Day #41: Versailles/Chartres

After three straight days in Paris, it was time to bust out for a day trip.

I started out by taking a suburban commuter train to Versailles, home of the Sun King. (Louis XIV gave himself the nickname the Sun King because he supposedly brought light and warmth to everything in his presence.) Louis ruled France for over 70 years and during those seven decades, decided that Paris wasn't working out for him. So he took his Dad's hunting palace and decided to make a few changes. Actually, many changes. Then, he brought all of the nobles to Versailles with him. That way, he could keep them amused while he otherwise ran the country. Smart.

The one word I would use to describe Versailles is opulence. Everything is expensively done and then lavished with gold. The house is on a grand scale and in the richest fashion imaginable. Of all the rooms in Versailles, the Hall of Mirrors best exemplifies this. Built overlooking the gardens, the mirrors are placed directly opposite the windows so the gardens are reflected back. Pretty cool. While I didn't think anything could top the Antiquarium in Munich (see Day #?), the Hall of Mirrors wins hands down.

After touring Versailles, I caught a train to Chartres, home of the famous cathedral. Originally a Romanesque church, the previous cathedral burned down in the late 12th century. But the signature attraction of the cathedral, the Veil of Mary, was spared. It's a miracle! Donations came puring in and the present Gothic cathedral was then erected, on a much grander scale than before.

The cathedral dominates the small town (the cathedral was built more for pilgrims than local inhabitants) and has an amazing display of stained glass.

Now, being a conscientious visitor and this being Sunday, I checked the schedule to see if my visit would interrupt any services that were being held. The schedule clearly indicated that there would be no mass between the one held at 11am and then vespers at 5:30. As it was 2, I felt safe in continuing my visit. Well, the schedule was wrong. About 3pm, the cathedral doors were thrown open and people came streaming in, all wearing some time of colored crepe paper tied around their necks. Apparently, there was some sort of special mass being held.

Relying on the old adage, "in for a penny, in for a pound" I took a seat in the last row and observed the proceedings. It was Sunday after all. It was the first mass I had ever been to. Since it was in French, I missed most of it, but the music and choir were quite beautiful. And the incense was . . . interesting.

At the end, I stood up behind my pew (it being the last row remember) to see the processional come down the aisle. As it approached the end, the acolyte carrying the cross turned around to the priest behind him and whispered, "Turnez a droite?" The next paragraph was my thought process from there:

That's funny. The poor kid had to ask where he was going. Let's see, turnez a droite. The only perfect quiz score you got in three semesters of French class at UNC was the week we did directions, I should be able to figure this out. Turnez = turning, that was easy enough. And gauche is left, so droite must be right. Putting it all together, that means the procession is turning right. Hey, not bad Watters, you still have some of it together. Wait. That means they are not going out the door. Wait. I'm right. Crap, they're going to turn right into where I am. I better move!

And so I scampered out of the way to avoid getting run over by the processional.

The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful. I caught a train back to Paris and had dined at a local brasserie near my hostel where I had roast duck breast, mashed potatoes, bread, and a glass of Bordeaux. Ah, life is good.