Fontainebleau

Back in January I had the pleasure of meeting my uncle's friend Pascal, who kindly extended an open invitation to visit him and his family in Fontainebleau. If I've learned one thing about France over the last 9 months, it's that the more I travel outside of Paris the less I like the city and its denizens. So last week I called him up and we arranged a day for me to come round for lunch and visit the city's main attraction - the château.

When I arrived yesterday morning Pascal was already waiting for me at the station, and even though it hadn't been that long since we'd last seen each other, it still made me smile to see how enthusiastic he was about everything. 

"There's a nice village I want to show you!" he said as soon as I had buckled my seatbelt.

​Me with owner Steve.

And off we went to nearby Samois, a small town right on the Seine. As we wound through the narrow streets he occasionally slowed to point out particular buildings and passageways. It was charming and rustic. But we didn't actually stop and get out of the car until we approached the riverbank and Pascal spotted a friend - a New Zealander named Steve who owns a B&B on a boat. Steve seemed pleased to have company so he invited us in for a little tour. The main level of consists of a large deck with jacuzzi, richly furnished lounge and bar, and an enviable kitchen. Below were the 4 guest rooms, also pretty lavishly decked out (pun intended?), and pictures of celebrities who had stayed there.

 "Recognize this guy?" Steve asked me, pointing to an autographed photo. The face looked vaguely familiar, but was obscured by a bushy beard.

It was Robert De Niro. 

Steve quizzed me on another, which this time I recognized - Debbie Reynolds, because Singin' in the Rain is my favorite movie.

After the tour we hopped back in the car and drove into the forest that surrounds the city of Fontainebleau (for a 10-mile radius all around, according to Pascal). Standing on that rocky outcropping I immediately felt a pang because it reminded me of home; of the trees that give Washington its nickname, and of camping with my family during summer vacation. With the wind you could hear the distant sounds of cars speeding down the highway, but engulfed in that pristine panorama of nature it seemed but a whisper.

I wish we could have stayed longer but by then it was almost noon, and Pascal's wife Sophie had prepared lunch - a delicious beef stew - for all of us at their home. And because Sophie is half Vietnamese we had it with rice. Yum. More things I miss about home...

Pascal dropped me off at the château in the early afternoon, explaining how to catch the bus back to the train station and apologizing profusely for not being able to stay and show me around (he had previously agreed to help a friend out with his new property). But, really, he and Sophie had already done more for me than they knew. Whatever you may have heard about French hospitality probably only applies to Parisians; as much as I adore the couple we really are just acquaintances, and yet they welcomed me with open arms. I hope I'll have time to pay them another visit before I leave France for good, but if not at least I have this lovely day to remember them by.

Sophie had warned me that Fontainebleau would seem "small" in comparison to Versailles, but in some ways it made for a more positive visiting experience. Yes, the rooms aren't as big as there are less of them than in its more famous counterpart, but Fontainebleau is every bit as opulent. It's history is more intricate as well, dating back to the Middle Ages, and since many monarchs who resided there did their own renovations the result is a hodgepodge of architectural and artistic styles. And I'm not just talking about interior design; even from the outside the palace is very asymmetrical. Because of my timing I got caught between a couple of tour groups, but in general Fontainebleau has a lot less visitors. It was still easy to take photos without getting randos in the frame, whereas at Versailles I didn't even bother to try.

If you go: The train schedules on the SNCF website are misleading. At the time of writing, trains heading to Montargis (Fontainebleau will be the third stop) depart from Gare de Lyon 19 minutes past the hour. Trains from Fontainebleau-Avon depart every 30 minutes on the hour back to Paris.  The journey is approximately 40 minutes each way.

Chantilly: La Crème de la Crème

This past week of funemployment has been a bit of a château shuffle. Originally I was meant to hit up Chantilly with a friend last Friday, but when she bailed I tagged along with Steph to Chartres. Then my plan was to go to Fontainebleau on Wednesday to tour the castle and visit some family friends I had previously met in Azay, but some last minute changes forced us to reschedule for next week. The net result: I salvaged yesterday by going to Chantilly instead, and thus dodged another day of staying in on the pretext of avoiding this suboptimal "springtime" Paris weather while really just watching Glee or Game of Thrones ​(usually both - I watch one while the other loads).

