Letters To Stina

Chère Stina,

Day Two I was a princess.
Right, I know, I’m a dinosaur with a metaphorical dick, named Leonardo de Caprio, with no relation to the actor.
But being a princess isn’t really a choice sometimes.
You know why?
Because I went to Versailles.

We (meaning myself and FAF-M) didn’t go into the palace, because everyone else was going into the palace, which was too much of everyone to deal with. So we took the pretty route and walked around the gardens for a while, then explored to town. The gardens were much better than they were in January, although the crop of tourists detracted a little from the aesthetics.

OH. DO YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE DETRACTED FROM THE AESTHETICS NO OF COURSE YOU DON’T I HAVEN’T TOLD YOU.

They had these random modern art sculpture things that were actually just dead trees with rocks. I took one picture with the overall gardens, just so you can see how awful they are. They’re the stick-things right in the middle of the grass, ruining the landscape. It could have been a very poignant commentary on the interaction of man and nature in, say, a shipping yard. But not Versailles.

Behold the horror.

Had it been 1789 and the women of Paris were harassing the inhabitants of the palace, they would have made great perches. Then they could have sat on them like vultures and catapulted rotten fish at the windows. Not that vultures can throw. Whatever. It would have been beautiful.

But it’s 2013, so not so much.

Versailles had compulsively perfect trees, too. I could totally see why the palace was such a sore point during the revolution, though—you have all these people cutting the trees into triangles and they were probably all Ron-Weasley-you-need-to-sort-out-your-priorities.

Now that your trees are all perfect cones, sir, might I have my bread?

It’s also home to some of the most majestic seagulls. This one, he’s probably the reincarnation of Louis XIV. The guy commissioned portraits of his family as Roman gods, called himself the Sun King. Shit doesn’t get any more majestic than that.

Dad thinks he’s the sun again.
Afterwards, we walked around the town and I ate a very good pastry. The town was pretty and very French-looking, as expected.

Even the pasta was royal. 

Love,
Your Swagjesty