When we get on the train, there is a friendly big man in his 60s playing some fast French music on a piano accordion. I can appreciate this and I give him 2 euros. What a very French thing to experience - an accordion player on a train.
It only takes about 20 minutes on the RER and we arrive at the station at Versailles. There are crowds of people everywhere and we are told that the queue will take about an hour to get through. It's already very hot in the sun, so we don't want to wait, but the gardens have free entry and there are some shady parts. At least here there are not so many people! The gardens are famous for their clipped conifers, white courtyards, fountains and flower borders. It's very beautiful and goes for miles, blending in with the countryside around. As a New Zealander I enjoy seeing some forest for a change and it really is nice to get out of the city.
Florian and I buy an icecream and we go to sit by the lake where people are rowing around in little boats. There are enormous grey carp in the lake - some of them would be 80 centimeters long, and they have gold scales along their backs, wide mouths and goggly eyes. They are the ugliest fish I've ever seen, and they are taking bread from people's hands like the ducks and swans.
Florian has to go to work at Orly airport, so I wave goodbye to him. I will miss him - he has been so kind to show me around this amazing city for the last couple of days. The queues are much smaller now so I decide to go and have a walk around the palace. It's exactly as I imagined inside - wide marble halls with statues and chandeliers, frescoed domed ceilings and everywhere ornate gilt edged paintings, mirrors and architraves. These kings certainly lived in opulent luxury, probably while most of their people suffered under grinding poverty. On the other hand, being a king would certainly have had its challenges. The poor guy would never have had a moment to himself, from the time when the servants drew the heavy gold brocade curtains on his elaborately carved four-poster bed at night to when he woke up in the morning. Apparently each morning there was a waking up ceremony. I wonder what that involved? I would like to catch a glimpse into how they lived.
I think it's a very unfortunate thing, but the halls of the palace are being used at the moment for some sort of avant garde modern sculpture exhibition. It is so out of sorts with the opulent grandeur of the palace. I suppose that this was the only place big enough to house these works, if you could call them that. One is a giant pair of high heeled shoes, standing about four or five metres tall and made completely out of stainless steel pots and pans and lids. I suppose if you half closed your eyes, they would look like giant sequins. Another is a pair of very large prawns covered in white lace facing each other as if talking over an oval table. The title is "Le dauphin et dauphine". I suppose it means the male and female prawn, but later when I see Marie Antoinette's quarters, that is called the chambre de dauphine, so I guess I was wrong - it must mean king and queen!
The worst sculpture by far is a full sized one seater helicopter, all painted gold and decorated with, guess what, large diamantes and pink ostrich feathers. Ever the rotor is covered in pink ostrich feathers. I have never seen anything in quite so bad taste.
Ambling along the halls with the crowds of people, I come across an elderly lady pushing her husband in a wheelchair. It looks like hard work for her, especially in the heat, and I offer to push for a while. She quips, "no, it's OK thank you, I'm just about to push him down the stairs." They are from Canada. She asks me where I am from and I tell her New Zealand. Are you travelling alone? Yes, I tell her. "Oh look, Emmett!" she tells her husband. "Another woman from New Zealand traveling alone!" They also met a solo NZ traveller in Italy. You must be very careful in Paris, she tells me. The other Kiwi was chased down the road by a group of black guys. She herself had her purse snatched twice, once in a laundromat, but each time the thief was apprehended and she got her purse back. She also saw a Japanese tourist's laptop stolen from right beside her. I tell her I have been in Paris for five days, and I have felt completely safe. Nothing bad has happened to me. Well nothing but that first experience with the taxi driver, but I would prefer to forget about that. All the people I've met have been very kind and helpful, and I have walked all around the city and taken the metro and have been safe and well cared for. She cautions me again to be careful, and she and Emmett get into a lift and they are gone.
I know I have been looked after and it has been the result of prayer, but I'm also glad that I took the time to read up on how to look like a local in Paris. And here, for a very small fee, is my advice on the subject. If you look like a tourist you are a target, but look and act like a local and you will be safe. There is a particular way of dressing, casual but dressy and not overdone. I have been careful to wear the right clothes, and carry the right bag. I have a lovely striped black and white handbag that I bought just for Paris. It fits my iPad, phone, books and maps. You must not wear a belt bag - they hate them here and it marks you out as a tourist. Backpacks are best avoided but mine was ok at a pinch because it is small and nearly all black. Most of the time I avoided using it.
I have also discovered that in order to blend in, you must not ever look lost. Consult your map surreptitiously if you must, but don't carry it in your hand. Looking at the street metro maps is much better. If you don't know where to go, just choose your best option and walk with confidence. If you're lost, be confidently lost! You are a Parisienne woman on her way to work and you know exactly where you are. If you don't open your mouth, no-one will know that you are not a local. And if you do need to open your mouth, smile and use your best schoolgirl French and most of the time you will get by just fine.
In the late afternoon I want to visit one more museum. Now that I know how to get around on the metro, it's easy. The last museum is the Musee d'Orangerie. It houses the very biggest of Monet's works, as well as paintings from Renoir, Gaugin, Cezanne, Degas and others. I only have about twenty minutes here and it's really not long enough to appreciate Monet's work. I have read how he gradually lost his eyesight, so the progression of Impressionism in his paintings shows how the world actually looked to him.
I must spend one last lovely summer evening in the Parc Georges Brassens just up the road. I realise how much I have learnt here in a very short time and how much I have learnt to love Paris. But it's nearly time to go home; just one more place to visit and then the long haul home. I am missing the family and I am excited to plant my new spring garden and put up some art works on our walls. This trip has challenged, inspired and changed me in ways I didn't think possible.
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