Day 14: A "slavic Skrabak square"

Even here, TGIF is a reality. But it is simply a reality due to the fact that Giverny was the destination for the day, (and the "Fête de la Musique" was the destination for the evening).

Giverny is a little town, easily accessible by train and a short bus ride, where Claude Monet lived out the last 43 years of his life. His painting of the water lilies is based off of this angelical space that is too beautiful to be real.

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The train left from Gare Saint-Lazare around noon. Before this could happen though, I had to acquire more free food. It is the way my world works here. Free cherries, free chips, and now…FREE YOGURT. And I am talking creamy, delicious French yogurt that was stationed outside the Gare, a promotional event? All I know is that my breakfast was satisfied by creamy strawberry heaven.

In all honesty, it felt good to be chugging out of Paris. The city is tiring and the rolling hills filling up the train’s windows was like a breath of fresh air. My world has been so consumed with the city of Paris and all that comes along with it that this bubble suddenly popped. It was a gentle pop. Nothing brutal. Just necessary nonetheless.

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Arriving in this little French town at the train station Vernon-Giverny, we took a short bus ride to the paradise of Claude Monet.

Admittedly, it was incredibly touristic but the beauty could not be denied. I could imagine, as the sun blanketed my face and warmth spread through my body, what it had been like for the famous painter.

It is during times like these that I romanticize the pull of the countryside. I contemplate it sometimes, how life would be somewhere in a tiny town in France, nature all around, some animals mooing in the background. Drop everything my brain says. But now is not the time. One day.

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Aimlessly walking through the gardens, flowers I have never seen growing before my eyes and emanating perfumes beneath my nose, I felt content. The crowds of people could not deter my utter love for the serenity of the water lilies decorating the glassy pond.

Before Anna and I walked into the home of Monet, we had a little photo shoot in which I identified my face as a square thanks to my slavic roots. Some self-timer, a precariously placed hat, and some wishful thinking, the photos are their own masterpieces. You hear that Monet? We can do it too.

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The house itself was this strawberry pink (not unlike the color of a strawberry yogurt) with deep vibrant green accents. While descriptively tacky, it felt more like a fairytale in person. Each room inside had its own charm with a purposeful color to guide all the decorating. Not my personal taste, but I cannot deny the creativity. My favorite room was the kitchen. The deep blue theme with delicately decorated tiles paired with huge hanging polished copper pots was a sight for my prying eyes. I loved it. (See GirlxPatagonia in Giverny for photos.)

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Looking for a little snack, I walked into a store. They had a cookie to try but the moment I took a piece, the shopkeeper started to stare me down, like he expected me to buy something now. Next time I will learn to stand my ground. This time though, I caved and bought quite the expensive croissant. I cannot say it wasn’t good, but 3 euros? Come on, man!

The train home was equally efficient but with the sun from the day and the lull of the train, I knocked out.

The nap was much needed, though. The free music festival (i.e. live music being played all around Paris and France as a whole) would go the whole night and I needed to regain my strength.

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Before the partying could begin, we had to have ourselves a delicious picnic. It’s just in the rule book. And picnic we did have. Monoprix and Franprix, you have our hearts.

A whole massive red pepper, Tzatziki, pesto, butter, baguette, cherry tomatoes, Portuguese cheese, little salamis, potatoes bathed in the sauce from store bought chicken legs (i.e. the most delicious thing you will ever taste…juicy and flavorful, I cannot believe we could get it from a store), raspberries, and white wine. Amazing. AMAZING.

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We met up with a different Harvard friend, here for only a little while, and traversed the streets with her. Each corner had a different band, different set of drunk people, different vibe, etc. Some was good. And some was BAD. But all was worth it. Walking through the Marais, some guy in a white button-down that lived up to its name (i.e. it was definitely buttoned-down and I was seeing a little too much chest hair) touched my wrist lightly and essentially told me that I was coming home with him tonight in slurred French. Then he just kept on walking, slinging his white scarf across his neck and over his shoulders.

I got home at 3:30am with Anna and had an array of interesting images circulating through my head.