Giverny

Saturday was one of those spectacular days for the ages. The sun was bright and warm in a sky so beautifully blue that no photo could do it justice. The temperature was in the low 80’s but a perfectly delicate breeze kept us comfortably caressed.

Our friends Peter and Jannine, other US ex-pats, have opted to have a car in Paris...they are brave souls. Peter is the bravest as he just completed his driving lessons and is now the proud owner of a junior operator’s license. No matter how old you are or how much driving experience you may have elsewhere in the world, everyone in France starts off with a junior operator’s license for a period of three years. And good old Peter has to display a great big letter A on a window of any vehicle he’s driving...enough about that. Peter is a great driver and he and Jannine invited us out for his maiden French voyage in their car, destination: Giverny.

Giverny is the country home of Claude Monet. It is the inspiration for many of his Impressionist works, including The Water Lily Pond: Harmony in Green. In 1883, Monet moved his family, his mistress and eight children to the retreat west of Paris. In preparation for his country life, Monet designed and had constructed the amazing gardens and water features with their Japanese inspired bridges.

The gardens are truly a treat and retreat. We entered the gardens and before us were manicured beds, trellises, topiaries and espaliers of fruit trees. Each section was a blaze of complimentary colors...from fiery yellow, orange, reds and russets to cooler shade gardens soothing the eyes with an array of blue, green and white. There were lilies, orchids, sunflowers, zinnias, cosmos, dahlias, salvia, marigolds, asters, nasturtiums....so many flowers that reminded my of my Groton garden...hydrangeas, hibiscus, rudibeckia, bleeding hearts, lantana...it was an oasis of sights and scents. Of course, it was quiet too.

We continued our stroll from the structured beds into the softer, more elegant water gardens. Several small arched bridges intersected the meandering paths beneath the Weeping Willows. Stunning water lilies of white, pink and red dotted the ponds as perch, carp and catfish darted beneath in search of water gliders and minnows. All around the garden, flowers were arranged by complimentary and contrasting colors and textures. Where the sun kissed the shore, there were groupings of flowers in bursts of pinks, reds, oranges and yellows. As we passed into the shady areas, the colors cooled to blues, silvers, purples, white and an array of variegated greens...leaves silvery on top and chocolaty brown on the underside...Hostas, Coleus and Artemisia added subdued, softness yet richness with their colors and textures.

After absorbing the gardens, refueled and rested at the same time, we ventured into the quaint, pink stucco family home. The house contains lovely antiques of a less complicated era and hundreds of Japanese ink-block prints, a favored art form for the old master. I was struck by the difference of Monet’s collection of art epitomized by its primary colors, clean, structured lines and precise imprints as it contrasted so greatly with the Father of Impressionism’s use of pastels and primary colors, the dappling of paint and considered strokes that form the “impression” of what is being painted; its form (or lack thereof) and the light reflecting...the artist and the collector, one mind and very different perceptions of beauty. I found that fascinating.

The house held a quiet energy of the people who lived there about one hundred years ago. The wood on the stairs and railings was soft and smooth with wear. The family photos in every room offered a “bonjour” from the past. The views from the bedrooms made me envious and admiring of the sleepy heads who were blessed with such beauty upon waking. But my favorite room...surprise, surprise...was the kitchen. The huge space, decked out with an assortment of blue and white tiles begged for family meals and creative culinary arts to be crafted, inspired by the fruits and vegetables from the gardens; their flavors, colors and textures. There had to be 50 copper pots hanging along one wall, each with a purpose, each poised to impress its wares upon the palate...The stove was a marvel of form and function...it was an early 20th century masterpiece!

Our last stop at the manse was the chicken coop where we saw the proudest rooster. He strut his stuff, his feathers a mélange of brown, white, gold and russet. He owned that yard. There were many varieties of chickens in the yard...unusual feathers and varying sizes. It was an interesting demonstration of impressionism...no still life here....everything was very much alive!

With stomachs grumbling and whistles in need of wetting, we hit the back roads of Giverny and Vernon looking for a lunch spot. We toddled into a small village, complete with its own castle overlooking the Seine. Finding a little café that featured cold rose’, salads and pizza, we plunked down at the outdoor terrace and continued to unwind. The sky, amazingly blue and crystal clear offered the perfect stage for a ballet of six or seven gliders, catching the unseen thermals and turning and spiraling silent in their aerial choreography. The show lasted for the duration of our meal. Dinner and a show...perfect.

Alas it was time to return to the city. We talked of “le rentrer”, Paris’ version of back to school/back to work after a summer off. We made plans to play cards and visit some new restaurants, once they reopened after their “vacances”. Then we just sat in silence for the last bit of the trip...the only voice being the cheeky lady guiding us via the car’s nav system. It was good to be quiet...to remember the flowers...to be immersed in the rest...soon enough it would be back to Paris...city of lights...busy, busy, busy.