A chaotic day today, and it’s still not quite over. I woke at 8:30, and Thomas and I cycled down a very juddery path to the palace. When we got there we heard first entry was at 13:00 and we decided against it. Instead I paid our 10 euro each entry to the gardens. They were huge. It took us 2 hours to wonder around even the bit near to the palace.
They were, however, spectacular, in a gruesome, opulent kind of way. Endless groves, lakes, hedges, waterfalls and fountains. At one point we saw a fountain go off to the tune of an opera. Halfway round we decided to visit the palace too. Thomas bought the tickets online. After the gardens we headed down to the Triannon and had a look around. It’s a whole mini-palace with its own mini gardens. The tour was whistle-stop however as we were running short on time. It was a half hour walk down from the palace to it. I envied the people in golf carts. It was hot (30 degrees c).
After the triannon we grabbed a baguette and much needed coke from a nearby café. It was ham and cheese. Classic. We wondered back up to the palace along the lake, passing wondering tourists and lounging happy couples [...].
We got into the palace just after one and wondered through the many, many different coloured rooms, plastered over with paintings and statues of French royalty, roman myths and surprisingly few biblical scenes. What will really stick with me however is the hall of mirrors. The constant mirrors (surprise, surprise) chandeliers and huge painted ceiling made me feel like I’d never been in a more opulent place in my life, nor would I be again. [Venice and Istanbul later challenged this, though I reckon Versailles still comes out on top]. After the palace we cycled back up to Thomas’s place, him getting shaken apart while on his road bike.
I took a shower, charged my phone (by his portable charger since the power had gone out), filled up my water, oiled my chain, and was off. It felt so good to be on the move again. Paris approached. My brakes squeaked. No problem. I got off to fix them. Failed. I texted dad, went to put my phone in my pocket. Failed. It hit the floor hard. No cracks. Good old screen protector. Phone turned off. Okay. On. No touch ID. S**t. No touch ID = no money. S**t. I kicked a fence a few times. The brakes still squeaked. Dad called back. Situation explained.
Calm.
I took off towards a central Parisian apple shop, brakes squeaking all the way. I called Jack and he sent my monzo £500 to tide me over. What a life-saver! I arrived at the apple shop at 6. They got me an appointment for 6:30. I spent the time (maybe) fixing the brakes. At 6:40, no text received, I went in. The woman who saw me was kind. I explained my situation. She promised to replace the screen by 8:45 [7:45?]. It cost 184 euros. That’s fine… maybe insurance will cover it?
Now I’m sat in a café near the store. I’ve just finished a French wheat beer, written a post card and this. I have no idea what time it is. Maybe I’ll ask these Americans next to me.
I asked. The kid answered. It’s 7:35 – ten mins to kill.
***
I picked up my now fixed phone and cycled via the Arc de Triumphe to the hostel. I was on a top bunk. A very enthusiastic woman (Titiana?) introduced herself. Most of the people were middle aged. After freshening up a little I headed down to the bar. One pint gave me enough courage to join some guys at cards. There was a Yorkshire-man, a couple of Australians, a Saudi Arabian, an American etc. We played Ring of Fire. That got me sufficiently drunk. After that we dispersed and I chatted and danced with a few people. Later we coalesced again and played 75. It was good [...] it was nice just to make friends.
[..]. I went to bed in a strange mood. The guy in the bunk next to me made a comment about me being loud. I asked if he wanted to fight. He was huge. Invitation rescinded. Instead I just went to sleep.
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