Bon Appetit Read Online Free PDF Page A

didn’t care. I spent the time in awe of the
château
, the envy of European royalty for centuries, and the focal point of the beginning of the end of the French monarchy I’d studied so long.
    It was huge, overwhelming, unlike anything I’d ever seen. During the heyday of Louis XIV, nearly five thousand people wined, dined, slept, and ate breakfast in this one castle alone. I read in my guidebook that one head of state had said the horses of Versailles lived better than he did.
    Once inside the castle, it was nose to armpit all the way, surrounded by dusty, sweaty bodies and shrill foreign voices. I hardly noticed. I gazed at the ceilings, enraptured by the swirling, painted frescoes that had taken months to paint. I stood for fifteen minutes looking at the extravagant bed in which Marie Antoinette had given birth and the tiny door to the side where she had tried to escape and retain her head. I walked down the Hall of Mirrors, thinking that Madame de Pompadour had bustled down this same hallway, arranging conquests for the king. Then I came to the chapel installed by Madame de Maintenon, who had married another French king in order to save his soul.
    As I looked at the altar, I realized how much I’d missed going to church. I hadn’t gone since I’d arrived in France.
I’m sorry I’ve forgotten You in the bustle, Lord.
    After wandering the gardens and pathways, imagining the kingon his horse on the very same trail, mingling with his squealing, flirting courtiers, I trudged to the station and boarded the train home, where I was forced to sit next to a mother and her screaming baby.
    Watching the royal city retreat into the distance as the train pulled away, I remembered what a friend had told me. There’s no sense at all in visiting anything as stunning as the Taj Mahal if you have no one to turn to and say, “How beautiful!”
    Among the throng of humanity squeezed into the train, I felt more alone than I could ever remember feeling.
    The next morning, I checked my e-mail again. Seeing my empty in box, I decided to be proactive. I found Sophie’s new business card and sent her a note.
How are things going?
I asked.
Have you been getting along with everyone? I’ll check back in a few days. I’m going to Paris!
    Almost everyone at home thought I was having the time of my life. I needed to at least try to have some fun. And this was likely the only vacation time I’d see for a while.
    I decided to splurge and made a reservation at a Parisian hotel for two days. That way I wouldn’t have to rush my sightseeing. Breakfast was included, and I’d feel pampered. I packed my suitcase and looked at the navy dress. I packed it too, sighing. It was the only way.
    Once in Paris, I checked into the little hotel and headed back to the Eighth Arrondissement. I took the dress, hat, shoes, and beads back to the secondhand designer shop.
    The saleslady remembered me. “Ah, you have returned!”
    “I’m bringing the dress back,” I said softly.
    Her brow wrinkled. “You didn’t like it?”
    “No, I just didn’t need it after all”. I didn’t want to tell her I hadn’t been invited, and that if I wanted to sightsee, I needed the money.
    “The wedding was called off, eh?” She nodded knowingly. “That’s okay. You visit me next time”.
    I nodded, knowing there wouldn’t be a next time, and handed over the outfit. Then I set off for Nôtre Dame.
    I took the Big Red Bus, just like every other tourist, because the Métro was underground and I wanted to drink the city in through my pores. I plugged in the earphones and chose English, thirsty to hear my native tongue.
    Paris, the narration said, is stunningly beautiful. They were right. The bus wound through tree-lined streets, past row upon row of three and four story buildings, all similar but not boring. Their sandy exteriors were the color of lightly burned butter, warm and smooth, inviting. Each window was graced with black wrought iron, curling like dark