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    An Indiana Family Lives in a Basketball Gym (Seriously)

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    WILKINSON, Ind. — Many people in basketball-obsessed Indiana claim to eat, sleep and breathe the game. This summer, in a microscopic rural town about 30 miles outside Indianapolis, a house went up for sale that would give its occupants little other choice.“Rare opportunity for your very own high school gym,” began the listing for the Wilkinson High School gymnasium, which was erected in 1950, fell out of use two decades later and at some point afterward underwent a perfunctory residential conversion.Kyle and Lauren Petry were not looking for a new home when they stumbled upon the listing, and they certainly had no interest in one built inside the rickety skeleton of a 72-year-old gym. But because they lived nearby, because it all seemed so absurd, they stopped in for a look.The pictures, they thought, had not done the space justice. They were awed by its cavernous proportions — most of the 11,000-square-foot gym was left untouched — and humbled by its antique aura. Then they walked away, happy to leave it in the realm of fantasy.A week and a half later, while sitting in church, the couple experienced a moment of clarity. They wanted to own it, they realized. They called the real estate agent that morning and made an offer. It was accepted before they went to bed.The concept of home-court advantage, for the couple and their three children, suddenly took on new meaning.“It was the strangest thing I’d ever heard of,” Lauren Petry said of the house, “and the coolest thing I’d ever heard of.”Lauren Petry in front of the gym. “It was the strangest thing I’d ever heard of, and the coolest thing I’d ever heard of,” she said.Lee Klafczynski for The New York TimesLittle did the Petrys know their house-hunting fever dream was only beginning. The next morning, Roy Wilson, the couple’s real estate agent, called to tell them that the listing had gone viral on social media, seemingly overnight, and was being covered in several news outlets.In the age of Zillow surfing — the sort of aimless, daydreamy scrolling of real estate sites that became something of a national pastime at the height of the coronavirus pandemic — the listing was pure catnip. The whimsical text oozed small-town charm. The rustic pictures evoked childhood emotions. The kitchen and living room, featuring the original maple floor and regulation basketball lines, seemed like sight gags. (Not everybody was seduced: “I have zero fond memories of high school gym,” someone replied to a Tweet from the account Zillow Gone Wild.)Calls from journalists and curious buyers from as far away as Singapore soon flooded Wilson’s office. The Petrys’ winning offer that Sunday — for $300,000, a hair more than the list price — had been only the fifth bid in three weeks. In the three days after the listing went viral, there were 49 more, some of them for well over double the price, the Petrys were later told.Wilson, 71, whose high school graduation ceremony had been held in the gym, could not offer the callers much. The Petrys’ bid had been accepted, meaning the wave of eager buyers had to be turned away. And because the deal had not closed, he could not publicly name the family. Photographers and camera crews showed up at the gym anyway, trying to get pictures through the windows.“It was a hubbub,” said Cheryl Middendorf, 68, who attended school in the district. She now runs an insurance agency a couple of blocks from the gym that is one of the few businesses in Wilkinson, which has a population of only a few hundred people.Among miscellaneous furniture, boxes await unpacking.Lee Klafczynski for The New York TimesThe viral moment faded as quickly as it appeared. The worldwide attention subsided. What remained, though, was a quintessentially Hoosier story, one whose ending is still being written.The Petrys — who have three children: Carson, 12; Kaylynn, 9; and Kyla, 8 — said they want to refurbish the court and open it up somehow to the Wilkinson community. They have pondered starting a partnership with the school district or simply hosting events, like pickup games and movie nights, on their own. They both grew up in the area (and met while riding horses in the fifth grade) and now feel a responsibility to honor the history of the building.In many ways, they have their work cut out for them. The space is enormous: More than half the original gym, with its weathered gray bleachers, was left in its original form. The previous owners then constructed a bilevel, three-bedroom home in the remaining area inside the structure. The gym can be entered from a door in the living room, and the court can be stared at from any number of large windows in the home.The Petrys realized one night that a colony of bats had taken up residence in one corner of the gym. Spiders continue to emerge all over the house. Moving has been a slow process, but they have positioned a dining table in the kitchen, near the top of the key, and plan to install an island inside the paint.