We march on the palace

By the look of the crowd, it might almost have been October 5, 1789. However, there were no casualties, and no one suggested that we eat cake. The only armed individuals were three men clad in olive green with berets who walked through the courtyard; they carried guns that looked like M16s, but could have been HK416s, or FAMAS F1s, or something else; I didn't look closely enough--I suspected that not being too curious, and not asking suspicious questions would make my visit more enjoyable than could be made up for with some period of intense interrogation...as exciting as that might be.

The picture above shows the passage upon which we walked, approaching the palace from the side entrance. During the previous mile of our walk, we walked on sidewalks along asphalt streets. The paving stone way began our transition to the splendor of the Palace of Versailles. 

Of course, the searching of my wife's bag was the first order of business. As we passed through the side gate, and beneath a tent-like structure, the woman guard asked to examine my wife's bag. I stopped so my wife could show the bag, but my wife didn't stop immediately. I had difficulty remembering that she did not understand French. Fortunately, the woman repeated the request in English rather than releasing the hounds upon us. 

The line to enter the palace itself was so long that it passed through three zip codes, and required dialing long distance to call from one end to the other. Perhaps that's a slight exaggeration, but it did extend longer than a football field (that's American football, not that boring game that takes three hours to reach a 1 to 1 tie, and requires a certification in drama to play professionally--That was a completely gratuitous jab at a sport that is loved and played the world over. I can only say, that as for such mockery, I doubt that it will be the last.) 

The line moved along quickly, but I had enough time to notice people. In front of us were two tall men who spoke to each other in English, but with an accent that seemed like it could have been Dutch, or German...I don't know; it may have been something completely different. They had close cut hair and wore heavy boots. Their pant legs were rolled up enough to see most of the boots. They had not shaved in several days. I opted not to annoy them.

Two young women were behind us in line. They were shorter than me, about the same height as my wife. The had long hair, dark complexions, and smoked cigarettes like candy--you know what I mean. They spoke in a language that seemed familiar, but wasn't. My best guess was that they were speaking Portuguese. 

Our Paris Museum Passes got us in...and we went through the metal detector to enter the palace that someone has described as all cotton candy and marzipan. It's not like that. It was beautiful. It was elegant. It was stupendous. It was full of tourists; that was the only drawback.

The people doing guided tours were the biggest obstacle. They moved slowly and would congregate around the guide, blocking the way. At those locations where more than one tour group had things jammed up, it was like being on the subway, a fabulously ornate subway, at rush hour, but without the movement. 

My wife enjoyed the palace. I enjoyed being there with her. She took lots of pictures. As enjoyable as the palace was, We enjoyed the gardens even more. 

Next time: The Gardens.