Day 8 in Paris: Marly le Roi and Chateau de Monte-Cristo

When King Louis XIV wanted a break from Versailles, he created a leisure residence at Marly in the late 1600s. The royal residence became known as Marly le Roi. I needed a break from the city so I went there.


I walked through a canopy of trees...


and emerged upon a pond with ducks and swans, surrounded by cone-shaped cypresses.




For awhile I had the park to myself and sat down on the hill overlooking the expansive grounds. The sun warmed my back while the gentle breeze whispered over the long strands of grass and birds chirped in the trees. I ignored the distant hum of cars and imagined what the place used to look like in the 1600s.


I stood where the king's residence once stood. North of the former pavilion is a hill that used to have a cascade flowing down.


This is the view from top of the hill looking south. The pond with the cypress trees is south of the former pavilion. I passed by a deer on the way up the hill.




The view from the south of the grounds.


After I walked to the town center. The colorful shops and restaurants are located on a short street called Grande Rue.










I thought this place was cute and it has a garden so I went in for coffee and dessert.






Espresso, cheesecake (had the texture of mousse), a piece of chocolate and gross strawberry marshmallow.




Then I walked to Chateau de Monte-Cristo. No, it's not a house dedicated to the fried ham and cheese sandwich. It was the country-house of Alexandre Dumas (who was a fatty who probably ate deep fried sandwiches), the writer of the The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers.


The house exhibits paintings and reproductions reflecting the writer's life. I was alone upstairs and the house was eerily quiet. I freaked myself out and bolted out the door towards the exit.


Across the house is Chateau D'if, where Dumas worked on his writings.


I looked inside Chateau D'if and started imagining ghosts (because that's what I think of when I'm in old houses belonging to dead people) and freaked myself out again.

I spent the next hour walking in the wrong direction because I either misunderstood the map from the tourism office or the map was incorrectly labeled. I came across an English-speaking woman (not too many people spoke English in that town) and she said that I was in Le Pecq, another town that wasn't even on my map. She pointed me towards a bus that took me back to the train station, 12 bus stops away.