On Versaille.

And then we were in France. France has always been uncharted territory for me... but the weird thing I think is that this country, more than any other I can think of (except the States, I guess) has such a definitave, absolute, even legendary persona that rather than turning each corner and discovering and unpacking truly foriegn elements and bits of unique culture which define some new place I'm discovering... in other words, just being somewhere new... instead the words that kept pouring out of my mouth were, "Oh! This is just so... French!"

In a way, I think this place has always been engrained in me, even before I ever landed. It was so incredibly known to me before I ever discovered it for myself. And I love it, in the way I've been waiting to love it, just as soon as I had permission to. Does that make any sense? I think there are places you hear about and see represeneted, and I think you're heart connects long before the rest of you does. And so really in that way, I think sometimes travelling is simply giving your heart the permission of actual experience.

And this was how my affair with France began.

Or really, it was in the village of Versaille, which was where chose to start our French wanderings for a few days before plunging into the jumble of Paris.

Versaille is in the same breath heartbreaking yet lovely, gracefully yet obscene, enlightened and yet overwhelmingly naive. It's haunting in an austere sort of way, and weirdly moving. And the village was absolutely everything you have ever thought a little French village would be. No stereotype was left unexplored in this town. Really. And it was lovely. Mom even put up with my endless rounds of the opening song from Beauty and the Beast. ("Little tooown, it's a quiiiet villaaage...")

Here are some bits of our days there. My apologies, but I couldn't flip these, so you're going to have to resort to that old-fashioned standby and tilt your head. :)