Giverny

The first "great art" I remember being entranced by when I was young, was impressionist.

Monets water lily series, the peacefull blurriness of the pastels, I still think are entrancing in a way that photographic renderings never will be.

So I have wondered wistfully for many years, what it might be like to visit the source of his inspiration, his own garden. And here we are, Paris in May. It is time.

The train départs from Gare St. Lazare, also a subject of a Monet series. In the foggy morning mists, it still bears some resemblance. Soon we are sweeping through green countryside of the Seine valley.

We alight at the small station in the town of Vernon, some 5 km from Monets home. We chose a small tourist train to being us there. It's not a long walk, but to save time it seemed an ok choice.

After patiently waiting in an already long line, we finally gain entrance. Exit through the gift shop is a well worn trope, to enter through it was my first discordant note.

The gardens are a burst of extravagant colour, running riot within an organized structure of laid out beds. This is no formal French garden! Iris in more shades than I've ever seen, peonies just beginning to burst out and crowds of geraniums.

We line up to go through his home and shuffle along in our queue. The entry is through his studio, luminous and lined floor to ceiling with sketches and paintings. Studies show various stages of his concept development on familiar works. He wouldn't have worked in here much, as he commonly painted outdoors. His dozen gardeners, in fact, were tasked with keeping it exactly as he wanted, even to wiping the water drops off the lily pads.

The house is wondrously colourful, a yellow dining room is joyful and warm and inviting, and a blue, blue kitchen showcases a massive tiled stove. It's a home you can easily imagine a family laughing over dinner, or reading in the living room, and yet narrow squeaky wooden stairs to his bedroom are lined with works by Renoir, Cezanne, Sisley.

We did yes, go to the framed bridge, and it's as glorious as you would expect. But for me, there is no peace here. Too many selfie taking tourists and crowding are detracting from the reason I wanted to come. I wanted to be in the presence of genius, to feel his energy here. And I don't. I am self aware enough to know I'm part of the problem. It's sad though.

We stop by his grave to pay respect. A simple white cross is a surprisingly perfect memorial to a colourful man and life.Read more