We awoke, readied ourselves and finished packing our suitcases.  Today we were leaving Paris.  It was sad in a way.  There were many things we hadn’t done in Paris that were on my definite “to do” list.  Well, we told ourselves we would just have to come back again.  Now I was excited to be moving on to new places and experiences.  I was comfortable in Paris, having been here before, but the rest of France was a blank slate to me – having no experience or idea of what to expect beyond what few pictures and things I had read in guidebooks.  I felt a twinge of excitement and nervousness in the pit of my stomach.

            We said our goodbyes to Marie Claude and had her say a few words into the camera.  It took two tries.  She thought I was taking a still picture so she just stood there smiling and wondered when I was going to take the photo.  Only after I played back the video to her did she realize what we were trying to do.  She left us a very nice message after that.  After assuring her that we would be taking our bags with us we left the house.  They had offered to let us leave our bags with them for the day.  After all, this was our big day at Versailles.  I was sure we would have to take a train back into Paris before moving on to Tours but we did not want to have to come back to the north side of town to pick them up again.  And what if for some unknown reason no one was home when we came back to get them?  We would be sunk without our suitcases!  No, we were having a very strong case of separation anxiety with our bags and on no day of our trip was it stronger than today (as future events will show).  Plus, I had read that Versailles had a baggage check so I was not too worried.

            But our first order of business was to stop back by the Louvre so Jayné could see the Mona Lisa.  We took the Metro to the Louvre and went to the main entrance courtyard.  We decided that it would be best if I waited somewhere with the bags while Jayné ran in unencumbered.  I could have gone through the glass pyramid security station and waited down below near the ticket booths and information but outside there was so much more scope for the mind.  It was a sunny morning, although the air was cold I was bundled up and determined that I would be fine.  We stationed myself and all of the bags at the base of a huge statue in the great courtyard and Jayné ran off to her play date with Mona.  

            I was sublimely happy.  After all, I was in Paris.  The city was bustling around in the distance yet the courtyard itself was quiet and peaceful.  I stared up at the ornate architecture of the one time palace and lost myself in its details.  After soaking in the building itself I began to watch the people around me in the courtyard.  Many were wandering around looking up at the building as well and some were taking photos of the statue I was sitting under.  I wonder how many photos I am in the corner of.  People began to gather for tours or to meet friends and the statue I was sitting under was a popular gathering place.  A children’s tour group began to gather next to me and soon I was surrounded by many children while their parents consulted with the tour guide.  I will never cease to be amazed at the propriety and style of even the children in France.  They were all dressed neat as a pin and showed manners, although a few of the boys were climbing about the statue.  The cutest thing I ever saw was two little girls greeting each other by kissing cheeks from side to side as is the custom in France!

            While all of this was greatly entertaining I found that as I had been sitting I was getting colder and colder.  The sun was still shining but a brisk wind had picked up and it was chilling to the bone.  I could no longer sit on the cold stone step any longer.  I stood up and began to pace back and forth, rubbing my gloved hands together, careful not to stray too far from our bags.  I wanted to go inside, somewhere warmer, but Jayné was to meet me back here.  If I left she would not know where to find me.  Where was she anyway?  It seemed to be taking forever.  How long could it possibly take to go straight to the Mona Lisa, snap a few photos and come back?  I began to calculate the worst case scenario in my head, looking at my watch to see how close it was.  I had more time to wait.  Need I say that I hate waiting!

            I was now thoroughly freezing and was stewing about my situation.  Jayné was in the warm museum having a grand old time while I was stuck here in the freezing cold with all of our luggage.  Even if I was able to move to a warmer location it would be difficult to carry all of our luggage at once if not impossible.  I was really wishing we had cell phones at this moment.  The more I thought about it the more discontented and angrier I got.  I hated just killing time.  ALL of France was out there beckoning me to explore it and I was stuck doing nothing, just waiting for Jayné!  I had to get my mind off my situation.  It dawned on me that I could be using this time to write in my journal so I sat back down on the very edge of the cold stone step and began to write.  

