24 hours in Versailles

Early Friday morning, while twisted in a pretzel pose on a yoga mat in the middle of the living room, I heard Jeff call from the other room. "Hey, do you have power in there?" Slowly unfolding myself, I straightened up and looked for some signs of connectivity. The digital clock stared back at me with a blank expression.

"Nope."

The gardienne of our building confirmed it: The guys in the green suits huddled around our building's front door had clipped the power to work on the lines, and the estimated time until reconnectivity was approximately 10 hours.

"Seriously?! What are we supposed to do?!"

Power outages are just opportunities for adventure in disguise. So maybe we didn't have WiFi nor a functioning landline phone, and only had limited battery power for our laptops, but we did have an entire day ahead of us and scads of possibilities for getting out of our usual routines. Plus, the sun was shining and it was 75 degrees. That doesn't happen very often in Paris!

Fanny rides sidesaddle in her own pannier. And yes, she is fastened to her carrier so she can't jump out!

Recent rains have turned the Bois de Boulogne into a fungi forest.

If you're unsure about whether a mushroom is edible, you can bring it to a French pharmacist for confirmation. They're trained to ID poisonous varieties.

"How about an overnight trip to Versailles? On our bikes?"

"Sounds great. Let's go!"

We packed one pannier each, plus an extra one for the dog. A change of clothes, a water bottle, laptop, dog food, et voila. Done! Almost.

"Crap. How are we going to make a hotel reservation without internets?"

About six months ago, I submitted the final manuscript for Moon Living Abroad in Paris, a new guide in the Avalon Travel/Moon Guides Living Abroad series. (I am also the author of Moon Living Abroad in France, and soon to be the author of an updated and revised edition of that book, to be published in late 2015.) While I don't yet have a copy of the finished book in my hands, I do have my original Word files, in which I included an entire section on Versailles. Under "Planning Your Fact-Finding Trip," I found the hotel and B & B listings. Perfect! Using my own resources, and with a single phone call, we had a same-day reservation at a centrally located hotel that accepts dogs. 

Look up toward St. Cloud, our first stop outside of Paris.

On a passerelle over the Seine, looking downriver.

A garden along the railway on the St. Cloud side of the Seine.

Versailles, here we come!

That way >>

We set off in the direction of the Bois de Boulogne, one of the forests that bookends Paris, on the west side. Once inside the woods, the air was fresh and smelled damp and earthy. The little cycling and walking paths that zig-zag through the trees were blanketed in fallen leaves, and beneath the oaks, acorns covered the ground. It felt autumnal and wonderful. The rain the previous night had unleashed giant blooms of white, yellow, and brown mushrooms, and the blissfully warm air lured joggers and dog-walkers by the dozens.

A little picnic break beneath the sun.

The sign affixed to this cute old building described it as Charles X's hunting lodge (boo, hiss!).

Riding through the beautiful forest lands that stretch between Paris and Versailles, we inhaled more deliciously fresh air, and enjoyed the birdsong and the gentle breezes, and stopped from time to time to get a good look at historical monuments, including a former King of France's hunting lodge, and anything else that caught our fancy: flowers, more mushrooms, small birds of prey in the trees.

We stopped for a picnic in the Domaine National de Saint Cloud, another one-time playground of French royalty. We found a sunny spot to sup and relax before heading onward toward Versailles. The entire trip, with plenty of breaks, took about three hours. We could have done it in a third of the time, but this was supposed to be about slowing the pace down and enjoying the unplugged outdoors.

Riding into Versailles, we got stuck in a traffic jam around the main market square, where all the fruit and veg vendors were packing up after a long market day. Squeezing through, we finally worked our way over to Avenue de Paris and our hotel, which was quiet and cute and staffed with very friendly people. Next stop: A cafe for un verre. Afterward, we roamed the streets, poking our noses into shops, investigating restaurant menus, and generally appreciating the change of scenery.

First stop in Versailles: A cafe to cool off with liquid refreshment.

Now that our turntable is functioning, I can make impromptu music purchases again. These perfect-condition gems came from a Versailles vintage shop. 

J'adore antiquities! 

I think there's a military parade in France every day of the year.