“We’re still walking around here thinking, ‘What did we just do?’” said Kyle Petry, who estimated the cost of renovations, over a period of years, would eventually exceed the original cost of the home.The people of Wilkinson are rooting for them, waiting to see what happens next, well aware of what is at stake.Basketball maintains a fervent following in Indiana, and the state’s high school gyms from the first half of the 20th century occupy an almost spiritual place across its landscape, like the bygone churches dotting the Italian countryside.Kyla Petry rides her bike around the boxes.Lee Klafczynski for The New York TimesSeveral nearby gyms have their own claims to fame. A 20-minute drive east, for instance, will take you to the New Castle Fieldhouse, the largest high school gym in the United States. Ten minutes in the other direction is the former high school court where much of “Hoosiers,” the 1985 film starring Gene Hackman that captured the state’s deep reverence for the game, was filmed.“Most of these country schools didn’t have enough boys for football, so basketball was king,” said Neil Shaneyfelt, the board president of the Hoosier Gym, which operates today as a museum and event space. “The crops are in, so what do we do for entertainment during the cold months in Indiana? You might as well have shut the towns down, because everybody came to the ballgames.”Other than churches, gyms were often the only large communal spaces in these rural towns. Along with basketball games, they hosted sock hops, ice cream socials and graduations.Wilkinson was no different. Greg Troy, 72, grew up six miles north of the school, watched games there as a young child and eventually played for the varsity team. He recalled the thrill of seeing the bright lights of the gym from the main road on the way to Friday night games, knowing the room would be packed.“It was always noisy,” Troy said of the building, “always smelled good, like popcorn.”The tragedy for old-timers and basketball lovers is that so many of these storied Indiana gyms have fallen out of use. In 1959, a state law forced hundreds of tiny school districts to consolidate. That year, there were 724 basketball-playing high schools in the state, according to a 2009 story in the Indianapolis Star. Fifty years later, there were 402.Some gyms have been saved, with at least a few others becoming private homes. Others have fallen into disrepair. Many are gone altogether.Kyle Petry, right, and his father, Scott, examine carvings on an original wooden school desk left in the home.Lee Klafczynski for The New York TimesThe Wilkinson gym started to fall out of use when the school consolidated with nearby Charlottesville High School in 1965. The building was sold in the 1970s to a local family seeking a larger space for its hardware store. For a time the family also used an adjacent classroom building — which has since been demolished — as a restaurant serving homey classics like beef Manhattan and pork, beans and potatoes.“People would come in and say, ‘Huh, this is the old basketball floor, isn’t it?’” said Terry Molden, 79, who owned the store with his family. “And I would say, ‘Yeah, and you’re out of bounds.’ ”Two decades ago, the Molden family sold the gym to Jeff and Christy Broady, a local couple, who lived in the gym while gradually constructing the home, piece by piece, all around them. The price back then was $85,000, according to Wilson, who worked on the deal, with few people interested.Today, people have been clamoring to get inside.Soon after the Petrys moved in, a few local children followed the Petrys’ kids off the school bus and into their home to play. The next day, there were a few more. The number kept trickling upward, until one day there were almost 20 children shooting hoops and riding bicycles around the court.“I was like, ‘Do your parents know that you’re here?’” Lauren Petry said, laughing.Older residents have taken notice, too. The day before the family moved in, an anonymous visitor dropped off a box of black-and-white photos of the gym with a note that read, “I think you should have these.” The Petrys were also given a dust stack of yearbooks from the 1950s.The Petrys have a photo showing the construction of the Wilkinson High School gym.Lee Klafczynski for The New York TimesPeople continue knocking on the door, asking to see the place, reminiscing about little life events from long ago.In this spirit, the Petrys have decided to reserve one entire wall near the front door of the house, where the concession stand used to be, as an exhibition space to hang memorabilia from the school. They have a classroom desk that students carved their names into a century ago. A local collector offered to donate a varsity cheerleader uniform from the ’50s.“It’s this little time capsule where you can go back and remember a time when things were slower,” Lauren Petry said of her odd, new home. “Basketball takes you back to that, that nostalgia, that warm feeling. I think people are responding to that. Their hearts gravitate toward it.” More

