After our first visit to Paris, Carolyn was a little bummed out that she didn’t get to see the Palace of Versailles.
The Palace was the principal royal residence of France from 1682 until the start of the French Revolution in 1789.
I hadn’t realized it was only about 12 miles (20 kilometers) from the center of Paris, otherwise we might’ve squeezed it in last time… but, here we are in Paris again! So off we go to Versailles!
Of course the palace has plenty of patience and was more than willing to stay just as gaudy as ever no matter when we decided to visit.
It is a sign of more gaudy things to come when you see a fence made out of gold.
As you first approach the palace, you can’t help but be impressed at the size and elaborateness of the grounds and construction.
Pictures don’t do it much justice, but let’s just say it’d be a great place to live out your golden years. Until you were assassinated by some revolting peasants, that is.
We were smart enough to buy tickets online the day before, which saved us probably about an hour of waiting in line.
As you can see, there is no shortage of visitors. This is in the famous Hall of Mirrors, so-named because of all the chandeliers. Oh wait, no, there are mirrors here somewhere.
I guess mirrors were a big thing for rich people back in the day, because poor people had to ask their family how they looked, and since they generally looked pretty bad and families can be brutally honest, the answers they received just kept them depressed and poor. So the rich invented mirrors and made sure they stayed expensive.
With all the mirrors in the room, this could just be a reflection of myself.
There are seventeen arches with mirrors that reflect the seventeen arcaded windows that overlook the gardens, which ask to be overlooked, but we looked over them anyway. Each arch contains twenty-one mirrors, which is why they originally decided to allow people to drink at that age, because after you drink enough, everyone, even me, looks good in a mirror.
During the 17th century, the Hall of Mirrors was used daily by Louis XIV when he walked from his private apartment to the chapel. He thought he looked awesome even when he wasn’t drunk.
As usual, no white space was allowed. Everything has to have a decoration, because otherwise someone might think you didn’t have enough money to decorate every square inch.
They missed a spot (zoom in to figure out where).
This one is spot-free. 100% coverage! Woo hoo! Actually the other one was spot-free too. If you zoomed in… gotcha! Ha ha! See, this isn’t just a travelogue, it’s an immersive interactive experience!
These are paintings.
These are more paintings, except with Carolyn in the shot.
This room was a bust as far as we were concerned.
Oh shoot, now I have to start a new column.
Proof that the iPhone is mightier than the sword. As evidence, I offer the fact that he’s dead, and I’m not. Yet.
This is the Hall of Really Big Paintings.
I can’t remember what the hall this is.
Excuse me, I guess they’re called salons. So this must be the Salon of Really Big Fireplaces.
If I was assigned to paint that ceiling, I would’ve tried it with massive squirt guns filled with paint, so I wouldn’t have had to lay on my back for years. It probably would’ve just been a big mess, but then I could’ve called it abstract art.
Rumor has it they played chess on that floor. Note the king standing by the wall as evidence. Okay, that’s why they call it a “rumor.” I don’t know who started it. Well, I do, actually, but I’ll pretend that’s a rumor too. Anyway, my queen is there as well.
I don’t know where the hall this goes, or why no one’s here. I think someone farted.
They put the “omigawd” in gaudy, that’s for sure!
Carolyn’s listening to the statue talk to her. At least she’s fully clothed. The statue, I mean.
Ah, now we’re back to the good stuff. After all, they didn’t have HBO back then.
They’re both trying to figure out what that picture means across the room. She gave up, but he’s still at it.
Which one of us do you think is the more statuesque? And for the record, I really wasn’t trying to flip anyone off. I was trying to hold my iPhone like a cane. Of course, it might be ironic if this guy tortured one of my ancestors, in which case my bird would be completely justified!
Okay, you can have another shot at the statuesque question with this one. Rats; I already know the answer. Men are never called statuesque. That’s only for women… and statues. Foiled again!
Speaking of women, I have to post this blurb from Wikipedia: During the reign of Louis XIV and most of the reign of Louis XV, there was no plumbing to speak of in the palace itself. Only the King, the Queen, and the Dauphin had anything approaching bathrooms. Some courtiers who lived at Versailles would often have their own collapsable “commode” which was a seat with a chamber pot underneath; it was brought when needed and then taken away when finished. It is estimated that there were only three hundred of these at any one time. Everyone else, if they couldn’t afford to bribe an owner’s servant, had to just go in a corner somewhere or go outside and urinate on a tree. The smell was horrific and became notorious throughout Europe.
Isn’t that awesome? You’d think the French would have subsequently learned a thing or two about bathrooms after all that, wouldn’t you? But no-o-o-o. While I didn’t take a picture of what I’m about to describe, I have to apologize to all women on behalf of all men for the fact that almost no architects seem to understand the differences in sexes when it comes to bodily plumbing. There is a distinct shortage of bathrooms in the palace even today, but, as usual, the number and size are equal between the sexes. So of course you end up with a line of women about a hundred meters long while men jauntily breeze by on their way to immediate relief in the plentiful urinals. I actually saw a couple of women give up and go into the men’s room, for which I cheered them on heartily. I would’ve done the same thing. Women really need to rebel over this. I would happily stand side by side with them, because it’s just silly and unfair. Give the women their peedom!
