usually ignore me, but not his time.  No pain, or itch, just red welts for both of us.  Cait was unscarred.  Clever girl, she wore stocking, or was protected by her love of Marie-Antoinette.