Golden Boy

Long before dawn, we left Lyon for the open road to Paris. Before we reached the City of Love, however, we had one important stop: Fontainebleau. 

This palatial residence is second only to Versailles in its opulence and was a relaxing getaway for French royals from Louis VII (1500s) to Napoleon III. It is also where Napoleon I abdicated his throne before being exiled to Elba.

It feels strange to call Fontainebleau a residence, because it is so different from any place I can imagine occupying. Every inch of the rooms is decorated, every detail luxurious, every life lived there of mythic proportions. It is hard to imagine ever being a child there; this is not the place for muddy footprints or streaks of crayon. Indeed, the toys of Napoleon’s only son were bedazzled dominos and pint-sized pistols, cannons, and sabers. But these details aside, Fontainebleau is a feast for the eyes and well worth a visit. Its rooms are a mishmash of the height of fashion in each century, with each ruler’s contribution emblazoned with monograms and catchy slogans. Everything is gilded or woven or inlaid with precious metals. The ceilings are three-dimensional masterpieces, each one unique. 

We wandered the rooms, swept away by the narrative of the audioguide and peering through glass at embroidered bees, royals depicted as goddesses, Murano glass game tables, and 20-foot cascades of cloth curtaining thrones and beds. When confronted with a lifestyle so foreign, we had to cling to the mundane details to make sense of what we were seeing. Josh felt a kinship with Napoleon over their shared love of baths. I was fascinated by the compact organization system used to transport Napoleon’s belongings during his travels. And yet even in these details there was luxury, as many everyday items were customized gifts from obsequious new subjects. It is hard to imagine such opulence today, although I guess there are still people who live in gold-plated apartments.

After touring the chateau, we took a lap around the gardens. 

They were quiet, with only one other tourist and a few swans to keep us company. Waterways and fountains stretched the length of the gardens, which brought out the inner rower in Josh.  

He quickly proposed the Fontainebleau Sprints Regatta, since he assessed one of the ponds as at least 1,000 meters in length. For those less interested in water sports, there are also carriage rides around the gardens, though I think they must only be offered in the summer.

Legs sufficiently stretched, we returned to the car for the end of our drive to Paris. Slowly but surely, monuments rose on the horizon, from the delicate outline of the Eiffel Tower to the sturdier stone of churches and museums. We settled into our new living quarters and headed out to satisfy my French onion soup craving. It was drizzling and dark, but the salty broth, caramelized onions, and oozing Gruyere did wonders for our spirits. It’s going to be a lovely week in Paris.

Spotted: Elaborate signs indicating which town you're passing (through).