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      in Golf

      At the U.S. Open, Saving the House That Built Golf

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      Francis Ouimet, an amateur who improbably won the 1913 U.S. Open at the Country Club, grew up across the street. Now his home will be given back to the game, and the course, that made him famous.BROOKLINE, Mass. — The small, 19th-century home with the golf course view is hardly noticeable to the hundreds of drivers whizzing by at 40 miles an hour on Clyde Street in the Boston suburb of Brookline. While the two-story house once stood like a sentry overlooking acres of cow pasture, the neighborhood is now replete with luxury housing, four-lane roads and a bustle worthy of a community just seven miles from downtown.The location does not look like a landmark to the birthplace of American golf. But it is, in ways both tangible and symbolic. This week, the site will be newly in the spotlight as the U.S. Open returns for a fourth time to the Country Club in Brookline.Neighbors of the Clyde Street property have recently noticed a flurry of activity at the residence as contractors’ vans filled the driveway daily for what is clearly a moneyed restoration project. In late April, two workers peeled back attic ceiling panels of the 1893 dwelling and then had to duck as a pair of antique golf clubs tumbled to the floor.“They’re Francis’s clubs!” one of the workers, Aldeir Filho, yelped. His colleague, Christian Herbet, dashed down the stairs to alert the crew of tradesman below.From the second floor, Herbet shouted: “We found Mr. Ouimet’s clubs.”The American golfer Francis DeSales Ouimet in 1913.George Grantham Bain Collection (Library of Congress)In 1913, Francis Ouimet, then a 20-year-old self-taught amateur golfer, left the second-floor bedroom he shared with his brother at 246 Clyde Street and crossed the street to the Country Club, where he defeated the world’s two most accomplished British professionals, Ted Ray and Harry Vardon, to win the U.S. Open.The stunning upset by Ouimet, the son of immigrants and a caddie at the club, was front-page news across the nation and has been credited with spawning explosive nationwide growth in the game. While there were only 350,000 American golfers in 1913, that number had swelled to 2.1 million less than 10 years later. The fame of Ouimet’s groundbreaking accomplishment — no amateur had ever won the U.S. Open and few golfers from working-class roots had ever played in championships — has endured for 109 years, no doubt helped by a popular 2005 movie, “The Greatest Game Ever Played.”The house that Ouimet’s father, Arthur, just happened to purchase across from the Country Club has often played a prominent factor in Francis Ouimet’s winsome story. The humble dwelling astride a tony country club came to represent the two worlds Ouimet daringly traversed when he walked down his unadorned wooden front steps and marched onto the club’s gilded grounds for the last 18 holes of the 1913 U.S. Open. About four hours later, he was carried from the last green on the shoulders of cheering fans. The duality of Ouimet’s life on either side of Clyde Street, including the cramped, meager confines of his upbringing, are a robust part of the narrative. There are, for example, 17 scenes depicting life in the Ouimet house in the 2005 movie.And yet, until recently, preserving or formally recognizing the home’s significance was never a priority. While the structure remained in the Ouimet family for 94 years, it changed ownership multiple times. The exterior and interior were altered and a tall white fence rose in the front yard to eclipse most of the ground floor from the road.The dining room of the Ouimet HouseAlex Gagne for The New York TimesAlex Gagne for The New York TimesAlex Gagne for The New York TimesAs housing prices in Brookline soared across the decades, some at the nearby club, which is a founding member of the United States Golf Association, worried what might happen if the property was bought and redeveloped. Years ago, for instance, what had been the family barn next to the Ouimet house was sold, rebuilt and turned into condominiums.“If you let that house be torn down,” Fred Waterman, the club historian, said of the Ouimet house in an interview last month, “you’ve allowed a very important part of American sports history to disappear.”Tom Hynes, a member of the Country Club who has a Boston real estate background that stretches to the 1960s, casually befriended the owners of the house, Jerome and Dedie Wieler, not long after they moved to the neighborhood in 1989. Hynes lives nearby and would see the Wielers walking their dog almost daily.