Honey Pots
The Tourist Trail
6/11/20265 min read
There are some places that almost destroy themselves by their very act of being. Monet's gardens at Giverny is just such a place. I visited there recently with an artist friend from America. She had admired Monet's paintings of water lilies for many years, and long dreamed of going there. We were staying in Paris, and as it is little more than an hour's drive, we decided to visit Giverny together.
Monet was specially commissioned to paint these enormous pictures of water lilies for the oval room in The Orangerie in Central Paris. This group of school children sitting on the floor at a museum with their teacher is a very common sight in France.
Our driver for the day picked us up outside our hotel near The Champs Elysée , and as we fought our way through the traffic we dreamed of the peaceful gardens ahead. This was not the style of tourism to which I was accustomed, but it was certainly hassle free, as The Arc de Triomphe, Eiffel Tower and other famous Paris landmarks slipped past.
Sixty or so minutes later we had forsaken busy motorways and were wending our way through narrow lanes that had the air of an English country village. How nice to leave the frantic turmoil of Paris behind. We pulled into a small car park where the driver would wait for us , and set off down a country lane towards our destination. The day was overcast, and so we imagined we might almost have the gardens to ourselves. Beyond Monet's house and gardens lies a Museum where we also planned to view a special exhibition of his earlier work. But first off, we wished to see the inspiration for his water lily pictures, although I feared that those flowers would not yet be in bloom. We walked down a lane towards the official entrance and then... we spotted the crowds. Although we had pre-purchased tickets we fell upon a long queue of people ahead of us , all waiting to be admitted. This was not going to be quite as we had expected!
To cut a long story short, I had suddenly found myself in the kind of situation that I would normally avoid like the plague. In spite of the dull weather, hundreds, nay thousands of people had converged upon this tiny village. People of all nationalities and ages continued to arrive, jostling behind me as they waited to be admitted. Not a single French voice to be heard. After a tiring wait, we were 'frisked' by two security officers who then directed us towards a narrow entrance. Down a narrow flight of stairs and along a dark corridor we filed until suddenly sunlight appeared at the end of the tunnel. What's more our world blossomed with flowers. This garden was certainly stunning. Archways bearing roses of all colours, bright red poppies in abundance, blue delphiniums and much much more,. In the distance I spotted Monet's pretty house . But this was not the paradise that we had anticipated, for we had been caught pincer-like in a shuffling queue of people. We inched slowly forward, shoulder to shoulder alongside tourists who were being directed back in the opposite direction. I could not bear this and began to panic. After less than five minutes I apologised to my companion and turned tail. Pushing my way past I returned the way I had come. "You can't come this way," a security guard shouted angrily. I ignored him. Within seconds I was free, and able to breathe properly again. How I wish I had been able to see those stunning gardens as Monet saw them. Here are one or two 'snaps' I took before I fled.
Crowds were still pouring in as I made my way towards the car park where we had left the taxi. I did not wish to ruin my friend's day, so I planned to take a seat there in the shade of a tree ,and wait it out. Alas , every single bench was full. There was a small restaurant and garden nearby, so I made my way there instead. . It was approaching midday, and a waitress showed me to a back room where a few diners were already beginning lunch. It was good to hear a French voice at last. Was today unusually crowded? I asked her. "I'm afraid not," she grimaced. Could I perhaps find a quieter time to come in the future? "No. It's open from April to November, and it's always like this." Just then, my phone rang. My companion had had enough too. Where was I ? We enjoyed a good lunch together, and I watched my companion polish off a dish of snails with aplomb. Not as good as the ones she had tried in America, however. Snails may well be a French speciality, but these, she told me, were lacking in butter and garlic. Alas, restaurants in tourist venues, are rarely the best. She also despaired of the crowds, and rued that although the gardens were certainly beautiful, they would not have been like that in Monet's day. As we left the restaurant, the larger dining room and gardens were crammed full. Things were redeemed slightly when Ragi, our driver for the day greeted us with a friendly smile. As we forged our way through the crowded lanes, I felt like giving a regal wave. However, this would be the first and last time I ever observed this kind of tourism. Frankly, I don't think I will be missing much