We didn't join the gazillions of other tourists at the palace, but we did appreciate its gilded opulence from afar.   

We rode the Owl Trail most of the way home from Versailles.

Fun in the forest.

This St. Cloud street is closed on Fridays, when it is transformed into a marketplace where you can buy fruits, vegetables, and even fresh falafel sandwiches! 

Back in Paris the next day, we lucked out again with blue skies and balmy temperatures. It was only 1:30 when we got in, and we were hungry, so what did we do? Cycle over to La Chapelle, of course, for Indian food.

Almost home!

A weekend tradition: Utthampam from Sangeetha vegetarian restaurant.

Bastille Day Bliss

Is it possible to enjoy a patriotic holiday when one holds a strident non-belief in the very idea of patriotism? I like France, a lot, but I've never been a fan of flag-waving festivities--probably due, in at least some part, to the fact that where I come from, Independence day is synonymous with loud drunken louts, reckless handling of fireworks, and dead animals charring on a grill. It's also an excuse to drag out that poor old dead horse, 9/11, and beat it just a little bit more. Generally.

So while I'm not a big fan of nationalism and all the attendant sentiments, slogans, and activities, I do love a party, and for years, my curiosity has been piqued about the Bal des Pompiers or "Firemen's Ball." The word "bal" has always thrown me off; I can't help but imagine all the neighborhood Cinderallas coming out in full fancy-drag regalia, waltzing around the fire pole with Prince Pierre in his pompier finery. It's not like that, as it turns out, except for the fact that the annual Bastille Day celebration takes place in the local firehouse. All that's required of attendees--men, women, and children, is that they show up (in jeans, if you want), dance, and have fun.

Is there anything better than a bright blue sky at 10 pm?

There's no escaping big-screen TVs, even in the firehouse.

The crowd started to amp up with the arrival of the spotlights.

Red, white, and bleu--an Independence Day color theme for the masses.

The band kicked off with that wedding reception favorite, "You're my everything" by the Temptations.

Followed by "Le Freak." Now the party's getting started.

This might have been a Black Eyed Peas cover, or maybe Michael Jackson. The band actually shredded.

I kept my expectations low, but the music was a combination of practically every genre I love: Disco, pop, hip-hop. Think Best Cruise-Ship Band Ever. It was like that. Polished, visually stimulating (go-go dancers who changed costume between sets), and fronted by singers who were well-versed in between-song banter. I'd definitely hire 'em for my next party.

The party ended at 4 a.m. on July 14, Bastille Day. We didn't last that long. Around the time Cinderalla's coach would have morphed into a pumpkin, we were walking through the hushed Batignolles streets, taking in our neighborhood's beautiful architecture.

One of the prettiest windows I've seen yet in Paris.

We'd been promising the dog for weeks that we'd take her to the park to get her nature fix, and this Sunday we kept our word. After a lunch of Indian food and chilled rose, we cycled out to the Bois de Vincennes where it was hot and teeming with families and couples out picnicking. We rode to our "secret spot," through a forest of tall trees and across a field of waist-high grass, where we spread out our blanket and soaked up the sun.

On the way back into the city, we sought out and eventually found the local velodrome, built in 1896, and one of Hemingway's many cycling-centric haunts when he lived in Paris in the '20s. From here, we pedaled off back toward the converted railway line bike path. Somewhere in the 20e arrondissement, we heard live music and saw a crowd gathered outside a cafe. We stopped, locked up the bikes, and went in to scope out the live entertainment and indulge in a refreshing boisson.

The singer, who sometimes strummed a guitar, was accompanied by a pianist. Each tune they played seemed to focus on French quotidien life (I heard the words "boulangerie," "pain" and "vin" more than a few times), and harken back to the pre-war period. Most of the audience sang along. Even if I couldn't make out all the lyrics, I liked the music, and on this particular day, I didn't really mind if the songs were patriotic or nationalistic. If it can make a group of Frenchies smile, it can't be that bad.

This was a local crowd. Everyone seemed to know each other.

Manu, singing an old-timey number about St. Lazare. 

I couldn't understand all the lyrics, but everyone else did and sang along accordingly.