I had a royal day yesterday. I woke up and decided to go to Versailles (to be completely honest I considered it before hand but I wanted the effect of waking up and just going- I literally planned nothing aside from asking for the right train). It was a gorgeous day in the French countryside south of Paris. A bit overcast, but warm spring air touched everything and made the stones of the Chateau toasty and inviting. I sat by several ponds throughout the day and contemplated the green water and floating swans aimlessly. Tourists of all kinds were on the train and on the gournds. I utilized three of my fluent languages to help at leave five tourists get on the right train at the Tour Eiffel RER train station. I felt très international.
The Chateau is undergoing restoration, and some of it was completed. The front gates of the palace have all been re-guilded with bright gold and the rion work has been polished and painted. It looked new. Brand new. I imagine that this is what the palace looked like when it was completed by Louis XIV. There are details on the Chateau itself (guildings on windows and roof lines ect.) that have yet to be completed, but I know the palace will look incredible just from the small section that had been finished.
I passed the lines to go into the Chateau and made a B-line for the gardens. To be honest, I find the Chateau interesting, even exquisite, but it seems strange experiencing such a monumental work of architecture alone. I can't turn to someone inside in the hall of mirrors and gush about the Braoque interior, nor can I comment on the silk tapestries and intruicite mouldings in the royal bed chambers, or point to a friend's reflextion in the flawless parquet floors. I can do none of this because I am alone at Versailles. It doesn't make me unhappy, but I did wish there was a friend there to share it with me.
In any case, I passed the day contentedly on my own. After a fabulous lunch in the small "village" (which used to be the stables) in a renovated café (stable interior gone gourmet- yea or 'neigh'?) I sauntered to the bycicle rental and chcked out a bike with a handsome basket perched on the front. I felt very "Sound of Music". I was dressed in all black and felt very elegant perched on my bycicle floating past lines of trees, ponds, fields... the extent of the palce grounds is staggering. After two hours of riding, photo taking and getting splashed by a snot nosed brat in a passing boat (I called him a "meanie" (in french) and he giggled in that way that naughty children do when they are completely satisfied with themselves)I settled into another café for a half an hour to enjoy raspberry juice and to catch my breath. The sun shone brightly and in the late afternoon the bustle of the café mixed with the sounds of singing birds gave me such peace. I never 'want' to leave Versalles. It is a place unto itself. Incomparable. Nothing else like it exists.
This morning I awoke after a thorough night of sleep to hop onto the metro and get out at a stop I hadn't yet done this trip. I chose Medeleine- a ritzy quartiér near the Place de Concordes. I found my third CHANEL boutique there and went inside. Each boutique has many of the same things in it, yet I always feel like I'm going into a gallery or museum. I always feel like I'm letting somone down when I turn down assistence from one of the boutique workers. In my head I think "Why NOT try on that gown? Will they know that you don't have 17,000 euros?... well..." Instead I reach out every so often to touch details of the clothes and smell the leather of the purses.
This trip in Paris is less and less about CHANEL. I imagined it would be so. The realizations I'm now having of my beloved Paris are reality- not shocking, upsetting reality, but an adult, intelligent mature reality. My love for Paris will never go away. This city is special, even in the most banal of its details. There is a life force here that attracts and entrances me. Yet I am actually proud to say that I no longer see Paris exactly the way I did as a naive 14 year old meeting her first love for the first time. Paris still takes my breath away, yet it is more measured and steady. No longer am I dizzy in the lights and in love with each street, but rather I look at Paris and see something old and perhaps wise.
I understand why the French are so proud. If anything the most constant of French things is their traditions- even tradition of thought. History is important and this city boasts of it- breathes it. Perhaps these traditions, truly borderline compulsions are misread and misunderstood in the greater picture of the world, but in this little paved stone world they all make sense. This is why I love Paris. It is not a logic that can be written or divulged, it is a logic that one can only taste in the bread and wine, smell in the air filled with the scent of the river and cigarette smoke, see on the flower laden tombs of icons loved and passed, and feel in the embrace of the deep city hum... from the bottom of the deepest metro line to the top of the Tour Eiffel...
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