Day 23

00:40. Train station is empty. And cold. This has quite possibly been the stupidest decision I've ever made in my life, to believe the guy at the Fountainebleau ticket counter. "Bien sur, il y a de taxis après l'opera. Vous pouvez arriver a Paris touts vite!" Duh. Especially since I hadn't any taxis near the chateau in broad daylight. Oh, I'm a smarty, I am. And while I'm not generally a violent person, I kinda want to punch that guy in the face. And myself too (but much less) I find a little cubby between two back to back vending machines, and it has a little step that I can sit on. Cramped, but I don't feel the wind so acutely here. Plus, I feel like it makes me less visible. The problem is that my legs feel very squished. And it's cold. Two African French guys wander onto the platform, also dismayed at having missed the train. I am so not interested in talking to anyone, and am curt. I can hardly ever be charming when I am sitting in a cubby. The guys go away, which is a relief.

01:48. Right now, I am wishing all kinds of things. That I had ordered a Crimson cashmere sweater. (Why didn't I? They only cost 300€ each. Oh, maybe that's why.) That I had changed my pants. That I had bought and worn some jeans. That I had left the opera at 23:00. That I had not been so set on seeing the opera in the first place. I just wanted to. So I did. Ha! I wander in search of a place where I can stretch my legs, that isn't too cold. I go down into the underpass between the two platforms, and it is empty and well-lit. I enjoy the solitude for a few minutes, until the guys find the spot as well. Hmmmmm. Still not in the mood for conversation. I take myself out onto the other side, and sit at the covered and lit bus benches. I write in my paper journal, so that I'm not advertising that I have an expensive tablet. It gets cold. I mean, it gets cold-er. So I start pacing in front of the benches. I get strange stares from party people who are dropping off friends to pick up their cars at the station. Or at least I imagine they are strange stares. I know if the situation were reversed, I would do the same. Or, at least, I'd feel it. I do at least try to be discreet.

02:30. Wandering around, trying to keep warm. Pass by a timetable and see that the first train back to Paris comes at 05:30. That means only three more hours to go. Wander some more. Or was that the schedule for weekdays? A second check reveals that it was, but first Saturday train also comes at 05:30. The thing is, this showing of Aida is the most physically uncomfortable I've ever been while being entertained. This includes standing at that club while watching The Super Furry Animals with Renee et al. Yes, the operatic singing was amazing (even if the choreography/dancing was terrible), but ... really? I might have done it to see Les Miserables, but not for Aida. It wasn't magical enough to make me forget my discomfort. 

03:30. Can't see the guys in the underpass, so I return. And make up phrases and logos for parties I plan to throw. S'atelier. Soirée Sandra. Savoir Sandra. A nice visual riff on Parler Parlour. Supper @ Sandra's. Soirée @Sandra's. Scene @ Sandra's (this one is my favorite! To be used for play reading parties). 

04:45. The sky is beginning to lighten. The most beautiful morning sky ever, in my eyes. This reminds me of that poor chap who dies in _Howard's End._ At least the part where he talks about walking through fields all night. Not the poetic revelation he hoped for, but he made it through. And really, the situations aren't that similar, and I don't want to die because I have a weak heart, and because an angry old man whips me and tosses a bookcase on me. But I am making it through.

05:00. Youngish girl asks me if I speak English. Not because I look particularly French, but because I am the only woman on the platform. Of course. The first train for Paris comes at 05:30. If you have a credit card with a chip, you can buy a ticket over at that machine. No problem.

05:30. The SNCF train arrives. The most beautiful train I've ever seen, taking me away from my least favorite train station in the world. 

06:05. Approaching Gare de Lyon. The sky is already brighter now that it was at 14:00 yesterday in Paris. Can't wait to fall into bed.

Wake up around 11:00, and am restless, even if I am tired. I return to North Hollywood in a week. Get. My act together, take a quick shower, toss a water and some butter in my bag, and I am out the door. Quick stop at Eric Kaysor for a baguette, and at the frommagerie for some mimolette, and then I'm on the metro to Marche de Puces at Vanves. It's relatively late when I arrive, and about a third of the vendors will have left by the time I finish. But I have a lovely time wandering through and looking at all the curiosities. Lots of silverware, plates, and eating utensils. Knick-knacks galore. I see a few cheese knives that look interesting, but they are all too large for the cheese/fruit/meat plates that I want to use them for. I see some interesting old cameras. Some for photos, and some for filming movies. I'm a little tempted, but not enough to buy. An old sewing machine that folds into its own box. An old and damaged typewriter. 