            No sooner had I done this than here came Jayné across the courtyard towards me with a beaming smile on her face.  She began to recount her experiences of the past hour excitedly which only reinforced how cold and left out I had been.  “Well, all I have to say is you owe me big time” I said grumpily.

            “What do I owe you?”  Jayné asked.

            “You better make this up to me somehow.”

            “How?”  she asked.

            “No more waiting for Jayné!”  I yelled and quickened my pace toward the Metro station.  

            When the train arrived at Versailles station we exited along with all the other throngs of tourists and began rolling our suitcases along the streets toward the palace.  Although I had read in last year’s guide to Versailles that they had a baggage check I was still a bit apprehensive that we would arrive and find no such thing.  When I saw two American girls coming towards us rolling suitcases I felt a little better but decided to question them on the matter anyway.  They assured me that, yes, there was a baggage check but they said something about crossing the cobblestones being a pain.  I had no idea what they meant and frankly I didn’t care at the moment.  I was just grateful we would not be stuck with our bags, looking for a locker or some such place to stash them.  We had already gotten a late start at Versailles due to the Mona Lisa episode and I was anxious to begin touring the palace and grounds. 

            Even when we entered the gate and saw before us a vast expanse of cobblestones we must cross to reach the entrance to the palace I was not yet disheartened.  Only when we began to roll our suitcases along the extremely large, extremely bumpy cobbles did the task seem a bit more daunting.  It was simply impossible to roll the bags along with any sort of speed.  I tried carrying the bag which was definitely quicker but I could not carry it very far.  It wasn’t too heavy when we first arrived in France but I had bought a surprising amount of souvenirs (largely books and heavy objects) the first four days in Paris.  So, we were doomed to rolling the bags along at a snails pace over the bumpy cobbles.  We seemed not to be making any progress toward the entrance.  It was like a mirage in the desert that was always on the horizon no matter how far you walked.  When I absolutely could not stand it any longer I would pick up the bag and carry it until it seemed my arm would come out of its socket, then set it back down to roll slowly along again.

            Eventually we did reach the entrance and we passed a mile long (literally it seemed) line of people just waiting in line to buy tickets.  I saw a sign like the ones they have at Disneyland:  “Wait time from this point – 1 hour.”  And the line extended far beyond the sign.  Luckily, we had taken the advice of the Metro ticket booth worker and purchased the VIP combo pass with our train ticket that allowed us access to everything at Versailles with no waiting in lines.  So we zipped past the long line – well, as zippy as we could go across the cobblestones – and into the VIP entrance where we spotted the baggage check and immediately checked in our suitcases.  The woman gave us a small plastic token with a number on it and told us to be back to pick up our bags before 5 o’clock.  

            We took off to begin exploring.  I was here at last and free of my bags!  It felt so good to be unencumbered.  Yet we couldn’t find where to go in to begin the tours.  There were people and lines everywhere.  After showing our passes to several guards and being sent here and there we finally made it in to the special exhibit area.  But we were without guide maps which we discovered we had to go all the way back out to near the baggage check to get.  After going back out to get maps and showing our passes to several more people to get back in we were at last able to begin touring in earnest.

            The special exhibit featured clocks, dishes, furnishings and various tchotchkes.  My favorite part was where they showcased crowns, necklaces and jewel encrusted swords and daggers.  We wandered through rooms and rooms of ornate furnishings, marbled walls, gilded moldings, elaborately painted ceilings, parquet floors and chandeliers.  Feeling a little gilded out and thinking we had seen all of the rooms that were open for tours we made our way outside to see the grounds and gardens.  (I discovered later there was another entire floor and another wing of rooms we did not see that were also open to us with the VIP pass.)  

            We glanced around the formal garden near the building but wanted to explore deeper into the park.  Before us stretched the vast expanse of the palace grounds.  There was a tram that ferried visitors out to the “Grand Canal”.  Thinking our VIP pass covered the cost of the tram we got in the surprisingly short line and asked.  Of course, it was the one thing our pass was not good for.  It gave a discount for the fare but deciding not to spend the money we began to walk.  We ambled down the grand avenues, past fountains and statuary and ended up at a restaurant overlooking the Grand Canal where, famished, we stopped for lunch.

