Several weeks ago, when Mr. Cheeseland and I had dinner with Nichole of Little Brown Pen and her husband, she raved about having felt refreshed and inspired after a trip to Giverny, the ultimate artist dreamland. She explained that they had rented bikes from the train station and rode the 5km to the gardens – a much better way to capture the view than from within the confines of a bus. It didn’t take much convincing on her part – the idea was planted. It was time to revisit Monet. 

It had been 10 years since I first discovered Giverny – a magical place where even myopics who can’t see beyond the physical manifestation of the flowers and luscious trees, are presented with a rich narrative. Nature goes from prosaic to idyllic within moments. 

Passing by the green steps leading up to Monet’s house immediately sent flooding back the image of me and a childhood friend with whom I first came to France. It was the first time either of us had seen anything so vibrant and culturally meaningful. Now, it was an occasion to create new memories. 

  

As I breathed in the pungent scent of flowers, rows of flowers, a wave of calm rushed over me. The annual melancholy of August dissipated and I instantly felt lighter; transported from the stifled urban mentality I often resent. I tried to imagine the gardens crowd-less, without the clicks of the point-and-shoots, the rollicking children and the aimless strollers. I focused on the sound of the wind sifting through the weeping willows and the fragrance of fresh stream water and lavender that swept unhurriedly through my nostrils. It smelled of life.

 With our faithful camera around our necks, we used this heightened sensorial opportunity to practice our (amateur) photography. I don’t think we felt Nichole’s marked artistic inspiration, but the gardens imparted us with the escape we needed to take together, albeit fleeting.