“When you’re ready to sell your house,” Hynes told the couple, “I’m your buyer.”The Wielers answered that they were not selling and were curious why Hynes would want it. Hynes explained Ouimet’s history to the Wielers, who knew nothing of golf. But the Wielers were intrigued by a heartwarming story.“Someday, maybe 20 years from now, you might be selling and please let me know,” said Hynes, who added that he would remind the Wielers about once a year. “I just wanted the house returned to golf.”Late in 2020, the Wielers contacted Hynes, who set foot in the house at 246 Clyde Street for the first time and 30 minutes later had a handshake agreement to buy the property for $875,000.The actor Shia LaBeouf as Francis Ouimet in the 2005 movie “The Greatest Game Ever Played.” Entertainment Pictures / AlamyFrancis Ouimet, center, with the professional British golfers he beat to win the 1913 U.S. Open, Harry Vardon, left, and Ted Ray.Associated PressHynes set about trying to defray the purchase cost by raising money with the intent of donating the house to the club, which could use it for myriad activities, including staff and guest housing on the second floor. The decision was also made to restore the house to make it appear as it did when the Ouimets lived there in 1913.“When you walk into the house we want you to have the feeling of what it was like to have walked into the family’s home 109 years ago,” Waterman said.But first, there was much work to do. While the house was in good shape, it needed innumerable improvements to meet modern building codes. The cost of the restoration swelled. As Hynes, the nephew of a three-term Boston mayor who has brokered some of the city’s most sweeping real estate deals, said: “I started going around town with my tin cup out.”Hynes had a potent, almost divine ally in his fund-raising mission. It was as if Francis Ouimet was mystically assisting him. Ouimet, who died in 1967, remained a lifelong resident of the Boston area and continued to win golf championships as an amateur for many years after 1913. He also had a career in finance.In 1949, a Ouimet college scholarship program for caddies was created. Since then, the Ouimet Fund has awarded nearly $44 million to more than 6,300 men and women. The need-based scholarships can be worth as much as $80,000 across four years of study.As Hynes began to solicit help for his restoration, he occasionally was surprised to find donors who were unflinchingly generous with their money. They were Ouimet Scholars, now middle-aged, who believed they would have never attended college without the fund’s assistance.Fred Waterman, historian at the Country Club.Alex Gagne for The New York TimesTom Hynes, who bought the Ouimet house.Alex Gagne for The New York TimesThe Ouimet house’s living room has been restored.Alex Gagne for The New York TimesAdditionally, more than 40 members of the Country Club have contributed, most donating $25,000 each. The first phase of the renovation was finished last week.A tour of the 1,550-square foot, six-room Ouimet house these days is like stepping back in time since its appearance has been curated to match an early-20th-century style. The wallpaper, lighting, drapes and shades are vintage. The furnishings are faithful to the period: chairs, sofas and tables from the early 1900s presented to the club by an architect who heard about the renovation. Common rooms were small then, but add to the cozy, familial feel.Just inside the first-floor entry is an old, preserved wooden wall telephone, the kind with a crank on the side. It is rigged so visitors can lift the receiver and hear a recording of Ouimet describing his U.S. Open victory. He is joined on the audiotape by Eddie Lowery, who was Ouimet’s 10-year-old caddie. The two remained lifelong friends.Elsewhere on the first floor are mementos acknowledging what took place nearby in 1913, including newspaper clippings and photographs. The tall, imposing street-side fence has been removed to reveal newly planted sod with a border of perennials.The second phase, which will renovate the building’s exterior by adding new clapboard, windows and a cedar shingle roof, will not be complete until next year. After that, Hynes hopes to hand off the house to the club. Since the club, which has about 1,300 members, has yet to take possession of the Ouimet house, its president, Lyman Bullard, said there was no decision yet on access or its primary use.Hynes, who mentioned being sensitive to neighbors of a property in a residential area, does not envision the house being open to the public, or offering tours like a museum. But Waterman felt there might be a sense of obligation to share the house, and its history, in some way.A photo taken in 1900 shows Francis as a 7-year-old, next to his mother, Mary, and father, Arthur.Courtesy The Country ClubIn the movie “The Greatest Game Ever Played,” there is an early bit of foreshadowing: a scene of the young Francis Ouimet dutifully but surreptitiously practicing his putting at night after his parents had gone to bed. If that might be