Tuesday evening, here, after school. This morning, I expected to feel the pains from yesterday’s bike tour of Versailles, but I actually felt well-rested, and had no aches or pains.

I’ve been feeling so confident lately with riding the rails and of course that can mean only one thing: it was time screw up.

I left early in the morning to head to le quartier du Marais to meet my group at 7:45am for the Bike Tour of Versailles. I forgot (!) to check the end point of the second leg of my trip, and sure enough, 2 stops in, I realized my mistake. I wasn’t nervous at all, but I knew the best plan was to exit and reverse course ASAP. By the time I confirmed all this in my head, I was 4 stops in.

I hopped off and asked a gentleman on the platform to confirm my situation. Yes – you need to be on the other side. Merci beaucoup! I proceeded down the stairs and the man followed me — not at all in a creepy way — Madame! he called after me — at this point he guided me at the cross section, ensuring I went the correct way. Wow. He missed his train for that. What a gentleman! And how generous!

I made it to my stop in plenty of time and walked to Le Peloton Café whereupon the Barista was speaking American English. I was momentarily quite confused. Was she our tour guide? No. She just lives/works in Paris now. Where are you from, she asked. Pennsylvania. Oh, me, too. Really? What part? Bucks County, she replied. OMG, me, too. Where? Yardley. I’m your neighbor in New Hope. We laughed. Small world.

Then the guy next to me said he was from NJ and was well-acquainted with New Hope and had lived in nearby Flemington. What? Crazy! I turned around to see an older gent enter the café wearing a t-shirt with “CB East” imprinted on it. Wait – are you from Doylestown? Yes, he said! OMG. Four others joined in from the area. This was insanely coincidental. I was about to spend my whole day with my Bucks County neighbors, 4,000 miles away from Bucks County, PA.

Jersey and I were partners for the day. We had a great time – and no pickpocket was going to target me today because Jersey stood at 6’7” next to me all day – with hair longer than mine and lots of tatts. I could easily spot him in a crowd, and he assured me he could find me in a crowd, too. He was funny, and charming.

Our first stop was the open-air market to buy whatever we wanted for our picnic lunch – dashing from one vendor to another to buy wine, cheese, fruits, and anything else we wanted. Then, we were off through the town on our bikes, and into the gardens of Versailles. I decided to sit for a spell in the marketplace, and I enjoyed the best quiche I’ve ever had: une quiche au chèvre et aux épinards with my coffee. This way, having eaten, I could get away with packing lightly — just snacks dans mon panier: une baguette tradition (to split with Jersey) , des fraises, du brie, de l’eau, du Prosecco, et une palmier.

We toured the Queen’s private residence (Le Petit Trianon) and other other hide-aways on the grounds (Temple de l’Amour) It was a hot, but lovely blue-sky day. The gold on the castle glinted from far away and near. Every chance I got, I refilled my water bottle from the King’s faucets which are located all over the grounds.

We lunched next to the water in Le Grand Parc area, all of us tired and hot. We sat beneath the shade of the trees and quietly took it all in, sharing our treats with one another. Some of us stretched out. I could have stayed there longer.

My bike wasn’t great. I had 3 gears, but only one worked, and that was the easiest gear. I managed to hit gear 2 if I put pressure on the handle. We rode back to town to return our bikes. From there, the guide left us on our own. (I didn’t expect that. I guess I needed to read more carefully!) Jersey and I walked to the Chateau, and began our tour of Opulence, personified.

Every room was a different color of flocked velvet wall covering. Gold, Red, Green, Blue — all jewel tones, all intense colors, even now. The walls were adorned with massive paintings of Kings, Queens, and others. Busts of prominent monarchs, and it was all so overwhelming and that was before we reached the Hall of Mirrors, where no words were left to describe the sights. Crystal chandeliers in rows of 3 the entire length. Ceilings seemed 30’ feet high, and paintings and murals and gold, and marble were everywhere.

There were a few bed rooms, and Jersey thought the beds looked very uncomfortable. LOL! I could’ve curled up with ease. Our guide had told us that these beds were made for resting upright. Women couldn’t lie down properly with the corsets of the day, and hoops in their skirts – not to mention Marie Antoinette’s 1-meter high hairdo.

Since it was a long day, I had been preserving my phone battery to allow me to take a few photos of the magnificent mirrored “Hall.” Jersey and I really enjoyed our tour and conversation. It was English all day, as I was the only person in the group who spoke French – except for one Canadian.

We headed home via the RER line (which is the Métro outside of Paris), and connected to the inner city lines with ease. I was so close to home, but wanted to go back to the Peloton Café for a tiny souvenir I’d spotted that morning. So Jersey and I rode together, and then walked. He made sure I was ok when we parted, and we promised to stay in touch. (We’ve already texted – as I am posting this on Thursday.)

Alas, after a bit of a walk, Le Peloton café était fermé! Of course. It was way past coffee hour. I had walked all that way on tired feet for nothing. C’est la vie! And then, for the life of me, I couldn’t find the le Cité Métro station. I asked two people, but they were tourists.

And of course, there it was right in front of me, after the tourists moved on. LOL! Of course! It was the old design – by architect Hector Grimaud, the guy whose gorgeous avant-garde work (and furniture) I had photographed at Musée D’Orsay. His work evokes la Belle Époque – Art Nouveau. I had photographed it — and stood in front of this very entrance — a few times, once with a tour guide. Also, the Tarot Cards (Marseille) were designed by Grimaud. Clearly, I was tired.

The Parisians did not like Grimaud’s Métro signs/designs at the time. They thought they looked like fallopian tubes. OK. I get that. I can go there. I would have said “vines,” but how boring am I? I mean, that positively and forever pales in comparison. Anyway, I literally laughed out loud when I saw the tubes, and made my way home. The signage was weird in this older station, so I asked a woman if I was going in the right direction — Come with me, I’ll show you. Wow. I began and ended my day with another Parisian happily helping me. My heart was full.

Sorry for the delayed post. I’m catching up and had to sort through a lot of photos to decide what to add to the blog post.