Yes, yes, both very lame titles. We considered many others believe me, at one stage I was looking at puns on Claude, pronounced cloud in France, but it's probably best not to go there.
Paris and Monet's garden: Giverny
Let's begin at the end. After the bus trip to Giverny we went for dinner. We didn't get back into Paris until almost 7pm and we hadn't eaten since breakfast (the ice cream at Giverny doesn't count because Jayne didn't have one).
For seasoned readers of the blog you may remember last year when Jayne broke her leg and I was left alone for a week before she was allowed out of hospital. During that time I lucked upon a tiny Italian restaurant that made the best pizza. The bases were light, the toppings tasty, mmmmm. Sorry, I digress. Tonight we thought we would eat there and either confirm or shatter a dream.
Last time I was there, there was a queue for a table. Tonight we walked straight in. The waitress insisted on speaking Italian, which came close to frying Jayne's brain. Orders taken, drinks arrived. The meals arrived, Cait's lasagne in it's own bubbling dish, Jayne's risotto with prawns and clams and my humble pizza. So, dream confirmed or shattered? CONFIRMED! Another beautiful meal. I'll be back ... maybe not next year, but, I'll be back.
The restaurant is in Oberkampf, which is where we stayed last year. It is obvious to me the change in the area in 12 months. It was one of those fringe areas where a second hand store could be followed by a boutique shoe store where I couldn't afford to look in the window. This has ben accentuated as the neighbourhood changes, there is now a bio fruit and vege shop, a sushi store, restaurants have changed hands and focus, there has been a general gentrifying of the suburb. I suppose it's no different to Sydney, in the changes that have been seen in the inner city area. I prefer Oberkampf to Le Marais (read Republique), something to remember for next year, I mean, next time.
Monet
In case you notice a change in writing style, I should let you know that from here on (for this post), it is Cait-the-Great writing, as Dad is pretty exhausted after a disturbed night's sleep. Gun shots. That is all I can say about the matter. There was no blood or dead bodies outside when we looked this morning though, so if a crime was committed, the perp was kind enough to clean up after themselves.
As per usual our morning began at a leisurely pace, with Pain-au-Chocolat for Dad, a markedly better one than the others he had sampled, and just baguette and jam for Mum and me, as she and I have been feeling a little under the weather the past couple of days. I put it down to my lack of fruits and veg in the past two weeks. For all the amazing points there are to not having to cook for yourself while on holidays, the lack of variety is not among them. Don't get me wrong, the food in France is amazing, we haven't had a bad meal yet. But unless I am to strategically order myself dishes that have a host of protein, veg and fruit, I'm just not eating the amount I usually would. And so with my lack of nutrients in mind, we set off at about 10:00am for the markets at Richard-Lenoir.
Mum has been getting concerned that she still has a couple of presents she has yet to find. This makes markets a necessity whenever we know they are on in case we find anything that might be suitable. Me you ask? Dear Reader, I am an organised young lady and came prepared with a list of what I wished to purchase. My gift shopping is complete. Although I would never say no to wandering around the markets of Paris, you never know what you will find there. As Dad says, if you can't find it at the markets, it doesn't exist.
We arrived at Richard-Lenoir after a short but enjoyable walk, only to find that the majority of the market stalls today were produce, with the occasional clothing or jewellery stall thrown into the mix. Not a total loss though, after surveying our surrounds I settled on a lovely little fruit and veg stall to purchase the smallest watermelon we'd ever seen (think a large softball), some apricots and a bunch of carrots. Success. We then ventured back home, via a new and different route of course, to prepare for our journey to Monet's garden.
With my Skype call home to Luke out of the way, we gathered our things and made our way to the Metro. A successful trip, without any drama. With some time to spare we decided to stop, have a drink break and people watch until it was time to go to the render-vous point. Another great coffee. We love Paris.
