A Stroll Through Monet’s Garden: Colors, Light, and Inspiration

This post is part of our Europe travel series. If you missed the beginning, you could catch up here. In the previous post, I shared the memories of Palace of Versailles, you can read that here.

Before we step into the beautiful gardens of Giverny, it’s helpful to know a little about Claude Monet. For art lovers, his name may already be familiar, but for others, some context is useful. Oscar-Claude Monet was a French painter, born in Paris and raised in Normandy. He later moved to Giverny, where he created a home surrounded by a colorful garden, which he often painted. At a time when most art aimed to copy reality exactly, Monet focused on capturing light and its changes, showing the same scene in different seasons and times of day. Despite criticism, he followed his own path and became known as the “Father of Impressionism.”

On the morning of May 24th, at seven, we left Montparnasse Station to visit Monet’s gardens. There was no direct train to Giverny, so we first made our way to Saint-Lazare. From there, we boarded a train to Vernon. Once we arrived, a small shuttle bus carried us through the quiet countryside to Monet’s gardens.

By ten, we were standing at the gates of Monet’s home. A long line curved its way toward the entrance, but with our prebooked tickets in hand, we moved a little ahead. The sky hung overcast, and a soft drizzle threatened to fall at any moment, classic Parisian weather, but we had umbrellas and raincoats, and nothing could dampen our excitement.

When we stepped into the garden, it was an awe-inspiring moment. Narrow gravel paths divided the beds, guiding visitors gently forward, while green metal arches climbed overhead, woven thick with vines. Even without bright sunshine, the colors felt luminous, reds deeper, yellows warmer, purples almost velvety against the damp greenery.

Long, symmetrical flowerbeds stretched out in neat rows, bursting with color despite the gray sky. Roses, irises, poppies, dahlias, and countless other blooms seemed to spill over one another, as if carefully arranged yet given just enough freedom to feel natural. The earth smelled fresh from the hint of rain, and every petal held a soft glow under the diffused light.

At the far end of the garden, Monet’s house, with its soft pink walls and green shutters, stood quietly behind the colorful flowers, as if letting the garden be the main attraction.

The house was not big or fancy; it was cozy, thoughtful, and full of life. You could almost see how Monet studied the light here, watching the seasons change and turning ordinary flowers into something timeless.

Once inside, the house revealed its artistic soul. Every wall displayed Monet’s work, and every window framed glimpses of the garden he had so lovingly cultivated.

A short walk from the house led us to the Japanese Garden, where Monet’s famous Water Lilies would inspire countless masterpieces. Though the lilies themselves had yet to bloom, the serene ponds and gracefully arched bridge still whispered the magic of his brush.

By midday, we left Monet’s gardens, feeling as if we were taking a piece of that peaceful world with us—the colors, the light, and the gentle beauty of the flowers stayed in our minds long after we turned away.

We took the shuttle back to Vernon station. Since there was no restaurant nearby, we stopped at a bakery to buy some fresh bread, and a few macaroons before boarding our train to Rouen. The three-hour journey passed through the countryside, with fields and rivers visible from our window.

Our train car was full of travelers with bicycles, on a cycling trip from London. Most carried only backpacks, but they were full of energy and excitement, even though many were close to sixty. Listening to them talk about the roads they had ridden and the towns they had visited made the journey even more interesting.

Rouen is another fascinating town, and you can read those memories here.