So what about Chantilly?​ Started in 1358, finished in 1882. I'm not exactly sure who lived there but for a long time the estate was linked to the Montmorency family. Nowadays it's under the care of the Institut de France and the château houses the Musée Condé, an impressive art collection. In addition to the gallery, accessible rooms include the library, chapel, great hall, war room, music room, and what were once I suppose private apartments. Have a look.

An English friend once complained to me that wherever Americans go in Europe, all they do is rave about "OMG - the history" of whatever they happen to be standing next to.​ It's true, I confess, but in our defense we really have nothing like these grand palaces and cathedrals - many of which are even older than our country - at home. I think that's why I continue to seek them out wherever I go.

The château was modest in size (or maybe it just seemed that way because a relatively small proportion is accessible to the public), but it looked quite striking from afar what with the partial moat and sweeping stone-paved driveway leading up to it. Coupled with the geometrically designed park surrounding it (by André Le Nôtre of Versailles fame), no wonder Chantilly has been featured in film and celebrity weddings. However since most castle-oglers stop only at Versailles, Chantilly has the added benefit of being virtually empty.

The famous cream with a slice of strawberry tart.​ Almost makes up for the fact that I didn't celebrate Pi Day this year.

But to pâtissiers like myself, Chantilly has ​another meaning - the sweetened whipped cream invented centuries ago by a chef whose name I have a strong feeling once appeared on a written exam at school and that I embarrassingly cannot recall at the moment. So when I saw the on-site restaurant advertising "la vraie crème Chantilly" I knew I had to try it even though, like most food in France, it is absurdly overpriced.

How do I describe the delectable confection? It's not like whipped cream, per se, in that it's denser - more mousse-like than anything else - with a pleasant vanilla flavor. (But also I'm pretty sure cream here has a higher fat content than what's used in the US). The server gave me a giant scoop, perhaps because I was the sole patron in the establishment, and even though I didn't finish it I still felt slightly sick after. So rich. Good thing I decided to walk back to the train station.​

The castle grounds also feature the hamlet (cluster of peasant-style buildings for rich people to play in) that inspired Marie Antoinette's, a still-used racecourse (​curiously named the Hippodrome) and the Musée Vivant du Cheval (literally: Museum of the Living Horse). I refused to set foot in the latter because ever since a traumatic childhood incident involving an outing to Medieval Times and subsequent severe allergic reaction, I have been averse to horses. But if equestrian is your thing you should totally check it out.

Notre-Dame de Chartres, the Gothic Giant

Ah, post-final exam bliss. Since Monday I've been filling my days eating out with friends, watching movies, shopping for chef's uniforms for my internship (hint: it's really difficult for someone my size, but thankfully there is no dearth of tailors in this city), preparing for my summer trip, and doing pretty much everything I can think of that I won't have time for once I start working next week.​ Having covered most of the Paris "necessities," I've been keeping a mental list of day trips. Versailles. Check. Giverny. Check. And now I can add Chartres!

A medieval town about an hour's train ride outside of Paris (we never did figure out which region it's in, but I'm guessing the Loire Valley)​, Chartres is known for having one of the best preserved Gothic cathedrals in the country. Even the name of the city pays homage to the distinct blue hue used in the stained glass. (Or so said Steph's guidebook). Near the main foyer there's an interesting inlaid labyrinth, meant to symbolize something about getting closer to God. I believe the words David, Goliath and minotaur were thrown around in the explanation, but now I've gotten it all mixed up.

It's ironic how many churches and cathedrals I've been to in Europe considering my complete lack of religious beliefs. But despite that, I suppose what I'm drawn to is the history and the workmanship. And, from an anthropological standpoint, the stark contrast between, say, this cathedral and a Shinto shrine or Buddhist temple is really quite fascinating. (Ooh, I feel the makings of a future post brewing...)