At about 1:20pm we sauntered down the street to where we had booked the tour. I had secretly hoped that there would not be many people on this tour, limiting my exposure to people that were rude, inconsiderate, and whom I wanted to push down the stairs. No such luck. Our tour bus was full as we departed for the gardens. Just before we were due to leave, a group of loud Americans made themselves known to our tour guides. They were booked on this tour too, however, they were not sure they would be attending as they had just travelled to Paris via train from London, had not eaten since they left, and were severely unhappy with their accommodation. This information was conveyed to us, and the rest of those on the bus, by the matriarch of the family. "Mom, that's not their problem. Not everyone needs to know. Do you want to go?" the daughter enquired, "No, I'm hungry, I don't want to go." replied the mother. "Okay, we won't go then." the daughter said. "Oh no, I'm going. I've always wanted to go." The matriarch had spoken. The group boarded the bus, and we had the pleasure of sharing our booth with one of the group. A nice enough man, from California, they were only in Paris for one day before they moved on. Not a bad bunch of people, however, so my bloodlust for pushing people down the stairs was not stirred.
Mum being the chatty person that she is, struck up a conversation (unnecessarily - Brad) with our new American friend. We continued our conversation well into the trip, until we were shushed by the tour guide. Our conversation was distracting her from what she was trying to tell people about Monet over the PA system on the tour bus. Whoops. We were silent and attentive to the biographical account given until the end, at which point, the conversation continued until our arrival at Giverny.
Upon our arrival at Giverny, we were each marked with a fluoro orange sticker so that we could be identified as part of the tour group (much to our disgust, as you know our feelings about organised tours). We were then lead from the car park to the garden's entrance, where we were split into two groups. We were lead up the garden path (see what I did there?), briefly through the garden to the front of Monet's house, where he lived with his first wife and two children, and later, his two children, his second wife - and her SIX children. Brady Bunch much?
The tour guides are not actually allowed to guide you through the house. For whatever reason, the people in charge of the estate have banned it. So we were given a brief rundown of the rooms, their uses and any significant events that occurred in them before we were left to our own devices to explore. Much more our style.
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| I don't like tourists. I suck their blood. (not really, I'm harmless, but, Shhh) |
The house looks rather large from the outside, but as we were told, the rooms are very small inside. I don't think I would have liked to have lived there with eight children. The rooms we had access to were limited to Monet's library, lounge room, kitchen, dining room, his bedroom and dressing room, and his wife's bedroom and dressing room. The other half of the house was not open to the public. In relative terms compared to what we have been seeing in the various castles, it was plain. If it had not been for the many (fake) paintings by Monet placed around the house, and the quirky colours that the house was painted, it would have been fairly unimpressive. No photos allowed though, not even sneaky ones. They were very vigilant about that. That's okay though. The gardens were the main reason we were there.
Upon exiting the house, we were greeted by a plethora of purple posies. The gardens filled with all manner of flowers appeared to be colour coordinated. One area was filled with pinks and purples, the next oranges and yellows and so on and so forth. They were beautiful. I saw a great many flowers that I hadn't seen before in my travels. Downside? It took 40 years for Mum and I to make our way through to the main event (the Japanese bridge gardens), because Dad needed to stop every 30cm to take a photo of another flower or bee.
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| Flower |
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| Flower with bee |
Over to the famous Japanese gardens. Let me tell you, they live up to the paintings. If it weren't for all the bustling tourists and clicks of camera shutters, it would be such a tranquil place. Regardless of the human presence, they are magnificent to behold. We did a lap around the outskirts of the garden first to gain our bearings, as there are a few different paths you can follow. Although they are not significantly large, it can take a large amount of time to aptly appreciate all the different sections. The flowers in this section of the garden maintained their vibrance, without being overpowering. There was fast flowing water leading to still ponds full of fish, and several little bridges on which to view these scenes.
We rounded a bend to see the one and only, iconic Japanese bridge. That's not that impressive, I thought to myself as we approached from the side. The beautiful view to the other end of the garden across the still, mirror like water dotted with water lilies smacked that thought right out of my head. It was truly lovely to behold. We managed to get a few happy snaps while the bridge was more sparsely populated, but it took a couple more laps of the garden for the crowds to dwindle.
After another half an hour of wandering through the gardens, we decided it was time to make our way to the gift shop, make some purchases and then rejoin our tour group on the bus. The old folks (nearly everyone in the lower deck of the bus) had a nap on the way home. We said goodbye to our new American friends, wished them well on their one night in Paris, and then made our way back to the Metro to come home and get ready for dinner.
Bravo Cait the Great for an outstanding blog entry
ReplyDeleteLove Mary