            One glance at the menu and I had already decided what I wanted.  They had onion soup and it was on my “foods to eat while in France” list.  I excitedly described it to Jayné and explained that it was topped with melted cheese and a large crispy crouton.  Apparently she did not trust my description because when the waiter arrived to take our order she asked him if it came with cheese.  He was standing behind me so I could not see his face, yet I imagined a look of disbelief at such a question as his tone of voice reflected.  “Yes,” he assured her.  “Of course it has cheese.  It’s onion soup.”  Even after assuring her that it was full of cheesy goodness she proceeded to order a crepe with ham and cheese instead.  This, along with her original ignorance of traditional French cuisine apparently annoyed him.  His tone of voice suddenly rang with sarcasm and he tilted his head to one side and said “Merci!” taking our menus from us.  We decided to cut him some slack.  After all, he was waiting on all of the tables in the entire patio area and was running from here to there constantly.  We were sure it was nothing personal.  He’s just had a long day and didn’t need anyone bothering him with silly questions.  

            Our food arrived and my soup surpassed my wildest expectations.  No one could accuse the chef of being stingy with the cheese!  After eating we strolled farther along the tree lined avenues to the Grand Trianon and on to the Petit Trianon.  These smaller estates were used as a summer home or a retreat when the royalty wanted to escape from the formalities of court life.  Now this was more our style.  No gaudy gilt or red velvet here.  Just elegant, modest sized rooms decorated in soothing blues and eggshell greens.  Jayné fell in love.  She wanted to live in the Petit Trianon.

            We glanced at our watches and realized we needed to begin heading back to the main palace and the baggage check.  After our experience with the Louvre closing the day before we did not want to risk being locked out at closing and separated from our bags overnight.  So we began to make our way back towards the palace.  Now when you cover a distance over time you do not realize just how far you have come and that was true in our case.  We walked and walked and realized we still had a long way to go and the clock was ever ticking closer and closer to 5.  At last we decided we could not risk being locked out without our bags.  One of us must run ahead to ensure the safe retrieval of the suitcases.  A quick discussion later it was decided that although Jayné was quick, I had more endurance and must be the one to run.  I unloaded everything that might slow me down onto Jayné – my sweater, camera and gift shop purchases – and began to run.  Only slacking my pace ever so slightly now and then to catch my breath, I otherwise ran full steam past woods, past gardens and fountains, up the hill and around the building.  Some people looked at me oddly as I ran by, perhaps wondering why it looked as if I was running for my life.

            I made it to the baggage check at 7 minutes till 5, claimed our suitcases, then collapsed on a bench to wait for Jayné, out of breath and sweating.  Eventually my breathing returned to normal and my body temperature lowered once again.  Now I was stuck with the bags, waiting once again for Jayné – something I had just this morning swore I would never do again.  Jayné finally arrived and informed me that she had a hard time finding her way back through the groves and lanes to the proper entrance.  It’s a good thing we did not send her for the bags!

            Upon arrival in any new location our first order of business was to find a bathroom.  I think I saw the inside of more bathrooms in France than rooms of the Louvre.  It had been no different when we arrived at Versailles.  We had found the nearest restrooms to our VIP entrance and were quite perturbed to find that they were charging 50 cents to use the toilet.  The restroom was monitored by a tall black woman who was seated behind a counter in a lobby area.  When I tried to walk past her she commanded my attention and pointed out the sign which explained the required “usage fee”.  I reluctantly paid the price and she gave me a small slip of paper as receipt.  Now, as we were preparing to leave we thought it wise to use the bathroom again before we left.  I was confused as to whether the 50 cents I paid was for unlimited usage or if it was only a one time deal.  I suspected the latter.  But why furnish us with a slip of paper saying we had paid if this was so?  Did they have a bathroom police who would suddenly bang on your stall door, demanding to see your receipt?  I had already paid a steep entrance fee to the estate.  Shouldn’t this include unlimited access to the bathrooms?  My American sense of freedom, liberty and the right to use the toilet without charge was offended.  I was irritated and determined not to pay any more money for bathrooms.  