Okay, I’m climbing down off my soapbox and going back to the computer again.
In our visits to other palaces and such, we learned all about the origins of some of that stonework, but have since completely forgotten every detail except that it’s kinda purple. That’s why I don’t pay much attention to tour guides anymore… it’s interesting at the time, but five minutes later I’ll have forgotten it all while I hunt for a gelado.
A very suitable Door of the Day.
After walking through the salons and halls while being buffeted about by anxious Japanese tourists clicking their cameras at every square inch of gaudiness, we finally plunged outside, gasping for breath and wiping our sweaty brows. Even though the weather was a little gloomy, we were delighted to inhale fresh air.
We interrupt this blog for an important announcement!
Our road has been paved! Our road has been paved! About a year and a half ago, they began tearing up the road in front of our house in order to lay a sewer line. Finally, after breathing enough dust to make any Burning Man attendee nostalgic, they paved the road. Who would’ve thunk two people would get so excited to see a road paved?
And now back to our regularly scheduled blog:
Okay, so now we’re outside; the back of the place looks like Disneyland’s Haunted Castle, except ten times bigger and a hundred times more real. Maybe that’s why they call it “real estate.”
This is the sight that greets you once you step outside of that hellhole of a palace.
I think the gardener was stoned when he mowed the lawn. Oh wait! Carolyn tells me they did this on purpose. Aha! Art! I get it now!
Speaking of being stoned, I was trying to look high here for the joke, but ended up just looking kinda stupid. Well, maybe that’s the same thing.
Here’s a broader view of the gardens. I say that because Carolyn took the picture. And because, you know, she’s a broad. And we’re abroad. Now that I think about it, after living abroad for all this time, going back to the US is what will feel like going abroad.
So just imagine that this is your house, and you get all the way down to where Carolyn is and you realize you forgot your keys.
He’s naked and I’m not… and I know you’re glad for both of those things.
This is definitely a rip-off for the ladies. Hey-ho! The leaf must go! At least I think that’s what the protesters were saying.
To make up for it, I took this shot just for you ladies. My guess is most of you appreciate this more than the front view anyway. You can’t tell me I don’t listen to women… indeed: what you say never goes in one rear and out the other.
Will someone please give her a hand?
You have to admit that this picture of a statue is less interesting than when one of us is goofing around in front of it. If you disagree, well, go type in “statue” in Google and have a ball. But if you do that, come back to the blog! There might be more statues here too!
And fountains! We have plenty of fountains!
Despite their beauty, supplying water for the fountains of Versailles was a major problem; Versailles has never had sufficient water supply for its hundreds of fountains. True story: when the King sauntered about the gardens, they turned the fountains on when he was approaching, and then turned them off after he was out of view.
They also quickly erected some pillars and stuff to make the palace look more impressive. Just kiddin’. That thing in front is an elevator still under construction. Just kiddin’ again. It’s a fire escape, obviously. Or telescope. Or maybe a big blender. Obviously you’re getting what you pay for in a tour guide.
The gardens cover about 800 hectares of land, much of which is landscaped in the classic French formal garden style. Here Carolyn is landscaped in the Portuguese casual chic raincoat style.
A hectare is 100 meters by 100 meters, which is about the size of a professional rugby field, so figure the gardens are 800 of those all put together. 800 hectares also equals 8 square kilometers, or a little over 3 square miles. If you prefer acres, 800 hectares is 1,976.84 acres.
Another way to put it is that it would take the average lawnmower 44,302 litres of gasoline to mow it all. I just made that up, there’s no way I’m gonna try and figure that one out. Let’s just say it’s all pretty damn big.
And there are yet more fountains. Of course, this may have shut off once we turned our backs.
And this one probably turned on as soon as we had turned around from the last one to look at this one. Sneaky water-savers, those French.
So we tried to trick them by turning our backs, but the fountains can spot a selfie a hectare away.
Some of the hectares.
We’re not sure where the hectare we are.
Aha! Found it on the map. The big lawn thingee.
Just to give you an idea as to the scope of this thing. And to think it was just a King’s backyard! No wonder the peasants ended up revolting!
I took this picture because the worker was literally walking around this tree picking up leaves and twigs. I guess that’s job security for ya, because I think as soon as he was done on one side, there were plenty of new leaves and twigs on the other side.
Our artistic shot of the day.
The trees made it all cool and peaceful. Which meant I had to shout some taunts at passing English tourists: “Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries! Pffffft! Pffft! Prrrfft!” (Some will get it, some won’t.)
Versailles is the answer to the following Jeopardy question: What would a residence look like if you had unlimited funds and were especially interested in impressing your national neighbors?
And so we said goodbye to a truly magnificent palace and gardens. But I gotta tell ya, if I’d a been a peasant back then, I would have been revolting too!