[fair disclosure: a very long post!]
In the early morning, it emerges - out of darkness, this place of French royalty. Again I have music in my head. All morning long. It seems so fitting! Listen along, if you want (Ton Koopman's J.S. Bach and the Magnificat).
Out my morning window:
Breakfast. Timing it so that I'm done by 9:30.
Cross the street and I am there.
Through the gates...
It turns out I'm not the first, but the second. The group before me is Russian and they want to inspect everything, so it's easy to pass them.
And to have the entire Fontainebleau Chateau to myself. (Are you playing the music?!)
(did the womenfolk sit and chat here?)
It is the only chateau to have been inhabited by all of France's kings -- from the 12th century until the 19th. Such magnificence! Really, such lavish opulence! No more words. Just look:
(she slept here)
(his throne)
(he slept here)
(the chapel)
And the gardens -- always beautiful, I'm sure, but for me, winter is such a good match -- that somewhat somber complement to the seriousness of this whole enterprise!
(the entirety)
And look how stunning their winter selection of blooms is (we couldn't do this in Wisconsin, but here, these will survive even a stiff frost):
That's my morning.
At noon, I have an appointment at "La Petite Reine." I walk briskly...
...past tempting shops (they are serious about their pastries here!)...
...to the little store where there is a velo (a bike) waiting for me. I'm renting a bike: it's the only way I can imagine seeing the Fontainebleau Forest -- such a vast place, with so many trails!
Madame smiles when I sheepishly ask for a helmet. I'm sure she's thinking -- these Americans! They want to protect themselves from everything! (I do not bother saying that I crashed some ten years ago and the helmet saved my head.)
It's a mountain bike and I'm a bit surprised at that. The terrain here is flat, no? Off I go! I have a destination -- through the woods and into the next village -- Barbizon. Have you heard of it? It was once a hot spot for painters: the preimpressionists lived and painted there ("the Barbizon School") and the Impressionist giants came to visit as well.
It's cool outside, but not too bad. Maybe low forties. I do miss my gloves, but otherwise, pedaling is a good way to forget about winter. And just as promised, there is an occasional wisp of blue sky. The rains stayed mainly on the southern plains!
Forest photos. Of course.
The path to Barbizon is supposed to be easy and not too long -- maybe half a dozen miles.
I lose it instantly. I don't know why. It's their fault!
I'm huffing on sandy terrain that seems pretty steep to me. I almost have to get off and push.
But after several turns and guesses, eventually I hit gold -- a nicely paved path and one that miraculously leads in the direction of the painters' village.
No, this landscape is not flat. Not at all! Take a look:
So beautiful!
On a good trail, it's manageable, even for me. (On one incline, I pass some hikers and as I puff my way to the top, they shout out the familiar encouragement here -- courage! courage! It reminds me of the days Ed and I biked through Provence many years back. Courage! Allez, allez! Go!)
Finally in Barbizon.
I locate the place where I want to pause for a late lunch -- La Creperie Barjole.
I eat in the overflow outdoor space, but it's shielded and well heated. The French share my feelings about heat and AC: in the winter, their spaces are warm, in the summer, they are never over-cooled.
I order a galette (a savory buckwheat crepe) with cheese, tomato and an egg and it is just exactly what I need.
At the table across from me, madame and monsieur finish a somewhat more copious lunch, one likely to be their main meal. They are from these parts and they watch me with mild amusement because I am so enthusiastic about everything that is brought to my table. (I am just really happy that I found my way here in the end.) As they finish their last cheese course, monsieur leans back and starts humming. And then the hum becomes a song and madame joins in, recalling some melody that they shared.
He smiles, I smile, she smiles. And then, oddly, he hums "Tom Dooley." I comment -- une chanson Americane. He admits it. I sing along. And so here we are in Barbizon, eating lunch and singing an Appalachian ballad. He asks me about the lyrics but before I struggle to recall them all, she reminds him that they can find it on the Internet later.
I finish a dessert crepe -- with a favorite combination of mine: honey and lemon.
And then their grown daughter (I'm guessing here) shows up and they fuss over her and I finish my noisette (macchiato in America) and get back to the task of returning to Fontainebleau.
The sun peaks out with greater certainty now and I am sure I will get to town before dusk.
Which is a good thing.
In Fontainebleau again, where there is a weekend, preholiday buzz in the air.
Evening.
Let's talk about some contrasts. But before we go there, let's get in the mood. I walk toward the center of town. My hotel proprietors suggested two places for dinner -- informal ones (you only have to look at me to know that's what I want). I want to check the menus. Oh, wait! A store is open! With delicacies! Let me look inside.
