After returning home from Versailles near to 0100, the kiddos and I collapsed into bed but were unable to sleep in as long as we'd have liked because we were due to catch a train to the small Norman town of Vernon.
Arriving in Vernon, we walked the few hundred meters from the train station to the bus stop. It seemed as though every passenger on the train had the same intention: visit Monet's home, and as a result, the bus queue was quite long. We waited for nearly an hour before we were finally able to board the lone bus that services that particular route.
The bus drove us through the picturesque riverside town to Giverny, really the name of the town but is now applied to Monet's home. The week prior to our trip, the kiddos and I read Linnea in Monet's Garden, Claude Monet: Sunshine and Waterlillies, and various other art books so that they could fully appreciate Giverny.
The house, once called Maison Pressoirs (or house of the cider press) is situated at the base of a steep hill and is enshrouded with vines which cover much of its pink ocher facade. Photographs were not allowed inside of the house which was a pity as the house is beautifully preserved and features Monet's belongings. The interior was completely unexpected: each room was painted in soft pastels (pink, green, blue) save for the dining room which was chrome yellow, a color so bright that I'm convinced that if you looked at the walls while the sun was upon them that you could sear your retinas! One of the guides indicated that Monet chose the colors of the house himself and went so far as to mix the colors himself, too which appalled the local painters. The walls were bedecked with Japanese prints and a few personal photographs. The kitchen, perhaps my favorite room, was tiled (even the fireplace!) with Rouen and Delft faience which set off the copper pots and pans beautifully.
Initially, Monet's studio was set in the house until a proper one with the requisite North facing window could be built. The home studio was a beautiful room with a large multi-paned window at one end. During Monet's lifetime, the studio doubled as a sitting room where dealers and the like could look at Monet's work which was hung upon the walls. Upstairs, it was possible to visit Monet's bedroom, the room in which he died. Interestingly enough, the colors in his room were quite muted, and the room was simply furnished.
Log could not be persuaded to pay much heed to the flowers as he was wary of being stung by the many lingering bees. Instead, he watched the fish and tadpoles in the pond and scoped the lily pads for frogs. Bop must have walked across the Japanese bridge a dozen times in her excitement of being in a spot immortalized by Monet. Despite the crowds, Monet's sanctuary was tranquil and stunning; a perfect place to spend one's birthday.
After lingering in the gardens during the afternoon, we walked through Giverny past the one-time Baudy hotel/grocery to the church where Monet and his family are buried. We stopped at a cafe and bought ices, and I was delighted to see that my favorite flavor, blood orange sorbet, was offered. We ate our treats and caught the bus to the Vernon train station where we boarded a train back to Paris where our night became the antithesis of our day. More to follow.
The house, once called Maison Pressoirs (or house of the cider press) is situated at the base of a steep hill and is enshrouded with vines which cover much of its pink ocher facade. Photographs were not allowed inside of the house which was a pity as the house is beautifully preserved and features Monet's belongings. The interior was completely unexpected: each room was painted in soft pastels (pink, green, blue) save for the dining room which was chrome yellow, a color so bright that I'm convinced that if you looked at the walls while the sun was upon them that you could sear your retinas! One of the guides indicated that Monet chose the colors of the house himself and went so far as to mix the colors himself, too which appalled the local painters. The walls were bedecked with Japanese prints and a few personal photographs. The kitchen, perhaps my favorite room, was tiled (even the fireplace!) with Rouen and Delft faience which set off the copper pots and pans beautifully.
Initially, Monet's studio was set in the house until a proper one with the requisite North facing window could be built. The home studio was a beautiful room with a large multi-paned window at one end. During Monet's lifetime, the studio doubled as a sitting room where dealers and the like could look at Monet's work which was hung upon the walls. Upstairs, it was possible to visit Monet's bedroom, the room in which he died. Interestingly enough, the colors in his room were quite muted, and the room was simply furnished.
This is the path leading from Monet's front door into the gardens. In another season, the path is overrun with nasturtium while the arches are encased by running roses.
Each vista from the house's windows incorporated beautiful aspects of the gardens.
After walking along the many gravel paths among the deceptively simplistic beds, we walked to the water garden where the kiddos walked across the Japanese bridge. Littlest noted how much the garden had grown since Monet's painting of the bridge upon its installation.
We were fortunate to have arrived during the time when the waterlilies were in bloom. The lifespan of each flower is three-five days.
Littlest loved roaming through the gardens looking for pink flowers. The flower pictured below, which she dubbed a 'cheetah flower,' was her favorite.
Log could not be persuaded to pay much heed to the flowers as he was wary of being stung by the many lingering bees. Instead, he watched the fish and tadpoles in the pond and scoped the lily pads for frogs. Bop must have walked across the Japanese bridge a dozen times in her excitement of being in a spot immortalized by Monet. Despite the crowds, Monet's sanctuary was tranquil and stunning; a perfect place to spend one's birthday.
After lingering in the gardens during the afternoon, we walked through Giverny past the one-time Baudy hotel/grocery to the church where Monet and his family are buried. We stopped at a cafe and bought ices, and I was delighted to see that my favorite flavor, blood orange sorbet, was offered. We ate our treats and caught the bus to the Vernon train station where we boarded a train back to Paris where our night became the antithesis of our day. More to follow.
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