THE GOOD, THE BAD AND ‘LES MAGNIFIQUES’
A
lighting from the train that had brought me from Paris to Melun on a glorious early-spring day, I looked about eagerly for the small bus that takes visitors onward to the 17th-century Chateau Vauxle-Vicomte, nestled within the Fontainebleau forest.
A quick scan of the timetable told me that this bus only runs on Wednesdays and weekends, so I was waiting in vain on a Thursday, the final day of my trip. I contemplated returning to Paris on the next train, but strolled over to the taxi rank with some trepidation, to be informed that the fare to the Chateau was €18 [around R300 at the time ] one-way. I pressed on, since I was so close, and was duly dropped at the ornamental gates of the palace.
Strolling down a side path to the ticket kiosk, I was met with a sign, in several languages, which informed me the palace was closed on Thursdays. I had more than a sneaking suspicion that the taxi driver would have been well aware of this, but was not going to lose a fare over this small detail. He had given me his card for the return trip too.
So there I was, in the famed Fontainebleu forest, with not a soul or car in sight, and no phone. (I’d intended to ring for a taxi from the palace visitors’ centre.) Resigned to my lot, I crossed the road into the woods, and was immediately soaking up an abundance of green trees and joyful birdsong. I mused over how this forest had inspired so many of the 19th-century Paris Impressionists, and plein-air painters, whose works I admire in the grand galleries across Europe.
Later, I stood at the railings of the palace grounds, and marvelled at the sweet symmetry of the chateau and gardens, landscaped by Andrè le Nôtre, who famously landscaped the wonderful gardens at Versailles.
Just then, a car pulled up, near the gates, and I hoped it was not the same taxi driver, cheekily returning to collect me. A family emerged and strolled over to the fence. I told them my tale, and asked whether they would kindly call a taxi for me. The friendly young Frenchman was horrified at his countryman’s daylight robbery, and insisted on taking me to the station, although they were headed in the opposite direction.
Off we went, with me in the back seat with little Pierre and baby sister in a carrycot. My new friends turned out to have family farming in Stellenbosch. As Pierre was learning English, he informed me at regular intervals that “my sister, she sleep”, and then we arrived back in Melun.
My experience in life is that travel shows you both the good and bad people of a country, although not always in such quick succession as in this case. I felt that my trip had not been in vain at all, but rather became a highlight of that whole journey. Vive la France !
Do you have a funny story about your travels? Send 600 words to travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za and include a recent photo of yourself.