Cooked like little lobsters after sitting in the Parisian sun on Court Suzanne Lenglen,
French tennis legend (think Margaret Court) as Faye ticked off the second item on her bucket list in France of visiting the famous
It was a bad day for the French as their big hope Caroline Garcia was disposed of in no time at all despite a highly partisan crowd who cheered and hurrahed her every winner, chanting slogans and continually shouting encouragement but greeting every winner of her opponent, Kerber, with restrained and polite clapping, except for the German gentleman sitting directly behind us who bellowed YA! YA! YA! at her every winner. We thought towards the end he was going to provoke WWIII.
Our seats were way up in the clouds and it was almost impossible to see what was happening below
but luckily the Royal Observatory was close by so we popped over there and asked if we could borrow the big telescope they use to study the moon, for the day. They were a bit reluctant at first until we mentioned the fact that sometimes we ride up and down Walnut Rd in Bickley, close to the Bickley Observatory. They knew all about that place and were most co-operative after that.
With our new eyepiece we had a much better view of what was happening down under
and were also able to get a good view of the well-drilled crew who rushed on to the court to spray the spectators
and cool them down when they thought things were getting a little too heated.
Just getting to the tennis was an experience in itself, but we eventually found the right train and bus connections and were greeted by a very chic-looking team
on our arrival. This was after going through checkpoint 1 where our bags were opened for a cursory check, then checkpoint 2 where bags were checked again, body patted down and the explosives meter run over bags and self, then on to checkpoint 3 for a more thorough bag search and another pat down in case the first lot missed the stiletto knife which I had taped to my inside thigh, then onto a ticket check and after that on to a passport and ticket validation check. No trouble at all and before we knew it we were in. Faye headed straight for the merchandise shop to buy as many over-priced souvenirs as she could fit into her new shopping bag,
the flags of the 'Big Four' fluttered in the breeze
while the band struck up 'Waltzing Matilda'
when they saw us coming.
There were hundreds of smartly dressed officials on hand everywhere to deal with the throngs, some with a pretty sharp line in bottle balancing,
and there were huge numbers of people everywhere, queueing to get back onto the court, queueing for food, for coffee, for the toilets, to buy an ice-cream, but everyone having a good time and just enjoying themselves and taking in the atmosphere of participating in a Grand Slam.
Tuesday, 5 June 2018
On a drizzly day in Paris with sunshine in short supply we decided to head out to C de G airport to carry out a small assignment we had agreed to undertake for 'Arrivals International'. They had asked for a short paper on the 'meeters and greeters', those flunkies one comes across at airports standing around holding cards with people's names on them. Well, it has certainly gone hi-tech lately, if this display of sharply-suited minions is anything to go by.
(nb: click on photos to enlarge)
Not everyone is up with the times, though, as some favoured the old cardboard stand-by
but mostly types with state-of-the-art facial growth.
Paper, of course, is still as popular as ever
We were bemused by the name on this gentleman's sign,
(Pamela Wallace if you can't see it properly), and couldn't help but speculate as to whether it was perhaps, a discarded wife of the old cocky himself from his much younger days when he was raging across Europe, known far and wide as the 'Corrigin Cowboy'.
A couple of the workers are probably in need of re-training; for example, this clown,
who's never going to attract anyone's attention with his notice behind his back.
or tucked under his arm. PUT IN FRONT OF YOU SO THEY CAN SEE IT, STUPID.......or this guy, who suffers maybe from dyslexia as he has quite clearly
left off a line from the right-hand side of the bottom character. How is the intended victim supposed to know it's them if their name is spelt incorrectly?
Anyhow, report completed, we'll be slapping an extra 20% surcharge on the invoice to help cover the sting we're expecting from the France gendarmerie for the most minor of minor speed violations.
While hard at work at the airport, it was amazing to see what bargains one could pick up that had been left lying round unclaimed at the collection point....
but no more amazing than the unbelievable co-incidence that occurred as we were preparing to leave, for who should come sailing along
but my sister. Boy! Was she surprised to see Faye
there. It turns out she has just taken off for a holiday jaunt and was passing through Paris on her way to Vanuatu. She's agreed to postpone her trip there and hang out with us for a couple of weeks. How lucky are we?