Would madame like a glass of champagne? Say what? Have I stumbled upon some opening night of something? No? Well then sure!
I must now make a purchase. No problem! These!
I walk out, continuing my search for the two eateries. One them should be right here. Hmmm...
[insert title: know when to make a joke:]
Excuse me Monsieur, do you know where I can find the Hotel Napoleon? There's a restaurant right next to it...
Yes, of course. But... do you have a car?
(worried) No....
Good! It's 20 meters up the street!
[..and when not to make a joke:]
Settling in with the menu now at the Grand Cafe. The proprietor comes over. Do you know what you want?
Is your homemade foie gras good?
(boom!) Madame. It is not. (pause. sigh.) If you want, you can get some cheese and crackers next door. Here, we cook.
I order the foie gras and scallops, each prepared perfectly.
And now -- would you like to return to a very controversial Ocean topic, from way back in... October? Okay! Let's talk about French children and food!
Enter a family. Two young kids and parents. Locals. They didn't dress up. The little girl (maybe 9 yrs old) is in a pink sweat shirt that says New York City Gym. New York (and variants thereof ) is the most popular shirt logo in Europe. Everything is New York this and New York that.
The kids don't even sit down. they go straight to the bathroom to wash their hands. They know the drill.
The proprietor, the same one who would not stoop low enough to address my questioning of his foie gras asks the little girl if she will be drinking wine. She smiles daintily and says no. He asks -- sure? She smiles again and shakes her head. He whisks her wine glass away.
The whole family (the boy is maybe 6) is preoccupied with the menu. The dad teaches the boy to read a word. They go back to menu studying. They order.
So what do you think? The kids picked the frogs legs? The grilled endive? The veal kidney? No! They chose hamburgers and french fries! We have so corrupted the French palate! Oh, but wait! Did I tell you about the table with the beautiful young women?
Three out of four also chose hamburgers and French fires!
It's the food of the young. None of the "past 30" crowd around me is ordering hamburgers and fries.
And speaking of the juxtaposition between young and not young -- here's an older mother and adult son. They are not having fun. At all. Perhaps he told her he wont be home for lunch tomorrow and she is processing.
The family with the two little kids joins pinkies and recites some funny words together before diving into the food. I like that! It's special! It's their own! It reminds each and everyone that they are together and that life, or at least the next half hour of life, surely is good.
And it is. It really is.
The full moon shines brightly over Fontainebleau tonight. I hope it does over you as well.
In the early morning, it emerges - out of darkness, this place of French royalty. Again I have music in my head. All morning long. It seems so fitting! Listen along, if you want (Ton Koopman's J.S. Bach and the Magnificat).
Out my morning window:
Breakfast. Timing it so that I'm done by 9:30.
Cross the street and I am there.
Through the gates...
It turns out I'm not the first, but the second. The group before me is Russian and they want to inspect everything, so it's easy to pass them.
And to have the entire Fontainebleau Chateau to myself. (Are you playing the music?!)
(did the womenfolk sit and chat here?)
It is the only chateau to have been inhabited by all of France's kings -- from the 12th century until the 19th. Such magnificence! Really, such lavish opulence! No more words. Just look:
(she slept here)
(his throne)
(he slept here)
(the chapel)
And the gardens -- always beautiful, I'm sure, but for me, winter is such a good match -- that somewhat somber complement to the seriousness of this whole enterprise!
(the entirety)
And look how stunning their winter selection of blooms is (we couldn't do this in Wisconsin, but here, these will survive even a stiff frost):
That's my morning.
At noon, I have an appointment at "La Petite Reine." I walk briskly...
...past tempting shops (they are serious about their pastries here!)...
...to the little store where there is a velo (a bike) waiting for me. I'm renting a bike: it's the only way I can imagine seeing the Fontainebleau Forest -- such a vast place, with so many trails!
Madame smiles when I sheepishly ask for a helmet. I'm sure she's thinking -- these Americans! They want to protect themselves from everything! (I do not bother saying that I crashed some ten years ago and the helmet saved my head.)
It's a mountain bike and I'm a bit surprised at that. The terrain here is flat, no? Off I go! I have a destination -- through the woods and into the next village -- Barbizon. Have you heard of it? It was once a hot spot for painters: the preimpressionists lived and painted there ("the Barbizon School") and the Impressionist giants came to visit as well.
It's cool outside, but not too bad. Maybe low forties. I do miss my gloves, but otherwise, pedaling is a good way to forget about winter. And just as promised, there is an occasional wisp of blue sky. The rains stayed mainly on the southern plains!
Forest photos. Of course.
The path to Barbizon is supposed to be easy and not too long -- maybe half a dozen miles.
