In planning our trip to Paris with our nieces, I asked them what they most wanted to see. The Eiffel Tower? Notre Dame? Versailles?
Oh. Yeah. Those would be great. But wait. Did you mention that Versailles had a little farm? With animals?
Well, yes, but...
OMG!!! How fast can we get there??!!!
Really? We are travelling to a city that has some of the most priceless and famous works of art and architecture in the world and your top priority is....a donkey?????
So off to Versailles we went where we explored the sumptuous palace, magnificent gardens...and trekked four thousand miles to the furthest part of the estate (As a matter of fact, I'm not sure we were actually still in France. I think I may have heard Russian spoken, and not by a tourist.) to see livestock.
If I had known how far it was, I would have packed a toothbrush...and PJs. Through the gardens, past the Petite Trianon, waaay past the Grand Trianon, ask someone who doesn't speak a word of English to give you directions and take a wrong turn or six, ask someone who does speak English to give you directions and take another wrong turn or seven, go to the second star on the right and straight on till morning. I knew we were in trouble when I saw the sun-bleached remains of the last group of tourists to attempt the trek.
Finally, though, we reached Mecca, er the farm. And they say Disneyland is the happiest place on earth.
"Oooo. Look. Bunnies. Can I have your camera?"
Yeah. Sure. You can never have too many pictures of bunnies. You know, most people come to Paris and take pictures of , oh, I don't know, the Mona Lisa. Idiots. Don't they know they could be snapping photos of bunnies instead?
"Look at the geese and ducks. Aren't they cute? I wish we could take them home with us.
Um, okay. You are aware that you are talking about birds, right? I mean, I appreciate a good fowl as well as the next person, but maybe you could work up the same enthusiasm for the Eiffel Tower?
On and on it went: goats, fish, pigs, you name it, we have a photo of it. After about fourteen hours of cooing and clucking over French dinner menu items, uh I mean totally unique, super-cute farm animals that you can't possibly see in the good old U. S. of A, there they were...the piece de resistance, the coup de grace, the gooey chocolate truffle on top of the yummy, decadent eclair: the donkeys.
There were big ones, small ones, bold ones, shy ones, but they all had that same magnificent allure, that irresistible quality sure to draw the attention and win the hearts of tourists from all over the globe: eau de poo poo.
Yes, nothing says, "I've been to Paris" like the subtle odor of fresh manure, dirt and donkey sweat.
Chanel? Dior? Yves Saint Laurent? Hah!!! Frou, frou potions meant for those sissies who think a trip to Paris is all about Monet and Renoir. This was the real Paris, unchanged from the good ole days of Marie Antoinette (in fact, judging from the odor, some of them may have been the same actual donkeys who played milkmaid with Marie).
"Take my picture with this one! Now this one!" they squealed with delight. "Can we email them to my mom and dad?"
Yes, as long as you take one of me with them too and label it,"Which one is the real jackass? The one getting petted, or the one who traveled several time zones to stand in a field, batting at flies and wishing she were someplace less smelly, like, oh, say a sewage treatment plant?"
Finally, after more photo ops than Brangelina at a red carpet event after a six month absence and an entire packet of anti-bacterial wipes, they were ready to go.
"Okay, tomorrow we go to the Louvre," I promised them, "where you'll see all kinds of unbelievable and amazing paintings and sculptures and..."
"Yes, but will we see donkeys?" they wanted to know.
Only if you look in my direction.
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