Hollywood mythmaking, there is no disputing the golf-centric, stirring view from Ouimet’s second-floor bedroom window. Across Clyde Street, Francis could see the Country Club’s pristine 17th hole. The vista now is altered by the decades-long growth of trees sprouting on the perimeter of the grounds. But standing at the bedroom window, with the house’s revitalized original flooring creaking underfoot, the manicured 17th hole is still plainly visible.Francis Ouimet’s boyhood dreams seem present, not distant.His impact on golf, even American sport, is alive in the spirit of his home.In 1913, the golf icon Gene Sarazen, then known as Eugenio Saraceni, was an 11-year old caddie in the New York suburbs. The son of Sicilian immigrants, he read about Ouimet’s stunning victory over the renowned British professionals. As Waterman noted, Sarazen said to himself at the time: “If he can do it, I can do it.”When Sarazen was 20, like Ouimet, he won the U.S. Open, the first of the seven major golf championships he won from 1922 to 1935.For Waterman and Hynes, one of their fondest hopes is that the Ouimet house, newly returned to golf, is not done influencing future U.S. Open champions. Hynes floated the possibility that one of the golfers in this year’s field might wish to stay in the house during the competition.Calling that “the ultimate thing,” Waterman added: “It would be a player who says, ‘I want to wake up in Francis Ouimet’s bedroom because he walked down the stairs and won the U.S. Open. Maybe that’s what will happen for me.’ ”Ouimet’s win at the U.S. Open made the front page of The New York Times, top left, on Sept. 21, 1913.The New York Times More

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      in Tennis

      At the French Open Grounds, a Guided Tour of Change

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      PARIS — In my 30th year of covering the French Open, I am in need of a map.The courts where I have watched so many matches on the crushed red brick of Roland Garros are almost all gone — demolished or remodeled beyond recognition, like the main Philippe Chatrier Court with its retractable roof. Passageways that led somewhere familiar now run into concrete walls or freshly painted gates or take you to new-age landscapes like the sculpture garden behind Chatrier with its rows of ocher deck chairs and its cruise ship vibe.All four of the Grand Slam tournaments have been on a building spree, but Roland Garros at this stage is the major that seems the most transformed.It is the one I know — or used to know — best. I covered it for the first time in 1991, the year Monica Seles defended her title and Jim Courier beat Andre Agassi in that distant time when all-American men’s finals were all the rage in Grand Slam tournaments. Most important for me, 1991 was the year I married Virginie, a Parisian, and moved to France from San Diego.In the early years, we lived in a studio apartment a few blocks from Roland Garros’s back gate. That meant that for two precious weeks a year, a tennis writer could walk to work from home, and I sometimes shared the commute with French players, like Guillaume Raoux, who had the good fortune to play a Grand Slam tournament in their own neighborhood.Roland Garros is technically in Paris, on the southwestern limits of the 16th Arrondissement. But in feeling, it is closer to village life. The vast Bois de Boulogne park is on one border. Low-rise, suburban Boulogne-Billancourt is on the other.Even with the expansion into the nearby botanical gardens in 2019, Roland Garros’s footprint is still the smallest of the Grand Slam tournaments, but the expansion also has made it the most eye-catching of the majors.You could already watch tennis in Paris with the shadows lengthening across the clay in the early evening, one of the most photogenic moments in sports. Now you can watch tennis in a greenhouse, too.It is high time for a visit to the new Roland Garros, and in lieu of a map, I called in a tour guide: Gilles Jourdan, who was once a ball boy at the tournament but is now the silver-haired manager of the stadium’s modernization project.Where’s the Bullring?A packed court one during the third-round men’s singles match between Santiago Giraldo of Colombia and Andy Murray of Great Britain on Day 7 of the 2012 French Open.Matthew Stockman/Getty ImagesThere was no better seat in tennis journalism than in Court 1. In the front row along the baseline, you were so close to the action that you sometimes had to lean back to avoid a player’s swing on a wide return. Best of all was the venue: a 3,800-seat theater in the round known as the Bullring. It wasn’t the prettiest court in tennis, but it got something the architect, Jean Lovera, a former French junior champion, had not anticipated: acoustics that accentuated the strike of the ball. Courier used to love the unique thwack.