Exactly ten days ago I went to France. I've been back in Berlin for three, but I've barely been able to put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard) to describe in non-hyperbolic terms the effect the Palace of Versailles had on me.
Without wishing to embark on a long rant about art, architecture, Louis XIV, Renaissance art and so forth, all I can really say is that it was gob-smacking. Not just because of its enormity, beauty, opulence and the sheer number of tourists (here's a travel tip: never visit French châteaux in August, unless you enjoy being crushed into majestic rooms and only being able to see about 3 square metre corners of them at a time for all the people standing in your way). I'm surprised the fabrics at any French châteaux have any colour left for all the flashes that constantly bombard the priceless paintings, tapestries, curtains, embroidered wallpaper and bedspreads.
I visited 3 châteaux whilst I was in France: Château de Villandry (amazing garden), Chenonceau (ruined for me by too many screaming children and their parents incessantly taking photos) and the Palace of Versailles.
So what's so amazing about the Palace of Versailles? It's almost too amazing. It's so huge, and so over-the-top, that it's almost impossible to imagine life there. It's a dream world. Everything about it was totally mad: the court etiquette, the ceilings depicting French monarchs as Roman gods, the "outdoor living rooms" of the gardens - with every twist and turn it just gets better and better. Each chandelier, each fireplace, each piece of furniture, each fountain is more incredible than the next.
And then there's the size. It's so enormous that you can't fit it into a camera frame from nearly half a kilometre away. The garden was so big that I didn't even make it to Marie Antoinette's Hameau (the little village she built in the palace ground to escape the formality of court life, small wonder) as I had to leave for the airport.
As I walked around, I just couldn't understand how people could live like this. A palace is one thing. But Versailles is like the gargantuan palace that ate all the other palaces. Life there seemed like eighteenth century Big Brother, with Louis XIV holding court from his bed. The place made my head spin, I haven't stopped thinking about it for days.
I want to go back, not only for Marie Antoinette's house, but just to try and make sense of it. And hopefully next time in winter when I can soak it all up without the stampeding mob of tourists. They almost seemed like the mob that stormed the palace in 1789 - but nowadays they're baying for snapshots instead of blood, pushing and shoving to get a photo they can take home and keep forever - of a life lived in an age of extravagance and extremes of wealth. Seems like everyone still wants a piece of the French royals, alive or dead.
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