Three hundred years before, this beech tree-lined canal would be the site of royal fireworks or the starting point of a real theater set. Unbelievably, these waters were used for battle preparation using a three-masted ship and galley. Couples in gondolas would also pole along these waters accompanied by barges with orchestras playing celebratory Italian songs. Originally, gondoliers -- imported with their boats from Venice -- lived across from me in a little settlement next to the canal. Today, the canal sadly only reflects trees and blue skies, and the occasional rented rowboat.
We are enjoying our bicycle ride through the grounds of the Chateau de Versailles, which is one of the world's most beautiful examples of French architecture and art. Located 12 miles outside of Paris, the site began as Louis XIII's hunting lodge before his son Louis XIV transformed it and expanded it , moving the court and government from Paris to Versailles in 1682.As our biking group digs into our lunch, I hear our guide Rick tell us the cross-shaped canal is one mile long and ten feet deep (an accomplishment that took 10,000 workers and 10 years to complete). To my right, the canal intersects the Petit Canal which vanishes around the corner. To my left is the meticulously manicured lawns, parterres of flowers and sculptures with fountains leading up to the Chateau.
Much like the aristocracy of centuries ago, we sit comfortably eating peaches, strawberries, olives, some foie gras spread on a baguette and wine. The only thing missing is someone keeping us cool with fans (although Liz has her handy-dandy fan at hand).
It gives me a moment to reflect on the events of the morning -- including the ride by train from Paris to Versailles, riding through the surrounding town of Versailles using the "hand of power" and "finger of waggle" to stop oncoming traffic, seeing the golden Royal gate with its 100,000 gold leaves, and finally stopping at the Trianon Palaces and Domaine de Marie-Antoinette which features 12 thatched-roof buildings fronting its own lake.
While much has been said about the Chateau, Eric's idea of taking bikes has given us time to get a different perspective of the grounds surrounding the palace. The stories by our Fat Tire bike guide (and part time movie director) keep us laughing while we learn more about the 100 year-reign of French monarchy -- Louis XIII, Louis XIV and Louis XV and finally Louis XVI. Jacqueline and Colin, who act out the reign of two of the kings, discover that history can be fun -- as long as you don't lose your head over it.
Of the four French Kings, Louis XIV is easily the greatest. "The Sun King" ranks as one of the most remarkable monarchs in recorded history. Crowned as king at the age of 4, he reigned for 72 years -- 54 of them where he personally controlled all aspects of the French government. He ruled at a time of "ancient regime" -- when society consisted of rulers and the ruled, and when you were born to be rich or to be poor. Versailles was where the rich ruled, in remarkable fashion.
King Louis XIV called himself the sun king because he actually believed that he gave warmth and life to all that he touched. He was also thought of as the god Apollo --the Greek god of the sun. Versailles was his personal attempt to create a temple to the god Apollo. And based on the amount of money spent on this "temple," -- at one point four times the GDP of the entire country -- I must say he succeeded in glorious fashion!
Having finished our lunch, our guide tells us to retrieve our bicycles and we head toward Sailor's Gate, past the Apollo Basin, the Lake of the Swiss Guards and back to the central courtyard where we began our day. From here it will be on foot through the Royal Courtyard and Chateau.
It is very difficult standing here, surrounded by all of this excess -- to think of the people who were kept under the royal thumb while more and more money was spent on its expansion. The idyllic gardens, lakes and royal residences could not have even been a thought to those living and dying in Paris. Needless to say, as the reign of Louis XV -- and later Louis XVI -- came to an abrupt end, the people let it be known that such opulence would not be tolerated ever again.
Getting around Paris -- to say the least -- is worrisome. I suppose it's true anyplace where you don't know where you are going.
At the moment, Liz, Sean and I are taking a three-wheeled bike taxi from the Musee du Louvre to our apartment on lle Saint Louis. After being on our feet for the last eight hours, we are in no condition to walk even another few steps. So despite the number of passengers, we have been told by our bicyclist that he can easily pull three people. "I am a strong cyclist," he says in a Bulgarian accent, as we squeeze our tired bodies into the small, enclosed bicycle saddle.
Remembering our taxi ride from the airport, I am not as surprised when our bicycle surges forward into traffic, oblivious to the flash of cars, trucks and the occasional tuk tuk. I cannot make much sense of traffic lanes other than to recognize that our driver is staying on the right side of the road -- cars and motor cycles continue to pass without giving us a second thought.