As you can imagine, it didn't take either of them long to recover from the shock of the meeting and soon they were gossipping like a couple of old housewives.
As you can imagine, it didn't take either of them long to recover from the shock of the meeting and soon they were gossipping like a couple of old housewives.
She's already shown her value to us for when changing trains and platforms on the way home from the airport, as we didn't have our glasses handy we asked her to confirm the destination station showing on the notice board of the train we were about to board was Saint-Quentin en-Evelines and she saw Saint Ouen enl'Aumône and said 'yes'. This meant that when we realised she really meant 'no', we had gone two stations in the wrong direction so had to get off that train, change platforms, head back two stations, get off, change platforms again and wait another 15 minutes for the correct train. I know about jet lag and the shock of unexpected encounters etc, but you would expect that someone you had just agreed to shelter for a few weeks would make more of an effort to get a pretty basic word-matching exercise correct.
WEDNESDAY, 6 June 2018
A bucket list day and the first to be ticked off was the Palace of Versailles. The grandeur, the opulence, the majesty and the beauty of the place has to be seen in reality to be truly appreciated. A little taster of the elegance in store as we approached the chateau,
(click on photos to enlarge)
after deciding to drive the 7 km from where we are staying instead of catching the train as Google Maps showed us parking would be closer than the station. It was, in fact, a km further.
As you might expect, there were clueless tourists everywhere, studying maps,
even though what they were looking for was right in front of them. Having pointed them in the right direction, the next hurdle was to get through the throng of souvenir sellers
peddling their cheap Eiffel Towers and plastic chateau replicas, get through outside security at the gates and voila!, there it was in front of us
in all its glittering magnificence.One final body search from the security honchos
Versailles began life under the reign of Louis XIII in the early 1600's as a royal hunting lodge, but when Louis XIV got in there he really took to the place, expanded it and eventually moved his court there as he didn't trust the mobs in Paris. A statue of him dominates the entrance
replete with a couple of his serving wenches at the base.
The whole visit process was very well-organised to cope with the 3 million plus visitors per year. After clearing security, more bag checks and body patting, we received an audio-guide which allowed us to receive all sorts of interesting bits of information. Such as the story of this impressive casting couch.
They are very much out of fashion these days,of course, but in the days of the old Louis they were definitely à la mode; in fact the madames and mademoiselles of French aristocracy were queueing up to be invited to try out on it, and why wouldn't they on such a sumptuous piece of furniture and with such a magnificent presence as 'Le Roi Soleil' (the Sun King) himself, the most splendid of European monarchs. Those who made it past the couch might then be invited to share the royal boudoir
where the curtains could be discreetly drawn.
Another interesting item in the royal dressing room about which we learnt was this chest of drawers
in which were kept the royal underwear, the bottom right drawer of which Louis used for his old socks and jocks, those where the elastic had stretched a bit too much, were going grey with repeated washing or had a few too many holes blown in them and he would hoard these and pack them when going away on hunting trips to save himself the tedium of having to wash his current ones, and at the end of each day would auction them off to the royal courtiers and hangers-on to raise a few extra euros for the royal treasury.
Paintings, paintings were everywhere, hundreds of them, many of them of Louis himself, such as this one
showing off a goodly stretch of the royal leg and thigh and also a nicely turned ankle, accentuated by a dandy little bow around it. Louis was not averse to getting into drag every now and then, either,
as numerous statues around the palace depicting him as a Grecian hero, showed.
The most magnificent of all the magnificent rooms we could see, though, was undoubtedly the 'Hall of Mirrors'.
This splendid and opulent setting was the scene of all the splendid balls and entertainments of the royal court. It was also used for the signing in 1919 of the 'Treaty of Versailles' that formally ended WWI. It is still used today for important state occasions.
While answering the call of nature at Versailles, in the course of things, we couldn't help but notice the blatant discrimination against females in this regard and wonder why nothing is being done about it.