I lose it instantly. I don't know why. It's their fault!
I'm huffing on sandy terrain that seems pretty steep to me. I almost have to get off and push.
But after several turns and guesses, eventually I hit gold -- a nicely paved path and one that miraculously leads in the direction of the painters' village.
No, this landscape is not flat. Not at all! Take a look:
So beautiful!
On a good trail, it's manageable, even for me. (On one incline, I pass some hikers and as I puff my way to the top, they shout out the familiar encouragement here -- courage! courage! It reminds me of the days Ed and I biked through Provence many years back. Courage! Allez, allez! Go!)
Finally in Barbizon.
I locate the place where I want to pause for a late lunch -- La Creperie Barjole.
I eat in the overflow outdoor space, but it's shielded and well heated. The French share my feelings about heat and AC: in the winter, their spaces are warm, in the summer, they are never over-cooled.
I order a galette (a savory buckwheat crepe) with cheese, tomato and an egg and it is just exactly what I need.
At the table across from me, madame and monsieur finish a somewhat more copious lunch, one likely to be their main meal. They are from these parts and they watch me with mild amusement because I am so enthusiastic about everything that is brought to my table. (I am just really happy that I found my way here in the end.) As they finish their last cheese course, monsieur leans back and starts humming. And then the hum becomes a song and madame joins in, recalling some melody that they shared.
He smiles, I smile, she smiles. And then, oddly, he hums "Tom Dooley." I comment -- une chanson Americane. He admits it. I sing along. And so here we are in Barbizon, eating lunch and singing an Appalachian ballad. He asks me about the lyrics but before I struggle to recall them all, she reminds him that they can find it on the Internet later.
I finish a dessert crepe -- with a favorite combination of mine: honey and lemon.
And then their grown daughter (I'm guessing here) shows up and they fuss over her and I finish my noisette (macchiato in America) and get back to the task of returning to Fontainebleau.
The sun peaks out with greater certainty now and I am sure I will get to town before dusk.
Which is a good thing.
In Fontainebleau again, where there is a weekend, preholiday buzz in the air.
Evening.
Let's talk about some contrasts. But before we go there, let's get in the mood. I walk toward the center of town. My hotel proprietors suggested two places for dinner -- informal ones (you only have to look at me to know that's what I want). I want to check the menus. Oh, wait! A store is open! With delicacies! Let me look inside.
Would madame like a glass of champagne? Say what? Have I stumbled upon some opening night of something? No? Well then sure!
I must now make a purchase. No problem! These!
I walk out, continuing my search for the two eateries. One them should be right here. Hmmm...
[insert title: know when to make a joke:]
Excuse me Monsieur, do you know where I can find the Hotel Napoleon? There's a restaurant right next to it...
Yes, of course. But... do you have a car?
(worried) No....
Good! It's 20 meters up the street!
[..and when not to make a joke:]
Settling in with the menu now at the Grand Cafe. The proprietor comes over. Do you know what you want?
Is your homemade foie gras good?
(boom!) Madame. It is not. (pause. sigh.) If you want, you can get some cheese and crackers next door. Here, we cook.
I order the foie gras and scallops, each prepared perfectly.
And now -- would you like to return to a very controversial Ocean topic, from way back in... October? Okay! Let's talk about French children and food!
Enter a family. Two young kids and parents. Locals. They didn't dress up. The little girl (maybe 9 yrs old) is in a pink sweat shirt that says New York City Gym. New York (and variants thereof ) is the most popular shirt logo in Europe. Everything is New York this and New York that.
The kids don't even sit down. they go straight to the bathroom to wash their hands. They know the drill.
The proprietor, the same one who would not stoop low enough to address my questioning of his foie gras asks the little girl if she will be drinking wine. She smiles daintily and says no. He asks -- sure? She smiles again and shakes her head. He whisks her wine glass away.
The whole family (the boy is maybe 6) is preoccupied with the menu. The dad teaches the boy to read a word. They go back to menu studying. They order.
So what do you think? The kids picked the frogs legs? The grilled endive? The veal kidney? No! They chose hamburgers and french fries! We have so corrupted the French palate! Oh, but wait! Did I tell you about the table with the beautiful young women?
Three out of four also chose hamburgers and French fires!
It's the food of the young. None of the "past 30" crowd around me is ordering hamburgers and fries.
And speaking of the juxtaposition between young and not young -- here's an older mother and adult son. They are not having fun. At all. Perhaps he told her he wont be home for lunch tomorrow and she is processing.
The family with the two little kids joins pinkies and recites some funny words together before diving into the food. I like that! It's special! It's their own! It reminds each and everyone that they are together and that life, or at least the next half hour of life, surely is good.