After making the rounds through the cavernous interior, we climbed one of the spires to the top - some 300 steps and god knows how many meters - and were met by spectacular views and a frightfully chilly wind. Despite the nice weather the previous weekend (I only had to wear three or so layers while working on the food truck and not the usual five to six), it had snowed mid-week and in fact there was still some piled up on the steps near the top of the spire. I was afraid of slipping and falling on the ancient stone, but everyone made it up and back down safely, including Steph's mom who is visiting from Melbourne to attend our graduation ceremony at the end of the week.​

​Following the descent we made our way to a cozy salon du thé to regain the feeling in our fingers and toes over some house specialty hot chocolate while planning our next move. Turns out the cathedral is essentially the only destination in Chartres, so after wandering through the historic area a bit more we hopped the train back toward the chaos of Montparnasse station.

Another day, another view. Hoping I can cram a couple more excursions in this week. We'll see.​

Saint-Malo Through an iPhone

At the advice of Jane, co-owner of Au Bon Accueil, I took a short train ride out to Saint-Malo and booked my homebound journey to Paris from there, rather than spend my last day in the Pontorson/Mont Saint-Michel area which, according to her, "is not very interesting at all" once you've seen the island and the abbey. Good thing I listened, because the hours I spent wandering around the walled port city (still in use) were easily the highlight of my trip.

It was low tide when I arrived, so I ​wandered around the nearly deserted beach for a bit before mounting the stairs to the ramparts, and was instantly reminded of how much I miss living near the water. Maybe that's why Paris has begun to feel claustrophobic; it's too landlocked for me.

The entire loop around the city's walls is about a mile long, with spectacular ocean scenery on one side and a privileged view of the old, stately architecture on the other. If the weather hadn't kept fluctuating between drizzly rain and sun breaks I might have stopped to read my book up there for a while. 

Below, some of my favorite scenes from Saint-Malo.​

See the rest on Flickr.​

***​

If you go...

Eat: Le Corps de Garde Crêperie. Sure there are crêperies everywhere (this is proper Brittany, after all), but this probably the only place where waiters dress in quasi-pirate garb with black pants, ruffled white shirts and red sashes, and the dining room is strategically placed such that customers can look out over the ramparts and across the water as they eat.​

Versailles: the 1% of the Ancien Régime

In the summer of 2006, the first and most previous time I'd been to Paris prior to moving here, my parents and I took a day trip out to the Château de Versailles. Back then I was fresh off of my sophomore year of high school, and therefore had a decent understanding of the castle's past (well, more so than in the present day anyways) thanks to a little academic rite of passage we Americans like to call Advanced Placement European History.* 

Visiting Versailles effectively did to palaces what the Vatican did to churches; it ruined the rest of them. In my mind no royal residence can ever compare the behemoth built by Louis XIV, nor will I ever be as impressed by a place of worship as I was by St. Peter's Basilica. As both architectural feats and manifestations of wealth and power, they stand alone on an unparalleled level of opulence.

Photos from that initial visit can be admired here in all their pixelated glory; the camera I was using in those days has less than half the megapixels of my current DSLR. And yes, the album contains a few self-portraits, but in my defense that was back when Myspace was still cool.

What else was different the second time around? The weather, for one thing. In summer the gardens were in full bloom, and we enjoyed a nice boat ride on the Grand Canal - well, my mom and I did at least since my dad did all the rowing. In winter it was gray and drizzly, and many statues were covered up to protect them from the elements.

Since this most recent jaunt was a first for my brother and cousin, we opted for the full day-passes that granted access to the Grand and Petit Trianons (subsidiary structures intended for the King's court, family and friends), as well as Marie-Antoinette's estate. The mini-palaces were interesting enough to walk through, but the latter was more memorable.

You see, when Marie-Antoinette lived there she had a private hamlet - essentially an entire village replete with functioning farm - constructed. It wouldn't surprise me if she had also kept a bunch of indentured peasants there to make it feel more realistic; just walking past the now defunct structures was like being dropped into a perverse Disneyland.