While the women are forced to queue for long periods of time in increasing levels of discomfort and desperation, the line for the men...well, there is no line. They don't have to wait at all. We've seen this phenomenon before, where the women forced to cross their legs and wait patiently while the men are free to let it blow in the wind,
or all hang out
so to speak. In this post-Harvey Weinstein era with woman now looking for a new battle to try and bring about equality of the sexes, they could do worse than shining a light on this dark area of injustice. Surely with the advanced state of science these days, a little genetic engineering here, a bit of a tweak of a DNA gene there, females could be given a more efficient means of waste disposal. I'm sure they would find it such a relief.
Having wandered up and down the stairs and stately halls and salons of Versailles for a few hours, all the old injuries took their toll and we could take no more without a rest. Bearing in mind the walk back to the car, we headed for a quick stroll in the gardens, there are acres of them, but we could only manage a small part.
The pond of the headless swans
was our first view, while looking down one of the avenues
showed what a daunting task a full tour would be. We satisfied ourselves with a half hour tour past manicured lawns and graceful walks before heading off and home to prepare for the big night out.
Starting off with a pre-dinner cocktail
we then headed for the
for bucket list item number 4. And what a show it was. We were there to see the 'Can Can' but we thought we wouldn't wouldn't as the show was getting towards what we thought must be the end and they hadn't hadn't had it but then they did did and it was fan fan tastic. The whole show was a total blast with the endless variety of stunning costumes, the amazing dancers both male and female, the sets, which included a pool that rose from below the stage with no less than 6 huge sea snakes in it into which a dancer dived and swam with for 5 minutes, the acts between some of the dance items, one of which featured a juggler who had the audience in stitches as he did incredible things with ping-pong balls coming out of his mouth, and, apparently, the bare-breasted female dancers, which I
can't comment on as every time they came on stage, Faye slipped a blindfold over my eyes.
All in all, a most memorable day and night!
THURSDAY, 7 June 2018
Jumped in the car today and headed 60 km to Giverny to see
Monet in his garden. He wasn’t there,
though, as they said he died almost 100 years ago, but they still let us
in to his gardens. Just as well we had
the car as the train drivers are on another of their rolling strikes so
not sure we could have got there, otherwise.
We had heard Monet was a bit of a brush man so arrived
expecting to find all the houses done up in magnificent colours but it turns
out he did his best work in oils and pastels on canvas. A bit of a letdown but still there was plenty to see in the course of the trip. Just walking to his house and gardens we saw the actual subject of one of his more famous paintings,
'At the bus stop'
(nb: click on photos to enlarge)
Like most places we visit, there was a queue waiting to get inside
and a search of bags but once through the doors, there, very thoughtfully and tastefully laid out for us
was a wide range of posters and postcards, books and key-rings and purses and numerous other necessary items, with some tacky looking wall-paper across the top of the wall featuring what looked like a bit of a swamp. The guy on the couch was going on about the size of the salmon he caught in the pond in the garden but when we walked around we didn't see anything bigger than a tadpole.
Once out in the garden, there it was, another of the scenes of his paintings,
this one titled 'Lettuce leaves on the lawn'.
The garden was certainly pretty special, every colour of the rainbow represented and an endless variety of different flowers and shrubs and trees. We saw where UVJ (uninvitedunexpected visitor Jenny)'s hairdresser got the inspiration for her hair colouring from
and at one stage we lost UVJ but then she popped up unexpectedly; she'd been hidden in this row of flowers.
We heard that Monet was pretty big on painting flowers but here's a couple of faded roses he never got his brush around.
There were bridges and ponds and paths going in all directions
and impressive trees
and lots of people looking at water lilies
and more water lilies
The paths eventually led to Monet's house, and would you believe
We had a bit of a look inside and there was his bedroom,
pretty depressing to wake up and look outside and realise how many weeds you were going to have to pull up that day, and there was his desk
where he used to sit and write out invoices and threatening letters to all the clients whose houses he had painted and hadn't yet transferred the money into his bank account.
We did like his dining room, though, and could see how skilful a painter he was and what good taste he had with the use of the colour yellow. Even the chairs repeated the theme and it seems not only had he mastered walls and ceilings but he was pretty adept with furniture, too.
