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.

Love and Loss in the City of Light

Fanny, just about to sneeze, with Bike #2 (a steal at €40 from the Porte de Montreuil marche aux puces) in the background 

Before I fell in love with cycling, I was deeply entrenched in a torrid, head-over-heels affair with smoking.

It was a cough-all-night, borderline-emphysema kind of habit, and I loved every stinky, finger-stained minute of it. But after my 500th sore throat and one last-straw lung infection, I traded in the tobacco and rolling papers for two wheels and a bike helmet (which came in handy when I made a dramatic face-first wipeout near Montmartre a couple of years ago).

In a life loaded with questionable decision-making moments, this was definitely one of my better moves. Fifteen years in a dysfunctional relationship is far too long, and even though the breakup was protracted and sad, the heartache was worth it.

Bikes for rent in the little town of Mahabalipuram, in south India, 2011.

My real motive for taking up cycling was to avoid having to take the bus (San Francisco's public transit system is notorious for its horribleness), but it's gradually morphed into something more than a mere form of alt transport. Today, I actually enjoy riding so much that I sometimes structure vacations around it, and generally try to incorporate biking into every last travel experience. 

Besides the obvious places like Amsterdam and Copenhagen, I've rented bicycles in China, Laos, Cambodia, and India. In Vietnam, I even used my two-dollar-a-day bike as a getaway vehicle after finding--and releasing--a basket full of dogs destined for I-don't-want-to-know where.

I found this fishing basket full of dogs on a sidestreet in Mui Ne, Vietnam in 2009 while riding my bike. After about two seconds of contemplation, I lifted the lid, whispered "go!" and watched them sprint for their lives. 

A couple of years ago, I was interviewed by Bike NoPa for a "Women who bike" feature, and I've also nudged my freewheelin' hobby into the professional realm, writing for Momentum magazine, aka the world's coolest bike rag. But more than anything, I just like pedaling around town, zooming over to Marche d'Aligre, or to meet friends at a restaurant (OK--a bar), or to shuttle the dog to the forest for a good, long walk. I love the ease of it all. It's quicker (and cheaper) than the Metro, and definitely more convenient than Velib'. Which is why I'm so bummed that I've now cycled through my third bike in less than three years.

Dubbed "Moneypenny" by her  last owner, I kept the name and gave her lots of love and attention over the last year or more that we've been together. 

My first bike was stolen (not uncommon here). Not cool. The second bike, a cute little red number I bought at the Porte de Montreuil flea market for €40, snapped in half (literally) after about six months of everyday use. My third and latest bike is/was a hand-me-down Peugeot with a step-through frame and missing headlight, but she was sturdy and reliable and I really loved her. Still do, even though she's damaged goods now. It's only a guess, but it looks as if one of those Parisian side-walk cleaning contraptions backed into it, since the frame is bent beyond repair and the back tire is practically folded in half. 

Today I walked over to BicyclAide, a non-profit bike shop/atelier in the neighboring banlieue of Clichy-la-Garenne, in the hopes of finding another cheap and functional set of wheels to get me through the rest of this Living Abroad in France experience. They were closed. Until they reopen, I'll be fantasizing about my bike-to-be; I'm thinking orange, with a pair of red panniers on the side, and a obnoxiously noisy bell. I'll plaster her with stickers and park her in a safe spot, free from the hazards of thievery and municipal street cleaners.

What does your bike look like? (And does that question feel kinky to you somehow?) What are your tricks for keeping your steed safe from harm and greedy fingers?

I wouldn't mind if my next bike looked a little something like this.