On Saturday I decided to go on a roadtrip, which means in France jumping on a direct train out of the city. Today we found ourselves heading towards the majestic Chateau de Fontainebleau. With got bargain 8 euro day tickets and after a little hiccup (yes, I mixed up the station and arrived at Gare d’Austerlitz rather than Gare de l’Est, fortunately all I had to do was cross the river to the other one) finally caught the SNCF train to Fontainbleau.
Once we arrived, we jumped on the local bus as the first snowflakes began to magically float down from the pale grey sky above. By the time we found the chateau (turns out the bus stop is rather confusingly named La Poste, rather than the more dominant monument one would think- the chateau, trust, another French ploy to trick tourists…) the whole garden was carpeted by a thick layer of fresh snow, so magical…but freezing!
As the chateau is considered a national monument Anneliese and I were able to enter for free, another European student benefit. We weren’t sure if the cold had deterred visitors, or that this was infact a lesser known or more shunned chateau, paling in the golden lights of Versailles, but it worked to our advantage as we practically had the place to ourselves. With a 1 euro audioguide in hand we slowly made our way through the castle and its magnificent, jaw dropping decor. I might go as far as to say I prefered it to Versailles, who, whilst beautiful and historically incredibly significant, is very extremely overcrowded. After our slow wander we decided to go play in the snow out the front of the chateau. Yes, delirious from the cold I assume, here we were standing with our tongues out towards the sky, giggling hysterically trying to catch little falling snowflakes on our tongues.
Napoleon’s bathroom, a little tub for a little man..
there is a bed there somewhere..
As our fingers began to slowly freeze, our bellies began to rumble so we wandered across the road, before finding ourselves in a nice Indian restaurant. As we waited for our dessert to come out, one of the old men seated at the table got up to leave, with his companion turning and starting to chat to the owners. Obviously a local we thought. We continued chatting away until we heard him say, in French of course, ‘and I’m seated next to two very pretty girls’, to which we both let out a giggle leading him to addd ‘two very pretty girls who apparently speak French.’ We then began to have a nice long chat to the fellow who was seem fascinated about Australia and was very complimentary of our French, however, the conversation turned as he began to ask what we were doing the following day and pleaded for us to come back the following day, we apologised and said that infact we were busy, this didn’t deter him as he went further to ask our numbers. Here we were again, a situation we’ve found ourselves in a million times this year, and he could’ve have been our grandfather. French men, they just can’t help themselves…..
