CHoPs in the garden, Ambrosia on the road

In a nutshell, there were fountains. Actually, there was no nutshell, but there were fountains. There were also hedges and pathways and statues and tourists and...the CHoPs. 

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This is the way it happened, see. Me and my dame had a chat with the gatekeeper to the garden. He informed me that there was an entry fee that had to be payed. I informed him that I had the Paris Museum Pass; I would not pay as admission to the gardens was without charge anyway. He informed me that the pass was no good during certain events. One of those events being the water and music program which was taking place in the gardens on that very day, and for which there was in fact a charge. Whereupon, I doubled up my fist and delivered to his visage a terrible look of displeasure. Of course, this conversation took place in the French language. I hadn't had a lot experience in delivering devastating scowls in that language, but I wanted him to know that this was serious. He understood my meaning...and again told me the price of entry into those fine grounds. Now that we understood each other, I gave him the money and we passed through just as slick as you please. If you know how to speak the language, you can get what you want. 

We waltzed ourselves over to the grand stairway on the side, and descended like we was one of those King Louis and his number one dame. I must say that we looked fabulous. It was when we was crossing the parterre de l'orangerie that we seen them. They was wearing helmets and uniforms, and they must have been nine feet tall, sitting atop those great big chargers. They was obviously the Chateau Horse Patrol (CHoPs). My gal looked at me. She asked me a question. I gave her the affirmative. Quick as flash she drew down on those boys, and shot them before you could say, "Jack Robinson." I never met anyone who tried to be real quick about saying "Jack Robinson," and I'm not exactly sure that it was quite that fast, but it was quick. Here is the picture to prove it (as she did the shooting with her camera).

As you can see from the picture, we had to walk right past Pierre and Jean. We felt kind of small walking next to those giant equines. Our western quarter horses seemed like they would be midgets next to those mounts. Fortunately, they didn't have no papers on us, and we kept our noses clean. Later, my dame got a better picture:

So this whole water and music in the gardens, or fountain shows and music, was really quite the treat. (Although, I have to admit that I did not see any of that slow-motion water as shown in the video in the link, but maybe my eyes had not adjusted properly). 

Me and baby-doll enjoyed nearly every fountain in that park, listening to the music, which was of that classical variety, composed and played entirely by those dead European musical types. Although, I think we was hearing a recording as we never did get to see any fancy dressed boys in the short pants and white stockings running along the hedges with instruments in hand from one fountain to another.
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But seriously, what a great experience. We walked and watched together, feeling the mist blown from some of the fountains, taking in various views, and shooting pictures of each other and of statues and fountains and arches while enjoying the classical strains. Truly memorable.

It's no exaggeration to say that we walked nearly 10 miles on that day, counting the mall, the temple, the palace, the gardens, and the walk there and back. On the way back we took a slight (unplanned, but productive) detour, and visited an old cathedral. 

Tired, hot, and hungry, we stopped so that I could step into a little bodega to buy a couple oranges. Those orbs of orange flesh proved to be sweet, juicy, and delicious. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the top of the enjoyment level, those oranges scored a 20! Sweet ambrosia to my taste buds; truly we partook of heavenly bliss concealed in a peel. 

Next time: I will babble more about some aspect of the trip.