And it is. It really is.
The full moon shines brightly over Fontainebleau tonight. I hope it does over you as well.
Oh my! From Orange to this! What can I say but a most perfect Nina day!!! Bravo!
ReplyDeleteOrange, in the end, was not going to speak to me. Yes, this was one of those days you remember.
DeleteAll that glory at the chateau - but to me nothing is more beautiful than the photos of the path through the winter woods! Jean
ReplyDeleteTrees over centuries of art? Yes, I'd have to agree... But perhaps the forest was especially beautiful because it followed the art... Maybe.
DeleteOh! You began with the Magnificent and ended with Pure Enjoyment. Oh my. I have to come back to this tomorrow and reread very word, and step into the photos the way I like to do.
ReplyDeleteI'll have to go back as well... I do that with favorite days! :)
DeleteI read this twice. Words kept coming at me, breath taking, outstanding, overwhelming, remarkable. This is a wonderful, wonderful entry. Kudos to you.
ReplyDeleteNice Bfast. Looks like you covered all the food groups and you would need them for your ride. I'm glad you were able to wear a helmet. I truthfully Nina, would have probably not been able to bike ride alone through the woods like that. You are brave especially after your experience in Greece. I admire your courage.
The Fontainebleau....it is as if nothing else needed to exist for them outside of their own world. Huge. Masterpiece.
Hamburgers and fries, oh, good Lord!
I'm more afraid of American big cities than of European countryside. Though I suppose even on a bike, I would not be able to outrun a stray dog! Of course, Ed got bitten by a dog twice, not in Europe but within a few miles of home.
DeleteYes, it's good to look history in the face every once in a while and recall how divided the countries were back then. Sort of like now, only worse.
A beautiful portrayal of your day. . . When do you sleep, to give us so much? Have I or haven't I visited Fontainebleau? I may have, back on one of my earliest trips to France. We visited many landmark chateaux and they have blended together in mind-blowing opulence.When wandering through them, I found myself more interested in the mechanics of living: the kitchen, the heating system, the toilet and bathing arrangements, the transportation, the people who worked behind the scenes to keep it all running. One giant ballroom looks like any other, as do frilly gold chairs and pompous portraits. Nevertheless, I sent my son, who made his first trip abroad with me on the quilters trip in 2013, on a day trip to Fontainebleau to see what this was all about. My own tastes now take me to the theatres in Lyon and Orange, the antiquities in Glanum and Arles, the winding streets of hilltop villages, more of the places that "regular people" lived and died.
ReplyDeleteSo, like Jayview, I think the ride through the woods is a highlight. As you wondered why they were giving you a mountain bike, my immediate thought was that there is some good reason for it. And remember, France is the home of fries, and some places are doing a good job creating hamburgers (and others miss the mark).
Actually, those French hamburgers looked very tasty! Artfully presented too!
DeleteWhen I travel alone, I can plan for time with the computer. A post never goes up in one sitting: it's a little here, a little there and then in the evening, I pull it together. I could not sit down and write it all at the end of a long day!
History is funny in the way that it plays out: most antiquity that remains for us to examine and noble architecture from the past is based on excessive wealth in the hands of the few. I'm not going to even mention the role of the church in this. Ed always looks in horror at the great cathedrals of the world and I can see the mental calculator in his head working over time! Yes, we love nature and village life. But I don't turn away from the cities. It's all very interrelated and considering the entirety is, for me at least, very satisfying.
Just imagine if you'd order both the foie gras and a hamburger. The waiter may have totally freaked out! Fontainebleau looks gorgeous and much more inviting than Versailles. I suspect that has a lot to do with the lack of guests in your pictures.
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely, Sara. I cannot take the crowds at these famous sights. Of all things in travel, they repel me the most. Fontainebleau was special because I had this unique emptiness and quiet all around me. Otherwise, I would just stare at the visitors instead of the art!
DeleteWhen I first saw your inside photos of the opulence of Fontainebleau, my only thought was "what a colossal waste of money!" - all that unnecessary decor! I guess I was never royalty in another life... I just can't see it. But then! The most gorgeous part of all - the forest! Now THAT is true beauty... those knarly-trunked trees, the pathways, the views from atop a ridge --- all worth more (to me anyway) than all the gilding in the universe. And nature gives us all this beauty for free!
ReplyDeleteThank you again for taking me/us along! xxxx
Well, on the one hand it's waste, on the other hand it's support for some artist who otherwise would be struggling. But of course, excessive wealth is all around us. It was just way more visible and in your face then!
DeleteThank you for the petit journey.
ReplyDelete