30-Day Solo Travel in Europe | Day 13: How Monet's Gardens in Giverny Stole My Heart

(Previous chapter of my journey: 30-Day Solo Travel in Europe | Day 12: The Morning I Missed Mont Saint-Michel)

Today was all about balance. After pushing myself too hard these past weeks, I've learned to listen to my body. So I slept in, with just one plan for the day: visiting Monet's garden in Giverny.

You'd think I'd have transportation in Paris figured out by now. Google Maps disappointed me...once again. The L line was suddenly not running. There I was, watching precious minutes tick toward the tour departure time, my accommodation miles from any metro. That familiar panic started creeping in but not again, not on my last day in Paris. Then I remembered the ride apps I'd downloaded last night. With one tap, I decided to trade money for peace of mind. My first taxi ride in Europe turned out to be my saviour. I made it with minutes to spare.

Our guide Ella welcomed eight of us with the most beautiful bilingual charm. We were quite the international group - three generations from Virginia, a solo traveller from New York, and a lovely French local.

During the two-hour drive to Giverny, Ella prepared us with stories about Monet. 'All you need to remember about Monet,' Ella began with a twinkle in her eye, 'is that he died old - 86 - and he died loaded. Super rich.'

She shared wonderful stories about the artist, like his famous Haystacks series. The concept was to paint the same subject through changing seasons, light, and perspectives. But local farmers needed to move the haystacks for their work, Monet simply bought the entire stack to keep it in place.

In the church near the cemetery rests a surprisingly small coffin. 'As you can see,' Ella noted, 'he wasn't very tall. And this was his only time ever going to a church.' She told us how at Monet's funeral, his close friend, French Prime Minister George Clemenceau, had exclaimed 'No black for Monet!' replacing the dark cloth with a colourful floral drape. It was a touching testament to their friendship.

After our stroll, we finally entered Monet's Garden. The beauty made me feel I'd stepped right into an Impressionist painting, though the water lilies in the pond wouldn't bloom until June. Ella explained how Monet had personally designed this living artwork: the bamboo forest, Japanese bridge, and pond that neighbours once worried would pollute the water. What we see today was actually restored by Monet's daughter-in-law after World War II damage, yet everything feels perfectly preserved.

With ninety minutes to ourselves, I wandered through the garden and Monet's home, eventually settling on a bench to watch flowers dance in the breeze, sunlight gently kissing the doorframes. I felt profoundly grateful for making this journey, a perfect farewell to my Parisian days.

Back in Paris by 7 pm, the evening light still lingered. Waiting on the platform, a French man in his middle age struck up a conversation. Instinctively, I tightened my grip on my belongings. When he asked my destination, I cautiously said 'Saint Lazare.' He said he was heading the same way. Eventually I realise he meant no harm, so I said I was actually going to Asnières-sur-Seine. Yet the platform display was not showing my destination, making me so confused. He replied in English with a French accent: 'Then it is not this train. Should be the next train.'

Relieved to be on the right platform, we chatted briefly until his train arrived. Just before boarding, he suddenly asked me to save his number for my next Paris visit. And so, on a Parisian platform, I experienced my first 'getting picked up' story. The romantic encounter I'd secretly hoped for finally happened. Though with my departure tomorrow, it would remain a beautiful 'what if' in my travel memories.