Finally, with my bag empty, but my wallet full, I take the metro back to the school. Of course, I missed the Parler Parlour, which started at 11:00. But I arrive before Pranali. Of course. She arrives a little late, and needs to go and print the ticket to Vaux le Vicomte that her mother bought for her online. So bizarre to me that she doesn't have a credit card, but maybe it's for the best. So many US college students aren't able to manage their finances wisely with regard to plastic. College students? Make that US adults in general.

There is not time to go to the grocery store to flesh out my baguette for lunch, but we make it to Gare de Lyon, and on to the train in just enough time. Just. And we're off. I worry since I neglected to validate my pass before boarding the train (what would it have profited to validate, but miss the train?), and pray that the conductor doesn't come by. In fact, the conductor does pass, and stops when the man sitting opposite flags him down. But all the conductor does is make a notation on the man's ticket, seemingly at the man' request. Maybe it's what one does when one forgets to validate? I wonder, but am not curious enough to inquire. The man has a mane do lightly grizzled curly red hair, tied back into a ponytail. He also has a large bouquet of flowers wrapped up carefully for the trip. I wonder who will be the recipient of the 

Arrive at Melun, and are pointed toward the cafe across the street, where the Vaux navette picks up passengers. An older couple is there, reading the sign, and blocking anyone else. A guy drives by in a car, and after some negotiation, the couple gets in. The guys offer us a ride to Vaux as well, for 5€. No, merci. Navette comes a few minutes later, and we're the only ones on it for the duration. After a bit, we come to a small, inviting road that runs between two orderly lines of trees. The scene seems very familiar. We arrive at the chateau a few minutes later, and even from the outer gate, it looks beautiful. We enter with our tickets, and take a light lunch of salads (augmented by the baguette and mimolette) in the little self-serve cafeteria. The sun plays hide and seek with the clouds, and we alternately don and doff our sweaters. 

After looking over the pamphlet, I decide to go through the gardens, then do the carriage house, and finally the chateau at the end. We can't enter the chateau until 20:00 anyway, since we have the candlelight tickets. 

The gardens are beautiful. Due to Le Notre's genius, it seems to extend forever. And yet, while in one section, it is nigh impossible to see the next. So, one is repeatedly surprised at the revelation of new areas, just when one had thought one had arrived at the end. When one finds oneself at the grotto, it is to realize that the only way forward is to go around the ends of the horizontal canal. It's quite an undertaking. Finally, having made one's way around, one can start the climb to Hercules' statue, where one can gaze at the gardens and the chateau in all their combined glory. Took a little time to stretch out on the grass, but the sun was mostly hiding, and the ground was a little damp. Or, as Amy would say, with the utmost disdain, "moist." So, we returned the way we'd come, and set up camp on the chateau-side of the canal. I actually took a nap, as the sun had mostly gotten over its shyness. Ahhhhhhhh. Woke up a little after 19:00, and we headed in to see the equipage. 

Fascinating to see names attached to gorgeous carriages. Especially when I recognized the names from carriage types that Jane Austin wrote about. No barouches, but the exhibit recalled a lifetime of reading. And then, on to the chateau.

The audio guide had the delightful charm of a charming additional dimension to a fabulous visit of the chateau. Unlike some of the other guides I've used, this one had lots of interesting information on who used what rooms, why they were important, and foibles and strengths of their lives. The chateau itself it quite beautiful, and full of stories to tell. From the vanity, power, and demise of Fouquet; the beneficence of the Pralins, the restoration under the Sommiers. Additionally, the castle was lit primarily with candles. Even most of the chandeliers were lit with tapers, and not by electric lights. It almost makes me eyes hurt to think of how dimly those in ages past lived in their homes, but I'd say that there were definite compensations for the wealthy.

The visit of the chateau itself took 2 hours, which time seemed to whiz by. We exited around 22:00, and walked around to the back to view the gardens in their candlelit glory. Made we wish for an old-fashioned lithographed map of the gardens, but there were no such things offered at the gift shop. I did end. Up getting some postcards, and a little place card holder in the shape of a squirrel (Fouquet's emblem), to put in my shadow box. It was a wonderful day, and I regretted arriving after the 14:00 admission time for those with candlelight access. 

As we exited the gift shop (wanted to make sure that we got seats on the navette ... No more train station nights, please), we heard booms. We started running toward the front of the chateau, and lo and behold, there were fireworks! Glorious! We had seen some set up above the grotto, but had been uncertain because it wasn't the proper week for fireworks. Or maybe they were doing it specially for the Soir des Muses dinner? Whatever, I was particularly delighted to have seen them, even from a distance. Especially since we had missed them the Saturday prior. 

Happy ride back to Melun, and then to Paris. Joyeaux Anniveersaire, indeed!