It's the day of the Paris Marathon. 42 kms. The real deal. The winner ran it in just over 2 hours and 4 mins.
Then there is my own Sunday marathon.
From my hotel at the Pace de l'Odeon, it takes 32 500 steps to get to the Chateau de Versailles. I do not know this exact figure initially, but I do know that it's just over 11 miles, because Google maps said so and Google knows everything. Wouldn't it be grand to end my week in Paris with this walk? Maybe a little insane, but grand nonetheless?
My new book of Ballades (rambles) in and out of Paris suggests this walk. I would not have thought of it on my own. But their starting point is at the edge of Paris, whereas I want to begin right here, at my little hotel. Right after breakfast.
I set out at 10:30.
After leaving my neighborhood...
I walk through sections of Paris that I have never seen before. They're not splendid. This is where the metro goes above ground...
... and you'll find plenty of authentic and inexpensive Thai, Syrian and Lebanese food...
And then I approach the river and it all changes once more.
Here's a view of Eiffel Tower from the less visited areas to the west.
You noticed the Statue of Liberty? There are a handful of them around Paris, but this one is the largest. Still, I better do a close up:
Right as I cross the Seine, I come across the racers.
People are cheering them on -- allez, allez! -- and I pause and join in too.
(I also pause at a cafe to pick up an espresso. This is what you do when you are out the whole day and need bathroom breaks.)
And as I continue, I come across two things: the racers again (they made a loop in this section of Paris)...
... and a bridge over the River Seine! Like the racers, the Seine does a loop here and so now technically I am going to be back on the Left Bank, even though I'm to the north of everything. Are you confused yet??
But here's another technicality: I am no longer in Paris. I'm in a suburb -- Boulogne Billancourt. Very wealthy (though France has less disparity between the rich and the middle class, so it doesn't have the feel of big money). Here are rather pretty houses that I passed:
And now I feel like I am far from the city. I enter a park (Domaine National Saint Cloud) and it is at first formal, but really quite vast and in the further end of it -- quire wild. And for a great weather Sunday afternoon -- pretty empty.
And oh, the views!
Note how in nearly every panoramic photos of Paris, you'll see the Montparnasse Tower on the left and the Eiffel Tower on the right. And here it's flipped!
That's what happens when you go to a strange part of Paris to take your photos.
It's already after 2 and I am hungry. The breakfast bread product wasn't going to hold me until Versailles. Too, I'm going to remind everyone once again that I am 68 and this has been a very long walk already. Sitting down would be awfully nice.
I'm so in luck: I come across a park restaurant, just when I need it most. It's called the Brumaire and it has a lovely terrace spilling out into the greenery.
I have a broiled camembert with honey and a tarte tatin for dessert. The dragonfly remains undecided.
On Sundays, midday meals offer fascinating people watching opportunities.
But I can't stay long. I have one more hour to go. There are hills here. My legs are asking -- are we there yet?
One town (Ville d'Avray)...
Another forest (Foret domaniale de Fausses-Reposes)...
And finally I come to the sign Versailles. The town.
And just minutes later (but really five hours since I left the hotel), there it is -- Versailles, the chateau. This is what excess looks like!
Another time, I would have walked the gardens. I never much cared for the chateau (mind boggling wealth), but the gardens are vast and quite lovely. But not in October, not when I'm tired. One quick look...
... and I turn my back to it all and head for the train station to catch the RER commuter train home. (I alight at the Boulevard Saint Michel, so you get to see Notre Dame, in progress.)
And now my final Parisian dinner. You'd think that I'd take great care in picking the place, but in fact, I don't. I've eaten far better this week than I expected to and I am completely walked-out, so I want to keep it simple and keep it close. And Sundays are tricky: the French traditionally eat a big meal in the afternoon and downplay the evening supper. Many restaurants are closed. So I go back to Marco Polo. Sweet and comforting, warm and satisfying, with an older staff that really seems to like the people who come to eat here.
I order a dish I like a lot and can never find anywhere outside of Italy, and now here -- raw artichokes with lettuce and slivers of parmesan. I can't even make it back home because our artichokes are too old by the time they come to the grocery store. (The main course is pasta with porcini and for dessert -- panna cotta with red fruits.)
I walk back through a subdued square, with the usual Sunday night exhale. It's a beautiful evening. Really beautiful.
And now I'm back at the hotel and it's very late and still, I'm full of thoughts about everything. I know one must be careful about making generalizations based on breif experiences, but still, I am thinking that at a level of feelings, things have changed in Paris. I swear, everyone is gentler with me. There are big and small messages of kindness put forth. I think it's pandemic related. France, like the US, lost so many older people! It's as if there is a need to acknowledge that. And honestly, sometimes I see a solo person, like the one in the Foret domaniale de Fausses-Reposes (above) and I wonder -- is he alone because he lost his wife? And if not that, did he perhaps lose a friend? Or just his peace of mind?
Tomorrow starts the new work week, tomorrow I return home. I'll publish my next post from the farmette.
