Les Nymphéas and unicorn glitter

Solo travel has one huge perk: zero distractions. Okay – friends are great, but when you're on your own, you feel everything differently. More intensely. More... sponge-like.

Yep. Last time I went full sponge mode, I ended up wandering into Le Petit Palais. You’ll find this "small" palace right across from the big one (Le Grand Palais – how original, non?), just a short stroll from the Champs-Élysées.

And here’s the cool part: entry is completely free. For everyone. All year round. And honestly? It's one of the most beautiful places I’ve discovered in Paris so far. There’s this ridiculously charming café hidden in a semicircular courtyard garden, wrapped in a cozy Art Nouveau hug. It's romantic. It’s cinematic. It’s the kind of place where you expect someone to propose. Or where a poet writes about the love that got away. You know, casual.

The palace itself was built for the 1900 World Exhibition, just like its grand sibling. So it’s got that classical vibe with stone facades, elegant curves, and delicious decorative details. But I’ll geek out on that another time – this story’s not about architecture.

It’s about Claude.

Or more precisely: Claude Monet.

I didn’t walk into Le Petit Palais expecting much. I didn’t even know there was a Rembrandt in there. Or a Rubens. Or Cézanne. Just thought: “cool museum, let’s take a peek.” I mean, in Paris, you can trip over a masterpiece just buying a baguette.

But then... it happened.

Le soleil se couche derrière le hameau de Lavacourt.

The sun sets behind the hamlet of Lavacourt.

That’s the name of the painting that broke me.

I sat in front of it for – no joke – an hour. Impressionism never really hit me before, but this? This hit like a freight train of feelings. I cried. Not cute single tear stuff. Full-on, glittery-eyed what-is-happening-to-me tears. I’m still amazed no one escorted me out.

I wish I could explain the colors to you – the turquoise, the soft green, that blush-orange glow of sunset shimmering on the Seine. The whole canvas glows like a unicorn passed by and left behind a trail of glitter. Maybe to guide other unicorns. Or to attract a pure-hearted virgin. Well... almost :)

I swear I’d never felt that way in front of a painting before. It was love at first sight. Me, crying over impressionism. Who even am I?

Obviously, I had to take it one step further. Next stop: Musée de l’Orangerie. Home of the big guns. Les Nymphéas. Monet’s legendary water lilies. And just like that, round two of the crying began.

Eight enormous panels. A full room wrapped in twilight and reflection, built specifically to honor those lilies. Monet tore down part of his own studio just to paint them. And planted a whole Japanese garden in Giverny as inspiration.

Today, they belong to France.

And... so do I.

With love, Vi. ❤︎

---

PS: To be continued... perhaps with a sunrise over Montmartre or a midnight stroll along the Seine?