Le Palais de l'Elysée, the French White House

Once a year, many government buildings, monuments, and museums open up to the public for a full weekend, free of charge (with no age requirements!). The weekend, known as the Journées du Patrimoine, comes once a year in mid-September during one of what may very well be the last nice weekends of summer-ish weather. Of all the monuments to see, perhaps the most popular is the Palais de l'Elysée, the French White House, where the legendary admission lines keep many away, as they had me for the past few years. But this was potentially my last Journées du Patrimoine, with the future of my PhD and its projected end-date still in the air, and I had a willing friend, so we dove in. And let's just say, the lines lived up to their reputation.

After six hours of shoving and pushing along with hoards of people out for the sunnier day of the weekend-long Journées du Patrimoine, we finally caught sight of this:

Upon passage through a metal detector, with a jolting suddenness, we were transported from the busy hectic world of downtown Paris along the Champs Elysées to a vibrantly green and arrestingly silent set of gardens miles away from the city just outside its gates. After six hours of squeezing, we now had space enough to spin in circles with our arms outstretched! (Okay, maybe only I felt so specifically inspired upon finally regaining some breathing room.) We even began making jokes with one of the pushy guys with whom we'd had a disagreement back in "line." I mark "line" in quotes because the French aren't much for "lines" per say but rather hoards contained by barricades which eventually snake backward once the crowds have stretched as wide as the barriers will allow. Between the barricades, survival of the fittest is law, and those who squeeze best reach the front far sooner than others. Let's just say that the two bottles of cider that we took along were a minimum requisite for such company.

The Palais de l'Elysée: we made it!!

After walking through the gardens we entered the palace where we were hit by a visual overload of colors and sparkles, and unlike Versailles, everything here was real, functional, up-to-date, and in use. The rooms we saw were accompanied by photos of famous international politicians using them in the recent past. It was as fantastic as any old palace but so much more alive.

I'll keep the history part of this entry light. Honestly, it wasn't terribly exciting to me. In short, the Count of Evreux had this home commissioned from 1718-22. From him, it passed to the Marquise de Pompadour, who then passed it off to one of the Louis, the 15th (the guy before the one who got beheaded in the Revolution) and he gave it to his son. The 16th sold it off to the Duchess of Bourbon, his cousin, who later sold it off. The palace changed hands and was continually updated and modified through the years, finally becoming the official residence of the French president on December 12, 1848. Only then, in 1853, the "Prince-President" Louis Napoleon handed off the palace to his fiancée, Eugénie de Montijo. Eventually things got sorted out and the palace has served as the presidential residence and offices pretty much ever since then, with some more renovations along the way. It might also be worth noting that from 1940-46, the palace was closed, so it wasn't exactly Nazi headquarters. Historical stain successfully avoided. Today, as you can see, it's a pretty ridiculously awesome and actually functional palace. The photo in the bottom right of the montage is the president's office. I found myself wondering how he ever manages to get anything done and avoid distractions in such a fancy, sparkly room. But as I write this, I am busy completely ignoring the Eiffel Tower whose search light is regularly scanning across my window as I sit at my bar table overlooking the Paris skyline. So maybe you can get used to anything. ;) Still, I wouldn't turn down a chance to give "getting used to anything" a try in that sort of palace.

Summary: the French White House (Palais de l'Elysée) was well worth the six hour pushy wait. But I don't think you'll catch me in that line next year, even if I am still living in the City of Lights.