On the way back to our car we passed the old pub he used to drink at
with the plaque to the right of the entrance
telling how he and his other painter mates used to go there to get plastered (even though they were painters) and piss themselves laughing at how much people would pay for their works.
FRIDAY, June 8 2018
The heart of Paris today and we left early to get to here,
the second most famous tower in the world after this incredible structure,
before the crowds arrived. We didn't quite manage it, though, as the railways are in the second day of rolling strikes and we arrived at the station to find the 'Help Desk' shut, one ticket machine 'indisposed', two others accepting rail pass cards we didn't have and the one working one not accepting notes but accepting an amount of coins we didn't have and/or a MasterCard we couldn't quite work out how to program. We've learnt a trick or two, though, which is if you stand around long enough and push and prod hopefully at buttons and look bewildered while a queue builds up behind you, some kind person more frustrated than the others at waiting will step up to help out the ignorant foreigners. Which is what eventually happened and has done so a number of times over the last few days.
This is the guy, though,
who was responsible for us waiting almost an hour in a queue just to buy a ticket to enter the place, then another hour to ride the lift to the second stage, get out there and ride another lift to the top, then another half-hour to repeat the process going down and then get out. Once up the top, though, it is all worth it for the stunning views,
Pierre was excited at being at the tower and popped out for a look but quickly dived backed into his hidey-hole when he saw the crowds and the scary-looking groups of police walking around in their bullet-proof vests, with guns and what looked like semi-automatic rifles, not held down by their sides but pointing out in front of them with their finger on the trigger. A shoot first and ask questions later policy it would appear. So upset was he by this that we promised him his own Eiffel Tower party when we got home.
After more train adventures we emerged at another national monument,
but she said she didn't want the sort of cheap rubbish on offer that she could just as easily pick up from Targé in Perth, but would wait for something decent to come along.
SATURDAY, 9 June 2018
Back home to Richelieu today via the city of Chartres to visit its famous cathedral,
(nb: click on photos to enlarge)
with its 12th century spire on the right and 16th century spire on the left. This mammoth and magnificent edifice began life on this site in the 4th century, was re-built after being destroyed by warring nobility in the 8th century and finally re-built in its present form after destruction by fire in the 12th century. At 130m in length it is almost as long as an Aussie Rules football field.
There is some beautiful and very delicate frieze works around sections of the interior. A restoration project is in progress cleaning these so that they appear in their original form
rather than as they currently are.
The same process is happening with the imposing columns.
The cleaning process is apparently causing controversy among cultural curators and art critics who are divided over whether the centuries accumulation of candle smoke, dirt, grease and grime are more authentic than the restored facade. Our vote is for the clean look.
Of course the cathedral has wonderful stained glass windows everywhere, an imposing ceiling 38 metres high, these splendid golden doors
and a locked crypt
where all the cathedral's deepest and darkest secrets are kept hidden away well out of view.
Lunch was called for after the exhausting work of wandering round this giant cathedral and Pierre was quick to give UVJ his opinion on the pichet of rosé we ordered.
He wasn't so certain though on the choice between salade de traute fumée and the rather tasty sounding salade des gesiers, but when the waitress translated the latter as 'chicken gizzards' the choice was made.
Continuing our 280 km journey home, we stopped in a small town to stretch our legs and look for a coffee when a lady approached us and asked 'You are lost, no? Maybe?' She spoke very good English and we got chatting and she ended up inviting us into her house for a cuppa'.
Quite remarkable. And then even more so when it turned out she had been not only to Australia but to Perth. And had lived there for a few years. And in the mother-of-all coincidences, she actually knew my brother Chris and s-i-l Jenny and had lived with them for some time.
The strangest and most unbelievable things happen when one gets off the beaten track and away from the tourist hotspots
SUNDAY, 10 June 2018
A day of rest and recovery after a hectic time in Paris. We took a stroll to the park, where UVJ payed homage to the great man himself,
(nb: click on photos to enlarge)
who raised his finger in acknowledgement. We continued on to the pond, passing down this lovely path with the climbing roses starting to blossom
to check out what was happening with the swan and were astonished to see mama swan still sitting there.
Walking back home we were a little startled to see this mower powering itself up and down this tiny patch of lawn
in someone's back garden. 
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