            Leaving Jayné to watch the bags this time I headed toward the bathroom.  The same attendant from earlier was there but she was sweeping the lobby area in preparation for closing.  I tried to breeze right by her but she ran up to me demanding payment.  Not really thinking, I held up my empty water bottle which I had brought along to refill and pointed to it, indicating I wanted water.  She waved me past and I was through the door!  As I quickly filled my bottle at the sink I calculated whether I could use the toilet too without her knowledge.  She could walk in at any time and as I was the only person in there it would be obvious if I was in the stall.  I decided to risk it.  I ran in a stall and bolted the door.  “Hurry, hurry!”  I told myself as I went as fast as I could.  I exited and washed up and was soon out the door.  She was still sweeping and I got by her and out the door as quick as I could.  If she suspected me she gave no indication.  Pleased with myself for beating the system, I watched the bags while Jayné took her turn.  She ended up beating the system as well but it was a longer drawn out process in which she showed the attendant her receipt from earlier and exchanged words which were not understood.  Eventually the woman gave up and let Jayné pass.  

            Now it was back across the cobblestones from hell and down through the town of Versailles in search of the proper train station.  Through no navigation skills of our own we happened upon the right street and saw the station about 3 blocks away.  We popped into a small grocery store along the way and bought some fruit, yogurt, cheese and cookies to snack on for dinner and continued on our way to the station where we boarded a train back to Paris Montparnase.

             Looking back I can see that this was a definite turning point of our trip as regards to train travel.  Thus far we had been in the familiar confines of the Paris Metro and the easy to navigate greater Paris area trains.  But now we were about to venture into the confusing and complex system of nationwide trains – A world of TGV’s and reservations, a world of confusing train tables and long ticket lines.  Yes, I believe at least half of our remaining daytime hours in France were spent either on trains or in train stations.  And tonight was the first example of this.

             We arrived at the station and after much confusion and questions found the place to make TGV reservations.  The train we wanted to take was already booked full in second class so we must wait an hour for the next one.  The train station waiting room was very hot.  Well, at least we couldn’t complain about being cold here.  Jayné insisted she smelled dirty baby diaper.  As there was no one with a baby in sight, in fact not even any children, I told her it was impossible.  No, she definitely smelled dirty diaper she said.  I could not smell anything and shrugged it off.  We discovered later that it was the cheese we had bought at the little grocery store that she smelled.  (She was carrying it in her bag).  We dubbed it “the stinky cheese” and considering that we discovered this late the following day we neither of us ate any of it!

             At last our waiting was over.  We boarded the train, loaded our suitcases overhead and collapsed in our seats.  I was so exhausted.  No sooner had we sat down and the train pulled out of the station I was nodding off.  Now let me tell you it is very undignified to sleep in a train as I discovered later by observing other people.  First of all, in each train car there are seats on either end – all facing towards the center.  So half of the people in the train car are all staring your direction.  And since the seats are upright your mouth invariably hangs open when you sleep.  You just pray that the drool does not start flowing. 

             This is what was happening to me as our train sped along toward Tours.  I dozed off and just when I was really starting to enter a deep sleep my mouth would fall open.  This movement would wake me up and I would hastily close my mouth, hoping no one had noticed.  As tired as I was I quickly dozed off again and as soon as I fell asleep my mouth would come open again and it would wake me up.  And so the cycle continued.  Since it was a late train I think everyone else was in the same predicament as I was and they were all too sleepy to notice.  In fact, I think everyone else on the train was asleep – everyone except for the couple across the aisle and behind me two rows who I’m guessing were on their honeymoon since they spent the entire two hour train ride lip locked.  Every time I woke up between dozes I could hear the smacking of their kissing.  “Get a room!”  I felt like shouting but I was too tired to.  So I just fell asleep with my mouth hanging open once again.