Versailles

Eh, Versailles was okay. Wow, that makes me sound like a jaded snob huh? Let me explain...I'm really not like that!

It was really easy to get to...I just hopped on the metro to the nearest RER (commuter rail) station, where I bought a combination Versailles entry ticket and return train ticket. The journey only took about 35 minutes, then from the train station in Versailles it was only a five minute walk to the chateau. You can't miss it, it's rather large...

Instead of the breath-taking, harps-and-trumpets, blow-me-away first view...that's what I saw: acres of tour buses and renovation scaffolding. Hrmph. Once I entered the main gates, I was slightly horrified by the line of people waiting to buy tickets, and I congratulated myself on my foresight to buy my entry ticket at the train station so I was able to walk right in and avoid the queues. Because seriously, right after "Always have lactaid in your pocket" and "Keep your handbag zipped" is my third most important rule of travel, "Always avoid queues."

So I got my handy little audioguide ("En Anglais, s'il vous plait,") ostensibly to educate myself on the palace but also mostly to drown out the shouts and annoying American accents of the throngs of tourists, and toured the open rooms in the palace. The artwork was amazing, and when you could see past the groups of school kids and camcording tourists, the interiors paneled in vibrant marbles and gilt-edged carvings are really impressive. But I found myself hurrying through to find the exit to the gardens, for some fresh air and personal space. I got so tired of being bumped and jostled and trying to weave my way through the crowds that I just adopted a "Keep moving, stop for no one, use the big black handbag as a shield" policy. I usually love to linger in old palaces and historical places, trying to imagine what life was like for people who once lived there, trying to see the place as it must have seemed in its glory days. But that was near impossible being surrounded by the teaming masses.

The gardens were extensive and immaculately groomed, if a bit muddy from morning rains. But for some reason they'd covered all the statues and art work with green tarps, and I had to keep dodging out of the way of the golf carts and trams darting around to ferry lazy tourists from one end of the gardens to the other.

So, I'm sorry to be a bitter and jaded tourist-hating tourist. I kept comparing the experience to my trip to Hampton Court, south of London, last November. Granted, I admit to being far more fascinated and more well-read on English history, particularly the Tudor period, than French history. But Hampton Court was nearly empty, and I strolled through the castles and gardens quietly and lost in courtly intrique and political power plays of centuries past. They even had actors dressed in period costume, and I'm a sucker for that kind of thing.