“The sound moves and resonates in a bit of a different way,” Lovera told me in 2010. “And as it turns out, I think it lends itself to generating emotions and making temperatures rise and getting reactions from both the players and the crowd that are stronger than usual.”I can only concur, having once watched the Russian star Marat Safin drop his shorts midmatch to celebrate a drop-shot winner. But the Bullring and the sound effects are gone — demolished after the 2019 tournament to provide more space. The idea was to replace Court 1 with an open lawn, a flat French version of Wimbledon’s Aorangi Terrace, better known as Henman Hill. But there is not much open lawn this year. The void left by Court 1 has been filled by paving stones, new walkways, a coffee bar and other diversions.The Musketeers are backThe Place des Mousquetaires, former site of the Bullring.Pete Kiehart for The New York TimesRoland Garros was built in a hurry in 1928 because of four men: Henri Cochet, Jean Borotra, Jacques Brugnon and René Lacoste, who was not yet a brand in those distant days. They were known as the mousquetaires (Alexandre Dumas’s novels were even bigger then), and in 1927, they won the Davis Cup in the United States against a team that included Bill Tilden. The Davis Cup, a team event, was as prestigious in those days as Grand Slam titles are today, and a new stadium was constructed in less than a year to accommodate France’s Davis Cup defense.The Italian sculptor Vito Tongiani made bronze statues of the musketeers in the 1980s and the early 1990s. They were put on display at Roland Garros and then stored during renovations. But they are back this year in the new Musketeers Garden, sharing space during the tournament with the deck chairs and a big-screen television. The last buildingThe cottage that is the last of the buildings from 1928 on the grounds of Roland Garros.Pete Kiehart for The New York Times“It’s in bad shape,” Jourdan said, standing next to a large, half-timbered cottage with some cracked windows that sits on the northeastern boundary of the grounds.It is largely out of view this year, used for catering supplies, but it deserves the spotlight. After all the demolition and renovation, it is the last building standing that was there in 1928, spared because of its links to the past even though sentimentality has not saved much else.The cottage predates the stadium. It was the clubhouse for a private tennis club whose clay courts became part of the original Roland Garros. “Above all, during the musketeers’ years, they changed in there,” Jourdan said. “It was the locker room.”It later became a gardeners’ shed and then a dormitory for young tennis prospects who were training at Roland Garros. The most famous former occupant is Yannick Noah, who went on to win the French Open in 1983 and become a pop star. He remains one of the most popular figures in France.The AshesGilles Jourdan, the manager of the stadium modernization project.Pete Kiehart for The New York TimesA monument to Étienne-Jules Marey that also contains his remains.Pete Kiehart for The New York TimesRoland Garros preferred rugby and has his name on a tennis stadium only because his friends wanted to honor his memory; he was an aviator and a fighter pilot who died in combat in the final days of World War I. But the stadium also honors another figure who was not a tennis player: the French scientist Étienne-Jules Marey, who died in 1904 and whose experiments with “chronophotography” helped lay the foundations for modern cinema.A research institute bearing his name, the Institut Marey, was opened on the current site of Roland Garros in 1903 and remained in place for 50 years after the stadium was built, allowing scientists, sometimes in white lab coats, to watch matches from the roof. But it was demolished to make way for Court 1’s construction in 1980, with the agreement that a monument to Marey would remain part of the stadium in perpetuity. The marble bas-relief monument, which contains some of Marey’s ashes, has moved around the grounds through the decades, but it is now in a prominent location in the new garden. “During the construction, Mr. Marey stayed in my office for two years,” Jourdan said with a chuckle, referring to Marey’s ashes. “I’m not sure the family would have approved, but he’s back where he belongs now.”A grander entranceCourt 2 during the 2001 French Open, with the old Chatrier Court in the background.Clive Brunskill/ALLSPORT, via Getty ImagesThe Bullring’s demise is a pity, but the loss that really hurts is the old Court 2. It was my favorite spot: a close-quarters drama magnet where coaches, off-duty players and members of the news media shared the same box, entering through a door that felt like the portal to a secret garden. I once interviewed Boris Becker on a changeover.Built in 1928, it was a two-tiered court, so cozy it seemed that the fans on the upper tier were hovering over the players as they traded blows. But the expansion of the Chatrier Court left no room for Court 2, and its departure has made way for a new main entrance that allows the public to