What is surprising is the effortlessness of our driver, who is pulling between 500 and 600 pounds while in a reclined position. I'm impressed until he tells us that there is a motor on the back of the bike that will kick in when he takes off from a traffic stop or going uphill.
Our route back to the island takes us down Rue de Rivoli past the wonderful Comedie Francaise, the Palais Royal, Saint Germain L'Auxerrois and the remains of Tour St. Jacques. As it is late afternoon, the city is buzzing with excitement and anticipation of a warm summer evening. People are either finding shade along tree-lined boulevards or catching a quick bite in a small sidewalk café.
I'm still impressed with our driver's ability to maneuver through traffic while listening to rock and roll songs blasting from a radio hanging from a bar overhead. Between songs, he is telling us that he will be going back to his home to finish engineering school at the end of summer. "Not an easy way to make money!" I tell Sean as we pass a long row of department stores topped by apartments located above. As we turn down the busy Boulevard de Sebasloppl, I am surprised to see our first glimpse of a McDonald's, Starbucks and GAP.
At last, we arrive at the River Seine and we make a plea for the driver to let us out. Our squished bodies have had enough and we are in familiar surroundings, so we pay the driver $20 Euros and cross the Pont au Change Bridge toward Ile de la Cite. Rest, relaxation and Berthillon ice cream are within sight!
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| Welcome to my nightmare! |
Two days later, I am watching an old man on the Metropolitain, Paris' underground subway system. Of all the ways to get around Paris - compared to the RER speed trains (which takes us to Versailles), and a river boat called Batobus (which we take regularly to different locations on the Seine River) -- the Metropolitain is the most confusing.
Despite some experience with the subway systems in Washington D. C., Montreal and St. Louis, I cannot wrap my head around the confusing tunnel system of trains that feature 303 stations and 62 transfer stations. Much of my confusion comes from walking five -- sometimes fifteen! -- minutes through twisting underground tunnels to the next station. Intersecting tunnels, like the spokes of a wheel, head off into different directions, only to intersect with another spoke only 100 meters away.
Interestingly, these underground tunnels and concourses are still decorated in the art nouveau style that was popular during the Metro's opening in 1900. Tunnels walls and ceiling are lined by small white earthenware tiles, chosen because of the poor lighting originally found in the early twentieth century. Walls are covered by advertising, with posters announcing the opening of the new Transformers IV movie and a David Bowie exhibition at the Cite de la Musique. At a few intersections, I encounter what looks like a small village consisting of newsstands and a market selling a variety of fruit and vegetables.
Speaking of underground tunnels, it is well known that another city exists beneath the streets of Paris. Known as the Catacombs de Paris, they form a labyrinth beneath the very heart of Paris. Many of these tunnels were created in the galleries of the former quarries whose stone was used to build the city above. Located below the Metropolitain, these ossuaries contain the remains of six million Parisians, transferred between the late-18th and mid-19th centuries as graveyards were being closed above ground because of the risk they posed to public health.
But as I was saying --
I am standing on the Metro train watching an older French man play an accordion. He is a well-dressed man, wearing grey slacks with a blue and black striped shirt. I don't know if this is a regular occurrence on the Metro -- perhaps in an effort to relax passengers, the city has hired him to entertain during certain hours. I'm enjoying this little piece of old French cointe until he finishes, smiles and comes around asking for money. So much for being hired by the Metro.
Disappointed, I turn my face to look at a train car filled with passengers returning from work. Many of them share a vacant look on their faces as if they have been infected by the body next to them with some soul-sucking virus. It's like I'm watching the 2014 remake of the Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I adjust my grip on the pole as a sharp turn on the tracks shifts my body weight to the left then right. To my side, I see Colin firmly attached to Sean's waist -- I wonder what his young mind is thinking as ghostly images of graffiti and patches of darkness flash by the train's dirty windows.
Finally, the train slows and I see a blue and white sign that reads Cluny La Sorbonne. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared. In mass, we exit the train and check to make sure everyone is still with us. Eric, Kevin, Sharon, Liz, Jacqueline and the hybrid Sean/Colin. Check! Wallets, backpacks and purses are still in place, meaning the pickpockets have been foiled again. With a rush of air, the train departs -- taking its collection of zombie passengers with it. As we exit into the sunlight of Quai De La Tornelle, my spirit is renewed with the sounds and beauty of the River Seine and old city Paris.
Indeed it is always a good idea to visit Paris, but it is best to travel above ground.
Continued,
I can hear and see everything in my mind, again:) I sure do not miss feeling like a sardine in a can, on the Metropolitain, though!
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