DESTINATION Versailles and Père-Lachaise Cemetery, Paris
INSPIRATION Jessica and Ashlee Simpson send me to two unusual “romantic” spots.
Everyone wants a love story from Paris.
Unfortunately, I learned pretty quickly that Paris didn’t want to give one to me.
The men there are extreme: They either love you or they hate you. First there was the hating cabbie who yelled at me, took more money, then dropped me off six blocks early and practically spat in my face. Next, the waiter who told me, “no English,” but then when frustrated, yelled at me in perfect English. Then there was the guy in the park with his hands down his pants, staring and grunting as I ran past him. And finally Julian, my full-blown stalker, who—within 10 minutes of harassing me at a café—decided I was brilliant, beautiful, and an inspiration to all men, then proceeded to email me seven times a day during my entire trip. And by the way, what makes these men think it’s attractive to meow at women? I heard men do this twice in as many days, and had one pretend to paw me. When I straight out asked, “Are you for real? Taking cat calls to the extreme?” he said this was a Frenchman’s unique way with women.
Needless to say, I was not in a particularly romantic mood that day. Yet I still decided to visit the spot Jessica Simpson had described as Paris’ most romantic—Versailles. I would be balancing it with a trip to the Père-Lachaise cemetery, where Ashlee had gone, a good antidote to any romance-overkill in the gardens. Plus, both seemed like ideal places for some reflection time, away from the men of Paris.
Versailles is about 10 miles southwest of Paris’ center, and a serene escape from the city’s bustle. But approaching the grounds, my initial experience was overwhelming. Hundreds of people were waiting in front of the huge museum at the Versailles entrance, and I started to wish I had holed up in a coffee shop for the day. Once I had made my way through the crowds, I stood timidly near the huge estate museum, shuffling the pebbles under my feet, wondering what I had been thinking by leaving my cozy Parisian café.
Looking down at the vast expanse, I felt immediate release. Lush endless greens, flowers of every shape and color placed just so, marble figurines dotting the floral landscape. I was comforted by the enormity of it all.
Here in the Queen’s courtyard, I did notice many couples holding hands with glistening diamond wedding bands, eyes gushing with love.
And so here it was—love all around me. The etymology of Versailles comes from the Latin word versare, meaning, “to keep turning, turn over and over.” I ended up doing that as I walked, thinking of love.
Everyone I knew had been convinced that if I didn’t come back from my 30 Before 30 engaged, I’d at least come back with 30 new belt notches. It was quickly becoming apparent why travel is so often linked with romance. After two weeks of adventuring in the unknown, my ego was dissipating. Slowly travel was peeling away my high fashion uniform and letting the child underneath peek out—the child we all have in us who loves to play and explore. The more I let the child out, the more attention I received from men. Add in the mystery of traveling solo, and
I was a man magnet—whether I was interested or not.
Versare, versare…
Still a child scrambling her way out of her parents’ arms to run free, I wasn’t ready to settle down. My trip was about embracing that child who had forced herself to be adult in the real world. I decided that whenever I was told I needed to settle down, think about the future, usher in romance, I would bring myself back to this labyrinth.
My adventure in the maze of greens before me–the place laden with trees of all unique shapes and sizes, branches reaching out to scratch and hold me, paths begging me to walk with them to hidden new places, and calming greens familiar and established, not going anywhere–was a reminder that nature is its own romance. I would embrace that inner child and remind her she could take her time.
FROM Jessica Simpson
TO Angie Banicki
subject Re:
You have to go to Versailles outside of Paris. Someone very special to me sent me a picture of an older couple lying on the lawn so in love. I have since traveled there and it is one of the most romantic places I have ever been. My sister went to the cemetery in Paris where Jim Morrison was buried, and got lost in there for like 2 hours and never found his gravesite.
BIO >> JESSICA SIMPSON
Jessica and I met when she sang “The Star Spangled Banner” at my event for the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation. Today she’s a mom and I imagine feels love at depths she couldn’t yet imagine back at Versailles. I don’t think I could handle the cruelty of the tabloids, but somehow Jessica owns who she is and doesn’t seem to let it take her down.
Versare, versare…
My last memory of love was of drowning—when it ended, I cried for an entire year, flooding into two. Too much, my friends said. When love slices you that deeply, you find places hurting that you didn’t even know existed. And once you know they are there, you can’t imagine opening them up again. But you do.
Versare, versare…
Then there’s Grandma Banicki. She was married to my grandfather for 50 years and she knows it was worth it even after the hurt of my grandfather’s death. Widowed over a year and looking for love for us both, she reminds me to enjoy the journey. Sort of.
“Angela, do you have a boyfriend yet? That’s okay…you’ll find one soon….but you better hurry.”
Grandma, how are you feeling today? “I’m a little cold….I need a boyfriend.”
“Angela you look pretty—and skinny. Don’t get too skinny, though. The guys like a little dupa to grab onto. I never had a dupa.” (A “dupa” is Polish for ass.)
“Your mom loves your father so much. She’s the best cook I’ve ever seen. You better be getting tips from her for your husband. Or that’s okay. I can’t cook either, just stay pretty.”
Grandma brings me back to the comedy of romance, a good place to be.
PÈRE-LACHAISE CEMETERY
The cemetery is on Boulevard de Ménilmontant and is home to 2-3 million dead people, including Oscar Wilde, Chopin, Edith Piaf, Gertude Stein, and Jim Morrison. After Morrison’s death in 1971, his grace there was intiailly unmarked. When the cemetery did add a stone and later a bust, they were covered in fan graffiti and eventually stolen. Today a simple, fenced-off stone bears the message, in Greek, “According to his own daimon.”
Versare and Versailles complete, I exited the labyrinth.
With a fresh perspective, I headed toward the cemetery in search of Jim Morrison’s grave, which I found in 10 minutes flat. Standing at the grave, humming his tunes, were two hippy lovers mourning his loss and celebrating his life. They seemed so content. They’d completed their journey in search of each other and it had led them here. To this couple, Jim Morrison embodied romance.
I wonder what it will look like, feel like, seem like for me? For now, I’m still on my solo journey. But when I recognize myself sharing in a moment like that with someone, I’ll know.
Otherwise Grandma Banicki will take me out.
TRIPPING POINT
Whatever the size of your dupa, traveling makes you a magnet for romance. Whether you invite it in is up to you.
YOU ARE READING
30 Before 30
Non-Fiction30 Before 30. Thirty days in Europe. Thirty inspired moments of adventure to live it up before my 30th birthday. Just the idea of it gave me purpose. Here was a reminder that I could choose a new path, even if it was only for 30 days. A little backg...
