See what I mean? City of Light? Bah!
Paris is not my favorite city. There, I said it. Blasphemy, I know. And there's something jaded and unappreciative about not liking Paris. After all, many people wait a lifetime to visit Paris, and many more never make it to the famed City of Light.
But Paris has yet to charm me. Maybe it's the time of year—I've really only been in the winter, apart from a fleeting visit in June. It's been wet, cold, and cloudy every time I've visited. But then London can't boast of better weather, and I'm perfectly happy to tramp around London's lanes and museums, soaking up its flavour—literally.
No, there's something about Paris that just bugs me. Maybe it's the architecture—I don't like the gray Empire roofs, the dim cathedrals, the overwrought flamboyance. Or maybe it's the food: Paris is vegan hell. More likely, it's the absence of parks and green areas, or, in the case of Tuilerie and Jardin du Luxembourg, the dismal nature of the open spaces that affects me so negatively.
Marie Antoinette's fake English hamlet at Versailles.
It's telling that my most enjoyable day in Paris was the day I spent outside of Paris, at Versailles. Not touring the Chateau; I'd been there before. No, this time I headed for the gardens of Versailles. Not the formal gardens—again, acres of sandy gravel and forbidden grass and fenced off trees aren't my idea of a garden.
It's Marie Antoinette who had the right idea, and of course she got it from the English. At Trianon, a fifteen minute walk from the chateau, Marie set up housekeeping, with help from her father-in-law, who gave her the property he'd built for Madame Pompadour. On a whim, she had an English hamlet built, with thatched cottages and a sweet farm filled with cows, sheep, goats and assorted barnyard fowl. (This is where I fell in love with a friendly goat.)
The ballroom at Grand Trianon—is that sunlight I see pouring in through the windows?
There are actually two main structures at Trianon. Petit Trianon is the smaller of the two living quarters. Grand Trianon is decorated according to the more ornate tastes of the Empress Josephine. Petit Trianon is much homier, despite its fine marble fireplaces, elegant furniture and floral motif carved paneling. I could see myself raising a family there, spending my last carefree days reading in the salon, strolling the gardens...
That reminds me, there's another reason I'm not so fond of Paris: Its history is so damned bloody. But at Versailles it's easy to forget what happened to poor Marie and her family.
If it's death you're after, then the Pantheon is for you. I went in search of the place where Foucault first displayed his famous pendulum, but it was temporarily under reconstruction. In the crypt, the remains of France's notables of literature, philosophy, and science are entombed, including Alexandre Dumas, Voltaire, Emile Zola, and the Curies. Despite the presence of so many of France's dead, I found the place surprisingly soulless, its cavernous halls even more depressing than the gloom outside.
Aside from the blood, and the rain, and the parks with their fenced-off grass, Paris still has its museums. We'd already been to the Louvre, so before we left we spent a rainy afternoon at Musee d'-Orsay, which has to be my other favorite place in Paris. Room after room after room of mid-nineteenth century paintings, up to the Modern age. It's my favorite period, and Monet and the gang don't disappoint. And of course there's the Pompon polar bear.
Maybe one day I'll visit Paris in the spring. But I sort of feel like any city that doesn't share its joys in the winter isn't worth a visit in the spring, when just about any city can come up with a few flowers, a warm ray of sun, and a green spot here or there.
Maybe I just ask too much. But really...it's Paris. Why can't it please me?
More photos here.
