‘Wasn’t it extraordinary to be in the world right now, wandering around in a wonderful adventure!’
Jostein Gaarder
Instead of studying for tomorrow’s exam on supervenience and the philosophy behind neuroscience, I have decided to put my time to better use by picking up the thread on what I was doing almost three weeks ago now.
On New Year’s Eve, we got up relatively early and hopped on a train to the Palace of Versailles. We figured there may be queues, so we aimed to get there around 9. It was not early enough. A queue of a few thousand was already forming in the courtyard, and we reluctantly joined it, aware that Versailles is not like the Eiffel Tower – you cannot justify missing it just because of a small line of people. So, in an act of complete dedication, we stood in the drizzly courtyard for two hours, battling crowds of tourists who do not understand the term ‘queue’ with the aid of two security guards and their single barrier. When we finally reached the front, the crowd was approaching 10,000. Lesson learned: don’t go to Paris for New Year.
The Palace itself was worth it, naturally. Stunning architecture, lavish interiors, and a priceless collection of art are totally worth a two hour queue, in my opinion. I did, however, almost cry when walking around the entrance rooms on the bottom floor. They had been stripped of all evidence that they had ever been part of the most amazing château, and were painted a bleak white. The gardens were almost as disappointing – the sculptures had been wrapped up for winter, the fountains were under renovation, and the flowers had been dug up. We cheered ourselves up a little bit with a quick lunch in town before a walk to the Grand Trianon and the train home.
For New Year’s Eve, I had plans to go and get drunk with Hannah, who featured in Montmartre. However, by the time we had got home, I was dead tired, and instead spent my NYE asleep on my couch from about 10pm onwards. Happy 21st New Year, Jamie.
The next day, a little refreshed, I took the parents along to the Musée D’Orsay to satisfy my art cravings. As a New Year present to Paris, not only was the Metro free until midday, but so was the gallery! We happily spent the morning admiring my favourite pieces of modern art, almost completely free of tourists who snap photos of the works without looking a them, thanks to an apt photography ban. In the afternoon, after rousing the boys, we went on a short walk around some of the less touristy areas of Paris, laughing at potentially inappropriate Lego advertisements and the ‘interesting’ aesthetics of the Pompidou Centre.
On the morning of the 2nd, we headed off to tackle the Palais Garnier Opera House, which is famous due to its association with the Phantom of the Opera. I’d visited it on a whim on my gap year with Jennie, and managed to convince my family that it would be worthwhile. Thankfully, I was not mistaken – my family thoroughly enjoyed it. With architecture as grand as that of Versailles, including a room inspired by the Hall of Mirrors, it entertained even my brothers, who have no interest in opera at all. We wandered the halls, singing songs from musicals (although no more than a line from the Phantom, for I could not for the life of me remember the lyrics) until I ditched them to go meet up with Sarah.
I had not seen Sarah since she left me in the London near the start of my adventures, so it was rather lovely to see her face. In vain, we explored the backstreets of Paris in search of cheap food before settling for an only slightly overpriced lunch, and then I stood in line with her and her boy at the d’Orsay so that we could have a catch up. Enjoying my freedom, I then wandered off to the Madeleine, Napoleon’s temple-like church, and up to the Galeries Lafayette for a lovely view of Paris as sunset.
A final thing I think I should mention about Paris is how well I ate. Every morning, fresh croissants and pastries would be delivered to my bedroom by the parents. Accompanying them on shopping trips meant I could load the trolley with Orangina, peach nectar, blood orange juice, and fromage blanc. And macarons. We had baguettes for lunch with salami and amazing cheeses that you can’t get in New Zealand (reblochon, anyone?), unless I was out with friends, in which case I could indulge in palmiers and crêpes. More bread, meat, and cheese would serve as an appetiser to whatever mother cooker up for dinner – I loved not having to cook for myself for three weeks, you have no idea. And finally, my parents took us out to dinner twice. On our last night, we dined at a crêperie, where I only managed one amazing galette raclette before feeling absolutely stuffed. We also ate at Chez Papa, where we were rather extravagant with the duck based meals and tarte tatins (apart from Harry, who maintains that “you feed the ducks, you don’t eat them!”) And even if my waistline did expand a tiny bit while in the French capital, it was definitely worth it.
tobelivedthroughvicariously 