No wonder the public wanted her head chopped off.

*My former French tutor once complained about his American history course, which put me on the defensive because, let's be real, two hundred and thirty-odd years is nothing compared to the scope of covering an entire continent from the late Middle Ages to the present.

A Brush with Death in Kutná Hora

While in the past I tended to look down on guided tours as something for the lazy tourist masses, in the course of my solo travels I've come to appreciate them, particularly in cases where my experience would benefit from expert knowledge (i.e. Vatican City) or else would allow me to go somewhere that might otherwise be difficult to organize on my own (i.e. Capri). The tour I selected for this trip accomplished the latter, taking me about 60km outside of Prague to Kutná Hora, once a prosperous silver-mining capital and now a sleepy little UNESCO World Heritage Site.

To be honest, though, the only reason I chose this tour in particular was that it included a visit to the Sedlec Ossuary, a Roman Catholic chapel containing the remains of tens of thousands of people. Our tour guide, who presumably leads this trip several times a week, insisted that he couldn't stand being inside the crypt for more than a few minutes, so after sorting out our tickets he went back to the bus to wait. I, on the other hand, couldn't be more excited. Ever since I was a child I've been oddly fascinated by death (just ask my parents), so to see such an immense volume of genuine human bones arranged so artistically was pretty mind blowing. Or maybe I'm just a morbid person. I don't know. It is pretty cool though, like something from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets or the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland but completely real.

The ossuary is located in the suburbs, so the tour continued to the central historic district starting at St. Barbara's Church, a cavernous affair with frescoes dating from before 1500 and some of the most incredible stained glass I've ever seen. It's hard to tell from this picture, but the vibrant colors and meticulous details made it seem as though the images ought to start moving...like in the beginning of Beauty and the Beast but with religious figures instead.

After walking through old town we concluded at the Italian Court, the political and economic center of Kutná Hora's glory days. King Wenceslaus IV lived here in the 14th century, and apparently must have been pretty short because the door frames in the palace are practically child-sized. Which is to say that I could pass through no problem without stooping; Wenceslaus could too but according to the guide he did so wearing a giant crown on his head. If this is all true that would make him much, much smaller than even Napoleon.

So why don't you ever hear people talking about having a Wenceslaus complex, eh?

[update] A couple days after I returned to Paris, a friend and I were having falafel in the Marais when a couple from my tour group randomly sat down next to us. They weren't very pleased with the tour, and I don't blame them - there were some logistical errors and the guide wasn't particularly informative - but I stand by what I said earlier. If I hadn't gone, I probably wouldn't have been able to get there from Prague on my own.

Fireworks & Friends at Château de Vaux le Vicomte

Last ​​weekend some friends and I ventured southeast of Paris to the fanciful estate at Vaux le Vicomte. Built in the mid-17th century for Louix XIV's finance minister Nicolas Fouquet, the château has a pretty colorful history that I'm only learning now via Wikipedia, since all of the on-site literature is in French. Basically, Fouquet built himself a house (demolishing three villages in the process) to match his huge political ambitions. It was all well and good for a few years, until a particularly elaborate fête that led to Fouquet's arrest and subsequent life imprisonment. The king had been falsely tipped off that Fouquet bankrolled the château by embezzling state funds, but really Louis XIV was just jealous...and two decades later moved into his own version of Vaux le Vicomte - Versailles. 

​Of course there's a moat.

If you've ever been to Versailles, or pretty much any other castle in Europe, the château itself is pretty underwhelming. However it's still worth going to see the sweeping gardens designed by An​dré le Nôtre; especially on Saturday nights during the spring and summer when the grounds are lit by thousands of candles.

The seemingly endless gardens.

A brief firework display kicks off around 11pm, and while you wait for it to start you can enjoy snacks and beverages at the garden's café.​

​Wine by candlelight, anyone?

And, finally, the boom we were all waiting for.​