descend into Roland Garros down a wide flight of stone stairs.Jourdan remembers the old entrance, which was nearby. “In those days, the center court had no reserved seating, so as soon as the gates opened it was a sprint for the best spots,” he said. “One year, it rained, so the stones were wet, and people went down in a heap when they ran around the corner. We weren’t laughing then, but we laughed later.”There are no more morning sprints, and as you walk down the stairs, you cannot help but stop to gawk at another new statue: Rafael Nadal in larger-than-life stainless steel, following through on an airborne forehand. Nadal has, of course, turned Roland Garros into his personal playground, winning a record 13 singles titles. It is a measure of Nadal’s achievement that the first thing you see when you enter one of France’s great showplaces is a Spaniard.The oasisA small pond nestled among plants labeled with their scientific names at the entrance to the Jardins des Serres d’Auteuil.Pete Kiehart for The New York TimesWe will see how the remodeled grounds work in 2022, but Roland Garros has long been oppressively overcrowded, like a rush-hour commuter train disguised as a Grand Slam tournament. For years, I would sneak away at lunchtime to the adjacent Serres d’Auteuil gardens with my ham-and-cheese baguette (and fondant au chocolat). It was a peaceful moment, although not a silent one. You could still hear the roars from the courts and the chair umpires calling the scores, which was handy in the days before the Roland Garros app.Now, after a long legal battle, one section of the gardens is officially part of Roland Garros. You can walk on a charming cobblestoned thoroughfare flanked by lovely 19th-century buhrstone buildings before arriving at the world’s only show court in a greenhouse: a semi-sunken 10,000-seat stadium that opened in 2019. It is a world apart after a short walk and a stroke of genius if you ask me, even if a few of the exotic plants appear to be wilting under glass and even if my secret picnic spot is definitely no more.Le shoppingThe Grande Boutique, a nearly 1,500-square-meter shopping space under Courts 2 and 3.Pete Kiehart for The New York TimesRoland Garros has long had great loot, often too great on a sportswriter’s salary. The prices have not gone down, but the shopping has. A new and sprawling megastore has opened underground this year, and “megastore” sounds a lot better in French: La Grande Boutique. The long walk (or ride)Court 16, the westernmost court in the complex, is used exclusively for practice.Pete Kiehart for The New York TimesIt is nearly a kilometer now from one end of the grounds to the other. It is a trek, but the players can make it faster than the masses, because they can travel below ground in the system of tunnels that connects the main Chatrier Court with the hinterlands.Players make part of the journey in golf carts to save their energy. We did it on foot with Jourdan, passing from tunnels to underground parking lots to walkways to a staircase that brought us back into the sunlight at Courts 15 and 16. These are the only fully dedicated practice courts left in Roland Garros, and I used to play here, too, but not on these courts and not on red clay.This area was once a public tennis facility with asphalt hardcourts before the French Tennis Federation took possession, as it has inexorably taken possession of all the nearby property on the same wedge of land as Roland Garros. You can understand the urge when you look at the size of the U.S.T.A.’s Billie Jean King National Tennis Center or the plans for the next mammoth expansion of Wimbledon into the adjacent golf course. The competition among the Grand Slam tournaments is real, and one of the reasons the French Open stayed in Paris in 2012 instead of moving to bigger digs in Versailles was the promise of more land. Something still familiarChristopher Clarey in the stairwell leading to the news media seats at Court Suzanne Lenglen.Pete Kiehart for The New York TimesJennifer Brady and Coco Gauff facing each other at Suzanne Lenglen Court.Clive Brunskill/Getty ImagesJourdan, it has to be said, is a great tour guide — witty, convivial and informative. I am no longer in need of a map, but nostalgia is tough to shake. So before heading back to the Chatrier Court with all its glass and steel, I made a final stop at Suzanne Lenglen Court, the second-biggest show court at Roland Garros. The court has been a fine place to watch tennis for nearly 30 years.I saw Roger Federer make his Grand Slam debut on that court in 1999 against Patrick Rafter — and lose in a backward ball cap. Lots of memories there, so I walked up the stairs, turned left and took a seat. No matches were on this late in the second week. The net was down, and a big-screen television was in place, but it still felt reassuringly familiar, and so it will remain until the new retractable roof goes up in 2024, in time for the Paris Olympics.I should have seen that coming. More